Read Online She Has Your Eyes by Elisa Lorello - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elisa Lorello
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the illusion that the bouquet was twice as bountiful. David had fallen asleep on the bed, a hardcover book resting on his chest along with his reading glasses. He was dressed in blue jeans and a maroon T-shirt. My favorite colors on him. He still had the body of a model sculpted from marble, of the alluring escort I’d met ten years ago who’d taken my breath away. His brown hair, more salt-and-pepper, remained full and thick and perfect for running my fingers through.
In short, he
still
took my breath away.
I kicked off my shoes and climbed onto the bed. A red rose rested on my pillow. I gingerly picked it up, pulled it to mynose and inhaled, then moved it to the table, careful to keep it away from the flame. Then, with the same touch I applied to the rose, I slid his bangs to the side. His eyes fluttered and opened, then turned warm upon seeing me.
“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
The book and glasses fell to the side as he moved, and he tried to orient himself.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“A little after seven. There was an accident on I-91. Surprise,” I said sarcastically. “Didn’t you get my message? I left it on the landline.”
He yawned and stretched. “Forgot to listen to voice mails.” He gave me a look as if noticing me for the first time. “So how was lunch with Genevieve?” he asked. David never called my mother “Mom.”
“OK, I guess,” I said. He sat up, instructed me to do the same, and massaged my shoulders from behind. “It had its moments.”
“Good moments or bad moments?” He kissed my neck as he worked out a knot.
“A little of both, although ‘bad’ is probably too strong a word. Just”—I searched for a better adjective—“typical, I guess,” I said, unsatisfied with the choice. I often had trouble putting together any kind of coherent thought when David was kissing my neck.
“You told her everything?”
I nodded. “Mm-hmm.” A soft moan escaped me. “God, that feels good.…” I trailed off into a whisper. My eyelids grew heavy. “What did you do today after leaving Hartford?” I asked. “Besides romance up the room to get me laid?”
He chuckled. “What makes you think I was trying to get
you
laid?” I turned to face him in mock offense, only to be undone by his wink. “Not much,” he replied. “Made some calls, answered some e-mails, that kind of thing.”
I gestured toward the flowers. “Those are beautiful. You buy them for your girlfriend?”
“Nope,” he corrected, “my fiancée.”
I opened my mouth. “Wha…”
David stopped massaging me, arose, and moved to the edge of the bed, where he beckoned me to join him. He then knelt and pulled a box out of his pocket.
“
Mia cara Andrea
,” he began, knowing how I melted when he spoke Italian.
I took in a breath and put my hand to my chest, feeling my heart pound.
“Please, please marry me.”
Despite all our recent talk about marriage, I hadn’t expected anything so formal as a proposal. The last time David had popped the question was Christmas Eve almost two years ago. I had said no, and we broke up for almost a year after that. Back then I was still clinging to Sam, still afraid to let myself love another man, even the man who had taught me to love myself. But in the present moment I could almost see Sam in what was once our bedroom, his and mine, standing behind David and giving me a thumbs-up sign of approval. I could almost hear him say, “Go ahead, sweetheart. It’s time.”
Shortly after David and I had gotten back together, I moved the engagement ring Sam had given me from my finger to a chain around my neck, and put our wedding bands in a keepsake box that I kept in a drawer beside my bed. The ring David had presented to me the first time he proposed was ahunk of a square diamond on a platinum band—magnificent in its radiance. I had never asked if he kept it. This new one was more like an anniversary band than a traditional engagement
In short, he
still
took my breath away.
I kicked off my shoes and climbed onto the bed. A red rose rested on my pillow. I gingerly picked it up, pulled it to mynose and inhaled, then moved it to the table, careful to keep it away from the flame. Then, with the same touch I applied to the rose, I slid his bangs to the side. His eyes fluttered and opened, then turned warm upon seeing me.
“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
The book and glasses fell to the side as he moved, and he tried to orient himself.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“A little after seven. There was an accident on I-91. Surprise,” I said sarcastically. “Didn’t you get my message? I left it on the landline.”
He yawned and stretched. “Forgot to listen to voice mails.” He gave me a look as if noticing me for the first time. “So how was lunch with Genevieve?” he asked. David never called my mother “Mom.”
“OK, I guess,” I said. He sat up, instructed me to do the same, and massaged my shoulders from behind. “It had its moments.”
“Good moments or bad moments?” He kissed my neck as he worked out a knot.
“A little of both, although ‘bad’ is probably too strong a word. Just”—I searched for a better adjective—“typical, I guess,” I said, unsatisfied with the choice. I often had trouble putting together any kind of coherent thought when David was kissing my neck.
“You told her everything?”
I nodded. “Mm-hmm.” A soft moan escaped me. “God, that feels good.…” I trailed off into a whisper. My eyelids grew heavy. “What did you do today after leaving Hartford?” I asked. “Besides romance up the room to get me laid?”
He chuckled. “What makes you think I was trying to get
you
laid?” I turned to face him in mock offense, only to be undone by his wink. “Not much,” he replied. “Made some calls, answered some e-mails, that kind of thing.”
I gestured toward the flowers. “Those are beautiful. You buy them for your girlfriend?”
“Nope,” he corrected, “my fiancée.”
I opened my mouth. “Wha…”
David stopped massaging me, arose, and moved to the edge of the bed, where he beckoned me to join him. He then knelt and pulled a box out of his pocket.
“
Mia cara Andrea
,” he began, knowing how I melted when he spoke Italian.
I took in a breath and put my hand to my chest, feeling my heart pound.
“Please, please marry me.”
Despite all our recent talk about marriage, I hadn’t expected anything so formal as a proposal. The last time David had popped the question was Christmas Eve almost two years ago. I had said no, and we broke up for almost a year after that. Back then I was still clinging to Sam, still afraid to let myself love another man, even the man who had taught me to love myself. But in the present moment I could almost see Sam in what was once our bedroom, his and mine, standing behind David and giving me a thumbs-up sign of approval. I could almost hear him say, “Go ahead, sweetheart. It’s time.”
Shortly after David and I had gotten back together, I moved the engagement ring Sam had given me from my finger to a chain around my neck, and put our wedding bands in a keepsake box that I kept in a drawer beside my bed. The ring David had presented to me the first time he proposed was ahunk of a square diamond on a platinum band—magnificent in its radiance. I had never asked if he kept it. This new one was more like an anniversary band than a traditional engagement
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