For Angelo(13)
Angelo deliberately didn’t answer. Not in this lifetime would he ever let her know he had been so uncool as to run after her like he was shooting for the big climax of a Woody Allen movie.
“Ange—Professor Valencia?”
His lips compressed, but he managed to keep his voice level as he murmured, “The seminar’s over. You should call me Angelo.”
Before Lane could answer, she and Angelo heard Josh make an incoherent sound of protest.
Angelo’s gaze swung to Josh, and the look he shot her friend was so vicious she heard Josh whimper like a kid.
He slowly turned to face her again, and not wanting him to give her the same look, she said quickly, “Angelo.”
His lips twitched. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“If y-you say so.” That look he gave Josh wasn’t exactly easy to forget, it had been downright terrifying. “But…are you feeling fine now?” He wasn’t breathing so hard anymore, but —
She bit her lip, her anxiety returning.
One couldn’t be too sure…right?
“Maybe we should get you to a doctor—”
Angelo was exasperated and amused, but underneath that he was reluctantly touched at her concern. She looked like she was ready to call 911 for him.
“If there’s anything I need right now—”
Relieved that she’d be able to do something to help, she asked eagerly, “What is it? I’ll get it—”
“It’s you,” he said simply.
“Okay, I’ll get—what did you say?”
“I need you.” His hands on her waist tightened. “I want you to stay here with me.”
Had…she…really…heard…him…right?
Lane slowly coughed. “Did you just, umm, say—”
He only looked at her.
Oh. Gosh. Gosh, oh gosh. Lane was impossibly overwhelmed. She couldn’t have heard him say that. She must be dreaming—
His lips twitched. “Tesoro?” She looked up, uncertain if he was talking to her, and he said, “You can touch me if you think it would help you believe this is real.”
Gosh.
Oh gosh.
GOSH.
Only Angelo Valencia, she thought dazedly. Only Angelo Valencia could definitely get away with saying something so provocative—
Behind them, Josh said plaintively, “The bus is coming, Lane. We should go.”
She was about to answer, but then she saw the way Angelo’s eyes flickered so oddly. “What is it?”
“Lane, the bus is here.” The bus’ rumbling engine as it slowed to a stop partially drowned his words.
Angelo was staring at her like he was seeing her first the time. “Lane.”
Entranced at the way he said her name like it was magical, she breathed in the same tone, “Angelo,” thinking all the while that maybe this was an Italian thing between lovers or would-be lovers.
“Lane—”
She was right. It was an Italian thing. So she repeated obediently, “Angelo.” Didn’t Italians love opera? Maybe this was some kind of custom and they’d break into a duet—
“Lane. I never knew your name until now.”
Again, she echoed his words, “I never knew—” Then his words sank in, and she gasped. “You don’t know my name?”
“Lane, we really should go now,” Josh called desperately behind them.
She and Angelo paid him no heed.
“How is that even possible?” She was genuinely confused. She was one of his students, for heaven’s sake.
“It doesn’t matter.” Faint color slashed his high-boned cheeks.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or feel insulted. “Not knowing my name doesn’t matter?”
“No.” Before she could protest, he drawled, “Because I can always call you ‘mine,’ can’t I?”
Gosh. Gosh, oh gosh.
Silver eyes gleamed down at her with a mix of amusement and possessiveness. “And you’re mine…aren’t you?”
Lane’s first instinct was to throw her arms wide open and shout to the world, ‘Yes.’ Oh, how she would love to belong to him.
But she remembered the people who loved her, who painstakingly helped piece her back together again, and she knew she just couldn’t say ‘yes’ to him just like that, knew she owed it to her family to value herself a little more.
“If you want me to be yours, then why did you stand me up?”
Josh squeaked behind her.
When Angelo didn’t answer, she continued, “Why did it seem like you were avoiding me?” She knew he might think she was mad, but she wasn’t. She just wanted him to prove to her that her faith in him wasn’t misplaced.
“Why, Angelo? Why didn’t you even try talking to me again? And why,” she asked haltingly, and this was the most painful of all, “would someone so terribly old-fashioned like you be suddenly so touchy-feely with that model?”