Pregnant by Morning(11)
“Your home is in Europe then?”
“Or wherever the wind takes me.” She injected a note of levity, but he wasn’t fooled. Nowhere felt like home and it bothered her. “Do you still live in Dallas?”
“No.” Lack of a home was something they shared. He’d sold his house, his car, everything. The only possessions he had to his name were the clothes in the closet at the palazzo and a few childhood mementos stored in his parents’ extra bedroom. “I’m going where the wind takes me, too.”
At least until he found the way home.
She stopped dancing and collided with the next couple, earning a dirty look from them. Impatiently, she pushed Matthew off the dance floor toward the side wall and peered up through her mask, eyes liquid with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“For whatever happened.”
She didn’t question him,, though she could obviously read between the lines as well as he could.
A wave of understanding rippled between them. Both of them were searching. Both of them carried secrets full of pain and misery and loneliness.
They weren’t different at all.
She whispered, “I’m glad the wind blew us to the same place.”
All pretense of speed dating evaporated. Something much more significant was happening.
“Me, too.”
Amber’s death had broken his heart, nearly broken him entirely, and he couldn’t fathom feeling that strongly about anyone else. For months and months, he’d despaired of ever feeling anything again, and like a foghorn echoing through the mist of his grief, this gravelly-voiced fantasy had appeared.
She was a gift, one he wasn’t ready to give back.
No, he didn’t want a one-night stand with some random woman, but he couldn’t resist exploring what two damaged souls might become to each other.
With his brain firmly in command, he drew her hand into his and smiled.
“Instead of directions upstairs, I have a better idea. Come home with me.”
* * *
Home. Evangeline liked the sound of it. She’d never had a home.
She’d had new stepfathers every few years. A half sister, Lisa, whom their father had obviously preferred since he’d married Lisa’s mother. Plenty of hotel rooms and airplanes—all of that, she’d had.
She wished she could indulge in something so simple, so achingly honest as home. But imagine if she took off her mask and Matt turned out to be a reporter. Or worse.
At Vincenzo’s, masks were part of the ambience, the anonymity. Masks kept things surface level. Masks kept a man at arm’s length and promised nothing more than one night, a brief, sizzling interruption of loneliness. Masks prevented rejection. And scars. She’d had enough of both, thanks.
And there was no doubt Matt had a couple of his own scars.
With a light laugh, she blinked at him coquettishly. “What are you proposing?”
“A continuation. No exes. No crowds. No rules. Just me and you and whatever feels right.”
Oh. That might be okay. “What if I wanted to keep our masks on? What would you say?”
“No rules. For anything.”
Her insides shuddered deliciously. “That’s a little open-ended. How do I know you aren’t into some very naughty things?”
“You don’t. We’re both taking a leap of faith.”
The wicked gleam in his eye didn’t reassure her, but it certainly piqued her interest. “I might be into naughty things.”
“I’m counting on it.” He tugged her hand as the music switched to another electronic number. The crowd went crazy, pressing in on them from all sides. “Come on.”
To her left, she glimpsed Sara Lear posing for a picture with two men in drag. Rory was nowhere in sight, but he might pop up again at any moment. That decided it. The last thing she wanted was to be at this party alone, constantly reminded of how she wasn’t Sara.
Matt was clearly lonely, too. She’d head in his direction and see where it led.
“Let’s go. Right now.”
He kept her hand in his and led her out of Vincenzo’s palazzo via a side entrance. They crossed a moonlit courtyard and climbed an ornate outer staircase to the second floor. Matt held the door for her to enter ahead of him. Lights flashed.
“Welcome to Palazzo D’Inverno,” he said.
Evangeline’s breath stalled in her throat. Relief frescos lined the walls and extended to the ceiling, where the colors exploded into Renaissance-style art of unparalleled beauty. Modern terrazzo floors studded with chips of marble and granite spread underneath her feet and met three sets of glassed French-doors leading to what appeared to be a marble balcony overlooking the Grand Canal.