“Why did Dame have such a hold on you?” She peers at me. “I’ve never known you to lose your head over a guy.”
My mom’s words come to mind. Cleopatra is a good friend. I can trust her. Something in me breaks. The stone wall of the dam tumbles down the earth, water rushing out over the damage. I can’t hold it back any longer.
Her name steals from my lips like a prayer. “Alessi, my sister.” I take a deep breath, but it turns into great, racking sobs. Ones that have me doubled over, my shoulders shaking.
She moves closer, hand on my shoulder, whispering. “You have a sister? I always thought it was just you and your mom.”
“Had.” I take a few hiccupped breaths. “She died when she was really little.”
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” She wraps a comforting arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “I’m so, so sorry.”
She holds me until I can get out the words, “Dame. I told Dame about her. When we were in Rome. It was the anniversary of my sister’s death.” I take large, ragged breaths so I can explain. “That’s why I was so obsessed with him. He was the first person I told about Sissy.”
“You call her Sissy? That’s so sweet. So cute.” The thing I love most about Cleopatra. She always says the right thing. “Tell me all about her. I want to know all about Sissy.”
Everything spills forward. Everything except for how she died.
That story, I’ll never share.
Not with anyone.
A new thought rushes out, “I’m starting to think the hold he had over me had way more to do with sharing about my sister than having actual feelings for him.”
“I can see that happening. And—Rome. It would be impossiblenotto imagine you’re getting feels when you’re sipping wine with a gorgeous Bachman man.”
There are other things you can do with a Bachman to get those feelings going, too. And lately, I’ve been trying them all.
Cleopatra does all the things, brings me tissues. Water. Sits beside me, holding my hand. “Thank you for trusting me with Sissy. I’m honored. I’ll hold her in my heart for you.”
“God, girl! Don’t make me cry again! I’ve already ruined all the wonderful work these women have done to my face.” I take a private minute in the bathroom to put myself back together.
Alone with the door closed behind me, I stare at the mirror. My chest goes tight and I feel like I can’t breathe. I press my palms against the cool marble of the bathroom counter. Her bringing up Dame makes everything rush back.
That night on the balcony.
The connection I thought I felt.
For Dame, I attempted to sneak into a club. Honestly, I’d probably do that on a dare if I’d had enough wine.
For Reign?
I ran away, fleeing to the other side of the world. To keep myself from running to him. Is it an obsession? A minor mental health blip? An excuse for bad behavior?
Or is it something more?
I close my eyes. Let him come to my mind. His face. His voice. The feeling I get when he holds me.
I’m warm.
All over.
Warm in that way that fills you up, brimming to the top, then spilling over. And that scares me.
I splash some water on my face. I don’t want Cleopatra to worry. And I don’t want to talk about him.
Be witty. Be bright. Be fun.
When I return, I settle myself in the chair, armed with payback. “Can I ask you a question now?”
