Page 32 of The Love Hoax

Evie leans back, reminiscing. “He went home,” is all she says.

“And you never saw him again?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound too hopeful.

She shakes her head. “We wrote to each other for a while. But the distance was too much to overcome at that stage in our lives.”

“You never wanted to go over there?”

Evie seems to consider the question. Her mind is back there now. Not what I was going for.

“Sure I did. I was a young woman in love.” She blinks back to the present. “My life at the time was in New York. Neither of us could afford to hop an international flight. And then I met my husband, Marco. But Ronaldo will always be my first love.”

She eyes me. “Are youall right?”

“Yup, just tired, I guess.” And jealous. “Sounds like you prefer Italian men.”

She laughs. “I suppose it looks that way, doesn’t it? My husband was on the same exchange program as Ronaldo was. By the time I met my Marco I’d become a full-on Italophile.”

“So, Marco was happy to stay in the States?”

“At least at the time. He was the opposite of Ronaldo.”

Unsure what that means, I offer a brilliant, “Oh.”

“Your turn,” she says, her head leaning back against the sofa pillow.

“Looks like you’re ready to call it a night.” I glance at the clock on the side table beside me. 1:43 a.m. “We can pick it up again in the morning.”

Evie pats her cheeks. “You’re not getting off the hook that easily. I’m wide awake.”

“Fine, a deal’s a deal,” I say, gearing myself for the impending third degree. “What do you want to know?”

Her eyes close and her breath is coming softly.

“Evie?”

No response.

Gently, I adjust the velvet sofa throw over her and brush the hair from her face. “Good night, Evie.”

The urge to kiss her is overpowering but I force myself to leave.

I’m turning away when I hear her whisper, “Sweetheart?”

I freeze, the single word striking me like Cupid’s bow. I swing back, ready to pull her into my arms, kiss her with every ounce of my being.

“Remember the piano,” she says, softly.

I come to an abrupt stop. Evie is curled into a ball, her eyes still closed.

She’s dreaming.

I swallow hard, aware I nearly did something crazy. I take a deep breath.

“Of course,” I say.

The wind now taken from my sails, I go to bed, alone.

Chapter Twenty-One