Page 136 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

“Right,” she says, dusting off her hands. “I think I’m going to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”Fuck. I probably made it seem like I was out fucking someone. Everyone, for all she knew. Obviously, I wasn’t. There hadn’t been anyone since her.

I stand when she leaves. Then again, when she comes back, looking slightly paler. I stop her before she sits, my hand slipping around her waist.

“Are you feeling okay?” She arches away from my touch, though.

“I’m fine. Totally fine.”And I’m the king of England.

It takes a few minutes before we start talking again, but once we do, the conversation flows. Effortlessly. Like it used to.

She tells me all her favorite things about New York. So far, Central Park’s turning colors are the leader. But she also loves people watching on the subway. She loves walking everywhere. But hates the lack of scenery and hiking.

She loves being able to order Thai food at 1:00 A.M. and have it delivered, “But no one makes pancakes as good as yours. At least not that I’ve found, and I have looked,” she says, laughing.

I’ll make her pancakes tomorrow.

“It’s been a fun segue to live there…” she trails off.

I hope it’s because it, “Doesn’t feel like home?” She shakes her head.

“Not in the slightest,” she says almost begrudgingly. I understand that.

The food arrives, and she eats entirely too fast.

“I really haven’t had much to eat today.” I believe her, then ask if she wants any of mine, too.

She laughs, “No, thank you, or I might toss my cookies.” I finish my dish just so she doesn’t feel weird about it. We both decline dessert, though. And after I pay our bill, we walk out intothe cold fall night. It’s not freezing cold like it is in Spearhead. But it’s cold because we aren’t dressed for it.

I rub her arms as we walk to the car, making sure she’s buckled in before coming around. It’s a short five-minute drive to the Scala’s house, but I still catch her eyes falling every now and again.

It’s only 8:30, but I guess 11:30 in New York.

Carl is gone for the night when we get back, so I enter the gate code and then park in the empty driveway.

I grab her tote from the backseat and then come around to get her door, but she’s already passed out cold.

“C’mon, baby,” I say as I unbuckle her, slinging her tote over one shoulder. I lift her with an arm under her legs and one at her back and she instinctively wraps her arms around my neck.

The house is quiet when we step in. Both dogs still at Gina’s. Lights are off, so I head straight to the guest wing of the house. I drop her tote on the ground, then lay her gently on the bed. Unfortunately, it’s not my bed, but I would probably sleep like a fucking baby knowing she’s right next door.

I help her kick her shoes off, then pull a blanket over her.

“I love you,” I whisper. “I’m right next door,” I say, dropping a kiss on her forehead before turning off the light.

Once the door clicks shut, I lean against the wall and sigh. Tonight was…great. Perfect even, but I want more. I want to know so much more. To be there. Holding her hand in Central Park. Dropping her off for class. Cooking her dinner at night.

And I wanted her to be honest with me about Blanks. As much as it would kill me.

But I don’t deserve any of it. I should just be grateful for tonight and the couple of days she’s here. And then I can recommit to letting her go.

Because she looked free…at the very least, happy. Healthy. Content. She looked like the best version of herself. And that’swhat love is, right? Isn’t love wanting that for the other person even if it means it isn’t with you?

She’s my version of freedom. She’s my happiness and joy too. She made mewantto be better, but the problem is I would never be good enough for her. At least not by my standards. I want more for her than she knows she can have herself.

That’s what love is. It isn’t crippling pain. It isn’t wanting to hurt.

It’s doing whatever it takes to get her to bethisperson. And that means without me.

Resigning, I step away from her room and into my own.