Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 06

"I spent the night in his room. I woke up the next morning to feel him nudging me. I thought he wanted to . . . well, you know, again." She let out a short, harsh laugh. "But he didn't. He told me to get out. He told me he didn't want to see me again." She shuddered. "It was so awful. We'd spent four years not talking to each other, and then I went to his room and gave myself to him, and he was so wonderful, and then he . . . he . . . ."

She choked back a sob, frustrated that she couldn't talk about this without crying. How was she ever going to talk about it with Alessandro without becoming a whiny, sniffling mess? Hadn't she convinced herself on Monday morning that she was over this?

"So you left?"

"So I left." Maisie let out a harsh laugh. "He got what he wanted; I was gone before he got out of the shower."

Carolina was silent for a long time. Maisie took several deep breaths before turning to find Carolina watching her.

"Look, I don't want you to think I'm picking sides or anything—"

"No, no I've never wanted that either—"

"But I know my brother," Carolina said, raising her voice above Maisie's. "And I think you should talk about what you remember. It just doesn't sound right. You need to talk to him."

Maisie nodded. She didn't quite agree with Carolina, but she was coming to the realization that talking about the future wasn't possible without talking about that morning; she'd forgiven him, but that didn't mean she was over it. And while talking about that morning with him didn't seem like fun, the alternative—saying nothing about the past or future and feeling miserable—wasn't an appealing option, either.

Carolina stood and fetched Maisie a glass of water, which Maisie gulped down.

"Thanks," she said as she handed the glass back to Carolina.

"No problem."

Maisie watched as Carolina placed the glass in the sink.

"Was this all planned?" Maisie asked as Carolina turned from the sink.

"Was what all planned?" Carolina batted her eyelashes and smothered most of a smile as she leaned back against the sink.

"Forgetting your coat. Coming back to talk with me." Maisie narrowed her eyes. "I saw that look you and Gemma exchanged. Were you using your twin super-powers?"

Carolina mimicked drawing a halo around her head.

Maisie snorted. "You haven't been an angel since you were fourteen."

Carolina feigned shock, then grinned. "Bitch."

"Shrew."

"Hussy."

"Strumpet."

Carolina raised an eyebrow. "By instituting a mercy rule in our game of bridge, I believe you were the one who, as they say, 'won the rubber.' Pretty sure that makes you the strumpet."

Maisie groaned at her friend's pun, then laughed. "Touché, my friend. Touché."

"Lord knows I don't need one with all the winners at the bowling lanes." Carolina laughed as she threw on her jacket. "Oh, and Maisie?"

"Mmmm?"

"You know how I usually pepper you for details about the men you sleep with? I don't want to know anything. Ever," Carolina said, looking disgusted as she emphasized the last word, but still smiling.

Maisie chuckled as she nodded.

"And whatever you do," Carolina continued, "just promise me that you won't refuse to speak to him for another seven years. It kind of sucked for everyone involved."

"I promise," Maisie said as she stood and gave Carolina a hug.

"What was that for?" Carolina asked as she pulled away, looking wary. "That wasn't a preemptive apology for toilet papering my room tonight, was it?" she said with a wink.

"Funny, but no, I just wanted to say thanks." Maisie winked in return. "Don't you think I know which twin is the real softie?"

"Am not," Carolina mumbled as she threw her coat on. "And I'll sleep in Gemma's room tonight so that you two can be neighbor-free," she called over her shoulder as she closed the mudroom door behind her.

--------------------------------

Maisie stood in the kitchen for a long time after waving goodbye to Carolina until, with a deep breath, she turned and left the room. Whatever tonight's outcome, it wasn't going to happen if she spent the evening alone in an empty kitchen. It was time to summon her courage, face her fears, and talk with him.

Worn Oriental rugs muffled her footsteps as she walked down the wainscoted hallway towards the staircase, and eyes from centuries of family portraits stared down at her. She gripped the wide, varnished banister as she turned to head up the stairs, marveling as always at the intricate, hand-carved spindles that lined both sides of the home's grand, central staircase. She was thankful for the distraction from the glaring eyes, which seemed to accuse her of trespassing.

"Maisie?"

"Hi." She bit her lip, cursing the carpets for muffling the other set of footsteps on the stairs. "I was just coming to say hi, see how things were going."

"Fine. Sorry I walked out like that without a word; it was rude. But reception around here is terrible, and given the time difference . . . well, I thought she was in Italy where it's the middle of the night, so I thought it might be an emergency, and her call was such a surprise, and . . . ."

"It's all right."

They stared at each other in silence for several long moments. He stood a few steps above her with his hands in his pockets, while her hand still clung to the banister.

"It's nice out," he ventured. "A bit humid, but there's a nice breeze."

She furrowed her brows. "Outside?"

He chuckled. "We have a sleeping porch, remember?" He pointed over her head in the direction of the porch in the front of the house.

"Oh, right."

"Come on." He turned and headed back up the stairs.

Maisie glanced up as she followed him. God, he has a nice ass, she thought before reminding herself that they were supposed to talk first.

"Won't we wake your grandparents up?" she whispered.

Alessandro laughed as he turned the corner at the back of the house. "They take their hearing aids out at night. They make us promise to get them if the fire alarm goes off."

A wide hallway ran through the center of the house, surrounding the central staircase. Alessandro and his parents' bedrooms sat in the front corners of the house, separated by a large sleeping porch, where his ancestors had gone to sleep on hot nights. It was built into the house, fully protected from the sun and rain, with shingles creating a circular opening to the sea on the lone side without walls.

With the advent of air conditioning it had become less of a necessity and more of a lounging and napping area; Maisie smiled as she remembered playing board games and cards on summer afternoons on the porch.

Alessandro opened the creaky door and stepped out onto the porch. Maisie followed, and her nostrils were assaulted by the briny smell of low tide.

The layout was exactly as she remembered. Two hammocks hung across the back of the porch closest to the house and two wicker chairs sat near the front facing the ocean, separated by a small, square table. She headed for one of the chairs only to feel his hand reach out and snag her wrist.

"Come on. You know you want to sit here." Alessandro sat in the rear hammock and patted the wide expanse of fabric next to him. His eyes glinted as the corner of his mouth turned up.

Her lips twitched as she remembered the game they'd always played as kids. She stepped away from him and took a running jump onto the hammock, trying to bounce him off.

Alessandro laughed as she landed with a thud next to him.

"Nice try, Maisie."

"It used to work," she grumbled.

"I used to be smaller than you," he said as he draped his arm behind her shoulders, giving her something to lean her head against.

Maisie turned to him and opened her mouth, thinking about making some comment about his size, but closed it with a snap of teeth. His eyes twinkled, reflecting the pale light that reached them from across the distant harbor, and he laughed as he propped his bare feet up on the canvas of the other hammock. She had a feeling he'd known she'd be tempted to retort, and had probably set her up to make a lewd comment.

Turning to face the ocean, she reclined against his arm and propped her feet up next to his. She fought not to squirm against his closeness or play footsies with him, and eventually relaxed as they listened to the muted sounds of low tide.

The warmth of his body infected her with a quiet calm. It was nice, sitting with him like this. It occurred to her that this was probably the first time all week that she'd felt truly relaxed and happy.

At that thought, though, her mind began to replay the day's earlier events. The awkward quiet between them in the orchard, the conversation with her mother, her dream and the courage it had given her to talk to him, flirting with him in the sitting room before their game of bridge . . . .

"So was it an emergency?" Maisie blurted out, unable to stop the thought from leaving her mouth.

"What?" He turned to face her, his brows knitted in confusion. "Oh! Isabella. Not an emergency, no. Well, not really." He took a deep breath and turned back towards the ocean. "She called to tell me she's pregnant. I think she wanted to tell me before I read about it in the paper or something."

"Pregnant?" Maisie whispered. Of all the things he could have said, that had not been what she expected. Her relaxation was replaced by numbness, and her mind ground to a halt, unable to process his words.

"Yeah." He shook his head as if in disbelief, but then smiled. "She's so happy. I don't know when I last heard her that happy. Years ago, maybe? She's wanted a baby for . . . well, months if not years."

Maisie felt sick as she faced forward, unable to answer.

"There's going to be a wedding next week in New York. I was supposed to fly back to London on Monday for an audition, but that will have to wait."

"Yeah," she managed to croak out. She was having a difficult time comprehending his words. "Wow. A baby. A wedding." The ill feeling intensified at the thought of him getting married in less than a week.

"I know. It's crazy, but . . . good, you know?"

"Yeah." She thought about turning and facing him, but found she couldn't. "And congratulations. You'll make a great father, Less."

"Congratulations?" She felt his eyes on the side of her face. "What do you . . . oh!"

He laughed. It was a deep, rich laugh, and she turned just in time to see him cover his mouth with his spare hand.

"What?" she asked. "Why are you laughing?"

"Not mine, Maisie." He laughed again as he pulled his hand away from his mouth and gave her an apologetic look. "The baby, the wedding . . . none of it is mine. Izzy . . . well, she apparently hooked up with her accountant—my accountant, too, now that I think about it—a week or so after we broke up, and I guess some sort of relationship grew from there. She's only a couple of months along, but they're both thrilled and in love and getting married. We hadn't talked in months so we did some catching up, and she invited me to the wedding as a guest."

"Oh." A torrent of emotions swept over her, first relief, and then . . . "Oh God, how embarrassing."

"No, don't. I should have been clearer." He kept laughing, so she punched him in the arm. "Ow! No, it's just . . . me, a father? I mean, it's just so—"

"But don't you want kids?" Maisie groaned as soon as the words left her mouth. "Never mind. You don't have to answer that. That was way too personal a question. Forget I asked."

"It wasn't personal. I mean, it was, but I kinda asked you the same thing in the truck the other day."

"You did?" Maisie screwed up her face. "You mean, when you asked if this would be a nice place to raise kids?"

Alessandro nodded. "It's not exactly the same, but close enough. We're friends, right? And friends can, you know, ask stuff like that, right?"

Maisie stared, unmoving, at the harbor lights shining through the night. Without any effort on her part, they'd arrived at the conversation she'd intended to have tonight. Or at least, one part of the conversation, the present-time part.

"Yeah. We're friends."

"Are we . . . are we more than friends, Maisie?"

She could feel his eyes on her face. The waves were growing louder, much louder than they should be at this point in the tide. The moon had slipped behind the clouds, and the air felt far muggier than it usually did at night.

The storm the weatherman had promised was on its way in.

She shivered, though whether it was from the breeze that had picked up or from his fingers playing with her hair, she didn't know.

"More than friends?" she repeated.

"Yeah."

This is it, Maisie thought. The point of her entire evening here. She should say something: shout yes, turn the question around on him, ask for clarification . . . anything.

Instead, she stared at the water, as if waiting for the waves to give her a signal.

You need to talk about that weekend first, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Carolina whispered in her head.

Then again, Carolina had shown time and time again that she could be pretty clueless. And what were those U2 lyrics? "It's too late, tonight, to drag the past out into the light?"

Yes, that seemed about right. After all, she had two options: talk about the past and then move forward, or move forward, and then, when they were on firm footing together, talk about the past. Surely, there was nothing wrong with the latter option, right? There was no law that said their conversations had to take place in chronological order, and there was no need to disrupt the flow of the conversation.

Alessandro's voice roused her from her thoughts.

"We were once. More than friends, I mean. It was . . . wonderful—" He broke off and took a deep breath. "For me, at least. I loved that night. All at once, you were my best friend again, and this amazing woman I never knew existed. I don't know if you felt what I did that night, before we messed things up. I don't know if that connection would still be there if we tried again—it's been so long, and we've missed so much of each other's lives—but if there's something there to build on, then maybe we could try, and—"

Maisie pushed up against the hammock and brushed her lips across his, breaking his words off.

They'd talk about the past later. Tonight was for that firm footing, and she intended to enjoy every moment of it.

She looked up into his eyes as she pulled away, her hand feeling the heartbeat in his chest. He stared down at her, speechless. A memory of the same situation—when she'd kissed him on the bed, taking him by surprise in the motel—entered her mind.

She smiled at the memory, and was about to ask if he remembered when he pushed her sideways into the hammock and kissed her, hard. He wove his fingers in her hair as she sunk into the hammock, and she ran her hands down his arms and back, desperate to feel him above her.

They were a tangle of shifting limbs and heavy breaths, with Alessandro shifting from sitting next to her to lying on top of her, when a jumble of events happened at once. She shrieked, he swore, and in an instant, their positions were reversed. The hammock had thrown them both off, but she hadn't hit the floor; she'd landed on Alessandro.

"Are you OK?" she gasped, unsure whether she should laugh or run for help.

"It looks like you finally succeeded and flipped me off." He groaned. "Holy hell, I forgot how much that hurts. And I don't think I've ever had a woman fall on me like that."

"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" Maisie scrambled to get up, embarrassed that she was still sprawled on top of him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her. "You're the one who got a cushioned landing; the least you can do is ease my pain."

It took Maisie a few moments to realize what he'd meant, but she threw back her head and laughed when she did.

"Oh? You want me to be your personal Florence Nightingale tonight?"

"Florence? A woman in a heavy black dress and a white cap? That's not what I was I thinking, no. I was thinking more along the lines of naughty nurse Maisie." He pulled her body hard against his and grinned.

"I don't have the outfit or toys for that." She gave him a coy smile. "Well, not here at least."

His chest shook beneath her as he laughed. He relaxed his arms around her and she sat up, straddling his hips.

"No need for toys or outfits, Maisie. Not tonight at any rate." He cocked his head to the side, a teasing smile playing around his lips as he traced his hands up and down her thighs, leaving what felt like streaks of heat in his wake.

"Then you'll have to tell me where it hurts," she whispered, tracing her finger down his chest, hoping to have the same effect on him.

"It hurts here."

Alessandro grabbed her hips and thrust his hips up, grinding against her. Maisie closed her eyes, unable to speak as her body began to respond to the feeling of him between her legs.

"You're sure about that?" she asked, opening her eyes and looking down at him.

"Mmmm. That part of me needs your ministrations."

"My ministrations?" She laughed.

"Isn't that what nurses do? Minister to their poor, sick, and feeble patients?"

"I wouldn't know. But you don't seem very feeble." Maisie moved her body against his in a slow rhythm. She was rewarded with the sound of him sucking in air between his teeth and then letting out a groan as his erection hardened against her. "Besides, I wasn't aware that part of you hit the cement."

"But you fell on it." He gave her a pained expression. "And it hurts real bad right now, with you laying on top of me wearing that damn shirt."

Maisie laughed. "Well, I can go get my boots, if you'd like. Then your fantasies will be complete."

She made to stand up, only to feel his arm around her waist, pulling her back down to him.

"Don't you dare." He sat up and kissed her. "The last time you left it was seven years before I saw you again. No way in hell I'm letting you out of my sight until you're so good and fucked and exhausted that you can't even think about running."

She opened her mouth to laugh, but stopped when she looked into his eyes, inches from her own. He wasn't joking. Maybe Carolina had been right; there was a hurt, a vulnerability in his voice and in his eyes. All this time, she'd thought she'd been the one who'd been hurt, but maybe she had misremembered. Or misinterpreted. Or been just plain wrong.

It didn't matter now. She wanted him as much as he wanted her; they could talk about whatever had happened after enjoying each other, after getting rid of the tension that had existed between them all week.

"No," she whispered, her hands trembling as she cupped his face and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "No running this time. I promise."

She pushed both hands through his hair and kissed him as hard as she could, trying to put as much passion into this touch of their lips as possible. Seven years of dreams and fantasies and desires, all rolled into one moment.

It didn't take him long to respond.

One of his hands grabbed onto her ass as she straddled him on the floor, pulling her body hard against him.

"Mmmm," she moaned, tipping her head back as she began to move with him once again.

He was hard, harder than he'd been minutes earlier. She ached for him as they humped and pressed against each other, fully clothed, only to unexpectedly feel herself being pushed upwards and backwards as he stood.

"Come on." He grabbed her hand and yanked her up from the floorboards. "We're not doing this on the porch floor."

Alessandro slammed the door to the hallway open and pulled her around the corner, into his room. She was on the bed on her back beneath him before she had time to look around, but that was fine with her.