A matter of heart, p.33
A Matter of Heart, page 33
Jonah decides we need to go out to dinner. He says he’s found a restaurant that he guarantees I’ll fall in love with. “It’s perfect,” he tells me as we head down our elevator. “It’s got lots and lots of chocolate desserts.”
Tell him about the ulcer, Caleb urges.
But I don’t. And I don’t have the heart to tell him that I don’t feel like eating anything anymore, chocolate or no.
We are a few blocks away from the restaurant, holding hands, when somebody yells, “You asshole!”
We both stop and turn around to find Sophie Greenfield darting across the street; if looks could kill, we’d be dead, that’s for sure. But when she’s just a few feet away, the anger on her face melts into embarrassment. “I thought you were your brother, Jonah. I am so sorry.” She manages to appear heartbreakingly gorgeous in her effort to ooze charming contrition. “Hi Chloe. It’s nice to see you again.”
Even still, her eyes are rimmed in red; it’s clear she’s been crying. All of her pale beauty isn’t marred by this, though. It just makes her look more delicate, more sympathetic.
I inch closer to Jonah, who loops an arm around my shoulders. Yet another person I’ve damaged. I basically forced Kellan to dump her. And what for? So he could be miserable and alone while I’m here with Jonah?
Breathe, Chloe. Breathe.
Jonah tells her it’s okay, no harm, no foul, but when he makes a move to lead me away, she stops us. “It’s just . . .” A pair of tears slide down her face. “I’m not taking the breakup with your brother well, I’m afraid.”
I study my shoes. Jonah tenses, clearly uncomfortable, but his voice is even when he tells her, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I . . . I love him.” Her voice is tremulous, like a wounded angel’s. “He won’t even talk to me right now.”
Jonah is silent. I count the cracks in the sidewalk.
“We were . . . it was real.” she says to us. “And now . . .” She stifles a sob. “How can a heart just change course like that?”
“Sophie, I am truly sorry to hear that you’re having a tough time,” Jonah says gently, “but I really don’t think we’re the best people for you to be talking to this about.”
If she heard him, she shows no sign of it. “Did you know he broke up with me via text?” She emits a gurgly laugh. I think she pulls out a phone, because I hear some beeps. “Who does that?”
Jonah mutters something under his breath. Louder, he says, “Sophie, I really think—”
“Can you talk to him for me?” She takes a step closer to us. My heart thumps jackrabbit fast. “Let him know how much I love him?”
Jonah doesn’t answer. Me, I’m still just trying to breathe.
“When I met him, I saw our whole future together.” She wrings her hands. “Wedding. Baby. Gray hair. The whole package. He’s the one.”
Searing anger consumes me before I can block it from Jonah. And I know he feels it, because his arm turns to stone around me.
“I won’t let him go,” she continues. “I can’t. Tell him I’ll fight for him. He’s worth it.”
Then she walks away, and Jonah’s arm drops like I’m on fire. Panic replaces the anger, quick as a flash.
I start shaking and then cry. I’ve finally, completely lost the control I’ve been so desperate to maintain these past few months. I don’t even have the luxury of being embarrassed about being caught like this on a busy, crowded sidewalk because my stomach is flaring and cramping and I feel like there are more cracks in my poorly constructed façade than I can count down below my feet.
I’m drowning. I can’t even keep my head above the waterline anymore. I’m flat out drowning.
“Forget the restaurant.” Jonah grabs my face, makes it so I have to look up at him. “Forget Sophie. Forget all of this. We’re going to go away, okay? Just you and me. Tonight.”
All I can do is nod. We don’t even go back to the apartments to pack bags—he tells me he’ll get everything taken care of later. He just wants to get me out of Annar as fast as possible.
I don’t question him when we get to the Transit Station. I don’t bother to look which doorway he leads me through. I know I ought to be looking around me, seeing which gorgeous location he’s brought me to, but I don’t. I feel so hollow, so lost.
When he gently pushes me down into a bed, I don’t even remember coming in through a door. “Sleep, baby,” he says quietly in my ear, and I do, because he makes me.
There are voices somewhere nearby, maybe in another room, and I know them well, even as drowsy and disoriented as I feel, because they’re speaking in half sentences.
“Thanks for these,” Jonah says.
Silence. And then, “She’s taking pills? From some non quack in New York, no less. Let me guess—Cal showed her where to find this shit. How long have you known?”
More silence.
“Look, I just want to go and talk—”
“No.” Jonah is quiet but firm.
“You don’t get to—”
“Today, I do.”
The silence stretches out before us.
And then, “Fine. I’ll go. But I swear, if you don’t tell me next time—”
“I’ll tell you,” Jonah says. “But today, there can’t be any more stress. Please.”
This time, the silence remains after Kellan leaves. And the cramps return, full-force.
We are in Italy, the only one of Jonah’s homes not located by a superb surfing spot.
“Why did Joey pick this place?” I ask as he sets down a plate of fruit and biscuits for me. He’s so optimistic, but I can’t stand the thought of that bread touching my lips.
“Who can resist Italy?” His dimple is adorable. “Technically, we’re not too far from water.”
Beyond the window is a bustling city filled with beautiful architecture and honking cars. If there’s water, I’m not seeing it. “Where are we?”
He spreads jam on one of the biscuits on my plate. “Rome.”
I have to laugh. “So by water, you’re actually referring to the Tiber river.”
The dimple deepens. “Did you know that my mother’s family is from Italy?”
I didn’t, actually. But I’m thrilled to learn this. Jonah so rarely speaks of his mother that any little piece of information about her is as valuable as gold. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” He nudges my plate closer. “She was born in Annar, but spent much of her childhood here in Rome.”
I reach out and twist my fingers through his inky strands. “This is where all the dark hair and skin comes from.”
As if the dimple wasn’t enough, he goes and blushes, pink stains under the gold of his skin. Gosh, he’s beautiful. And charming. I decide to throw him a bone and take a miniscule bite of biscuit. “Do you speak Italian?”
“A little.” I think he’s trying to hide his relief I just ate, but he’s grinning like crazy. “I understand and read it better than I speak it, though.”
“So, if it’s your mother who has ties to Rome, then why did Joey buy a place?”
“Actually, we didn’t inherit this from him. It was our mother’s—Joey came here a lot because he was willing to keep the place up, unlike the Old Man. Whereas the Old Man and Hannah grew up as cousins, Joey and my mom were tight. This place was my mom’s, and her parents before her.”
I feel this odd twist of pleasure that Jonah would feel that this place here, one of the few remnants he has of his mother, would be where he’d bring me to heal.
He scoots his chair over so it’s flush to mine. I lean into him, my ear against his heart. Its rhythm is steady. Strong. Just like him. I take comfort in this sound.
I manage to eat the entire biscuit.
Rome is a beautiful, magical place.
We spend the next few days doing touristy things as well as acting like locals. Jonah knows the area pretty well thanks to annual visits Joey insisted upon in his childhood, who claimed it was important for the boys to be surrounded by their mother’s heritage.
Jonah lied about his ability to speak Italian, though. From what I can tell, his accent’s flawless; nobody even questions whether or not he’s Italian when he speaks, which is funny considering until just this weekend, I didn’t even know that his family originated from here.
There are so many things about him that I still don’t know, things that I want to discover. I can’t believe in all the years we’ve been together, I’ve never bothered to learn about his heritage except that he was a Magical.
I resolve to change this. From here on out, I need to stop dwelling on how crappy things are and instead focus on what’s right in my life. Like Jonah.
He makes sure that there’s absolutely no stress allowed on this trip. We go out when I want, come home when I’m tired. We go to the places I want to see, eat at the places I’m intrigued by when hunger manages to surface. I finally open up about the ulcer—he’s upset, but doesn’t berate me for it. Instead, he spends time researching ulcers on the net and talks over with me ways we can attack it, outside of a Shaman, who I steadfastly refuse to go see. And finally, hints of his enormous bank account come out when he insists I pick out a new wardrobe and he doesn’t even blink at the exorbitant price tags that nearly have me hyperventilating.
“I love it here,” I tell him one sultry evening. For the first time in a long time, I’m utterly relaxed. In Rome, things are different. I don’t feel pressured, like I am in Annar. Guilt stays away. In its place, I embrace contentment. It’s like there’s a force field around this city, keeping all my troubles out.
He wraps his arms around me, settling his chin on my shoulder. We’re out on the balcony, taking in the panoramic view of surrounding us. “I’m glad.”
I sink into his warmth and tell him the first thought that came to me when I woke up from my nap an hour before. “I don’t want us to leave.”
“Then we won’t,” is his answer.
I close my eyes in relief. “How long can we stay?”
His lips graze my ear. What was Callie thinking, insisting Paris was the City of Love? Rome is. Rome is all that and more. His words are soft against my skin. “As long as you want.”
Forever sounds about right.
I’ve just come back from the market, carting some fruit that looked surprisingly appealing enough to buy, when I find Giuliana sipping espressos with Jonah in the living room. “Ciao, bella!” She stands up and kisses me on the cheeks. “Your ears must be burning. We were just discussing you!”
Jonah takes the canvas bag I’ve brought in from me. “I was explaining to Giules that we’ve decided to stay here awhile.”
I nod enthusiastically. Stay. Yes.
Or . . . no? Giules is grimacing, albeit contritely. “And I was just explaining to Jonah that I’ve been sent to bring you back. You’ve got work to do.”
Anxiety stirs in my belly, rising in my throat until I taste ash. The appetite I’ve slowly reclaimed falls away. No, no, no, no, no. I don’t want to leave Rome.
Jonah drops the bag and leads me over to the couch. Giules is staring at me funny. Why is she staring at me funny?
“Are you okay, bella?” she asks quietly.
Jonah says something in Italian to her. Have they done this before? Did I really never notice this? How can I not have noticed that Jonah speaks Italian?
The anxiety doubles and then intensifies until it consumes me. And yet, I paste on my cheerleader smile. “I’m great! Why do you ask?”
Her brows furrow. “It’s just . . . you went silent. Like a statue.”
My hyena laugh fills the apartment. “Oh my gosh. Really? How funny!”
Now her eyes widen. Jonah says something else in Italian. Her features smooth out, and she once more looks as if everything’s okay. In English, she tells me, “I feel terrible about taking you away from the beauty of my homeland, but I’m afraid Battletracker is insisting on your expertise to help transport the Elder you caught back to Annar. He’s afraid Emotionals and Dreamers alone won’t be able to fully contain it.”
Over the last few days, I’ve completely forgotten about the Elder. “Why does he want it in Annar?”
“Council edict,” she tells us. “At Monday’s meeting, it was decided that it was too risky to keep in California. There’s a fair amount of hysteria over its presence after what happened during its capture. The goal is for you to imprison it in Annar like you did the others last year.”
We missed a scheduled Council meeting. I turn to Jonah to judge his reaction to this, but he’s unfazed. Like it’s no big deal we completely shirked our duties.
And in the end, we go. Inside, I’m screaming and crying and wishing there was a way I can say no. But Giules only ever sees a smile on my face. I refuse to let her, or anyone else, see anything different.
Kellan doesn’t ask about the medications he brought to Italy. He doesn’t ask what they’re for or why I’m bothering with drugs rather than Shamans. And I don’t know if this is a good or a bad thing.
What I do know is that the ulcer’s reforming. Jonah wants me to go back to Kate, but I’m resisting. I don’t want anyone to know what’s going on with me, especially after I apparently broke down in front of Giules and can’t even remember it. It’s bad enough Jonah knows.
The truly ironic thing is that, after keeping so many secrets from Jonah, now I’m keeping new and different ones from Kellan. Secrets are a heavy load, and I loathe them with every fiber of my being. But, to spill them would only serve to hurt people more than I already have, so it’s my burden to suffer.
A week after I returned from Rome, and six days after I imprisoned another being under the streets of Annar after an uneventful transport and subsequent imprisonment that an Intellectual could have probably supervised better than me, I find myself sitting on a couch with Kellan at an outdoor café a block away from his apartment. I’m nursing my tea as he tells me about his latest mission. I like it when he tells me things other people don’t get to hear, because it means he trusts me.
Even though I don’t deserve it.
One of his arms is draped across the back of the couch, so close to my shoulder. Because the pull between us is too hard to resist, I reach up and play with the ends of his fingers. He stops talking at my touch, and then moves his arm away.
I whisper an apology, like so many before, and so many that will surely come after.
“I don’t need your apologies,” he murmurs back, voice hoarse.
I know what he needs. So much of me wants to give it to him. But then, isn’t it always simpler to consider betrayal when the other person isn’t around? In Rome, it was so easy to be certain of what I have with Jonah. Sitting with Kellan, it’s different. Harder to remember.
I blink back tears, refusing to let them fall in public. And they retreat, just like I knew they would. But it doesn’t stop my heart feeling like it’s once more being ripped into two.
Our hands meet on the couch in between us, fingers overlapping, connecting us together when it feels we’re twice as far apart in the moment. I swear I can see right down into his soul when I stare into his blue eyes. So much sadness. So much love. So much pain. He hides it so well, far better than me, that’s for sure. It’s only in these small moments, usually brought on by my touch, that his façade cracks enough to let me glimpse what we both know to be truth.
I want to hold him and swear that I will find a way to fix this. I wish Caleb was talking to me right now. He’s been radio-silent for longer than he’s even been gone before. You need to start figuring things out for yourself, he told me last time we spoke. It’s time for you decide what’s best for you. I can’t hold your hand forever.
You’re my Conscience, I argued. Aren’t you supposed to tell me what to do? Because, now’s the time, buddy. I could really use somebody telling me what to do.
That’s the problem, he said. I’m supposed to help you figure out things, not dictate. Lately, it seems like that’s all I’m doing, and . . . I can’t do that anymore. This isn’t something I can choose for you. I can’t pick who you end up with. Only you can.
“It’s going to be okay, C.” Kellan’s voice is low, so no one else around us can hear. “I swear. It’s going to be okay. We will get through this. We’ll make this work. We will all be okay.”
But he can’t promise this. And he knows it.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
Sophie Greenfield is standing over me, an unreadable expression on her face. I pick up my backpack and set it on the ground.
She sits, ankles crossed. “How are you doing?”
I’d just gotten out of my one class at the U. What I wouldn’t give right now to be having a typical college experience at a school that actually assigned me homework. I don’t even know why I bother with a backpack. Wishful thinking? “Good, thanks.”
She’s more in control of herself than she was the night she accosted me and Jonah. In fact, she looks . . . not happy, but calm. Cool. “How’s Jonah?”
Well, this is awkward. Why is she talking to me? I wonder if I can make my phone conveniently ring. “Also good.”
She nods, eyes mysterious behind dark sunglasses. “And Kellan?”
And . . . there it is. I don’t know if I can do this with her right now. I have a hard enough time thinking about him, let alone talk about him with anybody. I pray my voice doesn’t squeak. “Everyone’s good.”
She purses her lips together, watching me behind those dark glasses. Then a small smile cracks, one that isn’t kind in the least. Warning bells sound. “You and he are quite close, aren’t you?”
What’s her point? Hasn’t she asked this question before?
“At first, I thought I was seeing you with Jonah at the coffee shop the other day.” A perfectly manicured hand is held up to examine the tips. “Sometimes, from a distance, it’s hard to tell them apart.”
It takes no time to understand what instance she’s referring to.
“I was out shopping with your friend Lizzie, and we happened to be in a store right across the street from where you guys were . . . having lunch? Coffee? I saw you through the window. You can understand why I thought it was Jonah, because his arm was around you.”
