Page 9 of Tinsel in Telluride

“If you have something to say, you can say it right now,” I declare, standing my ground.

“It’s really something I’d rather do in person.”

“Luca,” I snap, my rage getting the better of me. “I can’t just leave on such short notice. I don’t have a sitter, and even if I did, I can’t leave my almost two-year-old just because you want me to. We have to work together, but that doesn’t mean we have to fix everything between us all in one go.”

“He’s two?”

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Panic grips my spine and I worry my lower lip, knowing damn well Luca isn’t stupid.

Why do I keep slipping up with him?

My mind scrambles for something, anything, to say that isn’tyup, with a sarcastic pop of the P at the end, but nothing formulates.

“Bring him with you,” Luca offers, his tone even and giving nothing away.

“You—you want me to bring my son to a work trip in Telluride?” I stammer, trying to work out how much he’s figured out and what he’s thinking.

“If that’s what it takes to get you here, then yes.” He pauses and I hear the faint sound of people cheering in the background before he continues, “I’ve spent far too many years regretting my actions, and the last time we spent more than a few minutes together, there wasn’t exactly much talking going on.”

I wince. “Please don’t remind me.”

I’ve already relived it multiple times during this phone call and will likely have to take care of myself later.

“The house is big enough that you’ll have your own room,” he continues, ignoring my protests. “We can work on getting Monarch Hearts set up. Then we can talk, and you and your son can leave and be home for Christmas.”

“This is insane,” I whisper, mostly to myself.

“Please, Leigh,” he rasps.

Fuck.

Why do I have to be a sucker for guys who beg?

Still, it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I can’t, when my eyes fall to the little boy cuddling with his stuffed horse.

What if Zach is a Donati?

Was Willow right? Do I need to give him a chance?

What if Luca really has changed, and this is him making amends?

I know the right answer, but fuck if that’s what I want to do.

“Luca, if I do this, there’s something you need to know?—”

“Leigh,” he cuts me off, “I was an accounting major. I’m good with numbers.”

“I know but?—”

“We’ll talk about it in Telluride.”

His voice gives away none of his emotions, but mine does. It wobbles as I try to confess. “This isn’t…You might?—”

“In. Telluride.” Luca punctuates each word, and this time I can hear every bit of the agitation he’s trying to hide.

---