Page 60 of Between the Lines

Luca nodded, his throat too tight to answer, because he could imagine that: Theo cautious, Jude insistent. And why the fuck hadn’t he listened to Theo? Because Don was right, that’s why. He was a judgmental prick, too quick to see betrayal. Too quick to believe the worst of people. Too quick to condemn.

“Honey?” Jude took his hand. “Luca, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” But his eyes prickled, his throat aching at the memory of Theo’s hurt expression this morning, the way he’d recoiled from Luca’s bitter words. “I—”Fuck.How had he got it so wrong? “I’ve screwed everything up, Mom.”

“What do you mean?” A spike of alarm.

“Not... Nothing to do with the sale.” He closed his eyes. Since Don, he’d stopped confiding in Jude and trusting her now felt like stepping into the void. But he wanted to, he needed to. “I mean with Theo,” he said huskily. “Personally.”

“Ah.” A long pause, then, “So itisserious.” The smile in her voice was so misplaced it made him want to cry. “I thought so. It must be, to have you this upset.”

He shook his head. “Thing is, I think he must hate me now.”

“Oh, Luca.” She squeezed his hand. “Why?”

Miserably, he slumped back in his chair. “Because I—I thought he’d gone behind my back, buying the Majestic while you were vulnerable.”

“Honey, I’mnotvulnerable.”

“I know.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I know that now. But it’s too late, he’s already gone.”

“So?” The smile was back in her voice. “Just call him. I have his number if you—”

“It’s not that easy.” He pressed his fingers over his eyes, making himself see spots. “I said some things. Unforgivable things,untruethings. I hurt him, Mom.”

She sighed in exasperation. “Then apologize! It’s not rocket science, Luca.”

“No, you don’t understand.” But Luca understood, he understood all too well because it was right there in agonizing 20/20 hindsight. From the start, he’d promised to be honest with Theo, to say what he meant without playing games. But he hadn’t, not at all. In fact, he’d lied from the start. They’d had a connection, an intense attraction that Luca had felt from the outset, but he’d denied it—to himself and to Theo. Worse, he’d hidden it in a stupid game, a fuckingagreement. And this morning, when Theo had admitted to feeling the connection, too, Luca had flung his cautious confession right back in his face. He’d lied about his feelings, lied to protect himself, knowing that Theo wouldn’t be able to tell—knowing what Theo’s confession must have cost him. What a fucking asshole. He cringed at the memory, pressed his face into his hands as if he could push it out of his mind. But those sad eyes staring at him through the rain weren’t going away. He doubted they’d ever go away.

He looked at Jude, made himself say the truth out loud, made himself own it. “Whatever it could have been, I screwed it up. Theo needed honesty, but all I gave him were lies. So why would he trust me now, or want anything more to do with me?” He scrubbed at his face, wiped his eyes on the cuff of his hoodie. “Theo’s gone, Mom. He left. It’s exactly what I was afraid would happen, and exactly what I deserve.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“No word of a lie, Theodore, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Theo kept his hands out of sight beneath the conference room table, turning his pen over and over between his fingers. His father’s words hung in the air, mingling with the scent of coffee and the beeswax polish the cleaners used on the mahogany table. “I told you I’d get it done.”

“So you did.” His father gave a gravelly, smoker’s chuckle. “But closing the sale while the old bird’s in hospital? You’re giving Daly a run for his money, Theo. Not that I’m complaining. I admire your hutzpah.”

His heart gave a low, painful thud at the memory of Luca’s hurt and he kept his eyes on the table, twisted the pen between his fingers so hard he could hear the plastic squeak. “It wasn’t hutzpah,” he said. “Jude wants to sell, and she wants to sell fast. She’ll vacate the property by the start of September. We can move on to phase two of the project.”

Demolition. He tensed at the idea of the bulldozers moving in, destroying Luca’s past and his future. Back in the sterile emptiness of his apartment last night, the thought had kept him awake for hours. Knowing that Luca would blame him for it—would hate him for it—only made the prospect more unbearable.

“The project’s yours, Theo.” His father intruded into his miserable wallowing, cigar-stained fingers tapping on the table. “Make it happen.”

Two weeks ago, those words would have thrilled like victory. Today, they turned him cold. The next step would be to arrange for the hotel to be cleared, fenced off and torn down. Then the site would be levelled—he ached for the demise of the beautiful, rambling old garden—and surveyed ahead of construction.

His chest tightened. It felt like hot panic.

“Theodore.” His father stared at him through narrowed eyes. “I said, make it happen.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, the words of compliance refusing to come. “What if,” he blurted instead, “we restored the Majestic and ran her as an exclusive boutique hotel?”

His father steepled his fingers, staring at him. “We’ve been through this before. There’s no profit in it.”

“You mean, there’s not enough profit in it.”

“Not enough to take to the board, no.” His father’s eyes narrowed into the scalpel-like gaze Theo dreaded. “Tell me this ain’t about Moretti.”

---