Page 128 of Better When Shared
"They shared it?"
"Photocopied it. Posted copies around school. Made sure everyone knew that Enzo Santori wrote love letters to straight boys." His hand tightened around the shell until I was afraid it might crack. "The worst part wasn't even the name-calling or the shit they'd say in the hallways. It was the way Marcus looked at me afterward. Like I'd contaminated him just by wanting him."
The raw pain in his voice made me want to reach out, to offer some kind of comfort, but I wasn't sure he'd welcome the gesture. Instead, I shifted closer, letting our thighs touch in what I hoped was a gesture of solidarity.
"High school boys are particularly vicious creatures," I said. "I'm sure it had more to do with their own insecurities than anything actually wrong with you."
"Maybe." He looked at me, and I was struck by how different he seemed without his usual armor of humor and bravado. "But it fucked me up for years. Still does, if I'm being honest. How are you supposed to know if a guy is interested? With women, I’m confident, I know how to flirt. But men..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
"I’d imagine it's terrifying. Never knowing if you're reading the situation correctly, if you're about to make a fool of yourself or worse."
"Exactly." His smile was grateful, if a little sad. "So I stick to women. Safer that way, even if it means missing out on half of what I want."
The confession hung between us, intimate and honest in a way that made my pulse quicken. This was the real Enzo, the one who existed beneath the charming facade: vulnerable, thoughtful, carrying wounds that hadn't quite healed.
I found myself studying his face with new eyes, taking in the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lower lip, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones. He really was beautiful, in that effortless way.
"What about you?" he asked, jarring me from my inappropriate cataloging of his features. "Any deep, dark secrets you're carrying around?"
I felt heat rise in my cheeks, thinking of all the things I could say. The college boyfriend who'd left me feeling broken and inadequate. The years of faking orgasms, of pretending that quick, efficient encounters were enough.
"Growing up Bancroft wasn't always easy." I picked a safer truth. "The expectations, the constant pressure to be perfect, to represent the family name properly. Sometimes I think my parents loved the idea of me more than they actually loved me."
Enzo's expression softened with understanding. "That's why you work so hard. Why you can't seem to let yourself just... be."
"Probably." I picked up my own shell, smoothing my thumb over it. "My first serious boyfriend, I thought he loved me for who I was, not what I represented. But when things got difficult, when I couldn't be the girlfriend he wanted..." I stopped, realizing I was dangerously close to spilling all my secrets. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m sharing this.”
"It’s okay, if you want to share. What happened?"
"He left. Said I was too cold, too controlled. That being with me was like dating a beautiful statue; lovely to look at, but ultimately unsatisfying."
The words still stung, even after all these years. Andrew's frustration, his accusations that I was holding back, that I wasn't giving him what he needed. If only he'd known how desperately I'd wanted to, how much I'd tried and failed and tried again.
"That's bullshit," Enzo said with quiet vehemence. "You're not cold. Controlled, maybe, but that's not the same thing. And any man who can't see the fire underneath that composed exterior doesn't deserve to get burned by it."
"You don't know me well enough to make that assessment."
Before he could respond, before I could process the way his words were rearranging something fundamental in my brain, the sound of approaching footsteps made us both turn. Brianwas jogging back toward us. He didn’t look winded despite what had to have been miles of running, and his rash guard was still clinging to his torso in ways that made my mouth go dry all over again.
"There's our cyborg." Enzo’s easy humor slid back into place like armor, as if we’d never had such a deep conversation. But when he looked at me, when our eyes met for a moment before Brian reached us, I caught something raw and honest in his gaze that made my pulse skip.
Chapter 6
Enzo
Valencia, Spain
The morning sun spilled through our suite's windows, catching Gemma in profile as she studied her phone with that intense focus I was coming to recognize. My heart stuttered, anticipating another battle about her staying on the cruise, but then she did something unexpected—she clicked her phone off and slipped it into her bag with a decisive motion. "I've always wanted to see Valencia properly," she announced, her green eyes bright with something that looked suspiciously like excitement. "And when am I going to get another chance? I never get time off work."
Brian looked up from his meticulously organized toiletry bag, his expression caught between surprise and approval. "You're not booking a flight?"
"Not today. I've read about the City of Arts and Sciences complex for years. The architecture is revolutionary."
I tried not to stare at the way her white sundress hugged her curves, the fabric floating around her thighs like she'd stepped out of some Mediterranean fantasy in a travel brochure.
"You're really staying?" The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could arrange them into something less pathetically hopeful.
Her gaze slid to mine, lingering in a way that made my skin feel too tight. "For now." She picked up a wide-brimmed hat from the dresser. "I thought perhaps I could show you both around. I did quite a bit of research before... well, before."
