Crazy for Him Page 2

“Tell me about yourself.”

  What the…

  I cross my arms over my chest. “What is this? A fucking job interview?”

  “Do you always talk like that?”

  “You mean curse? You probably think it’s rude and crass and very unladylike, but I don’t give a fuck.”

  “I like it. And that’s why I asked. Because I want to know you better.”

  That low timbre sounds again from his mouth that’s now smiling back at me wickedly. A wave of heat overcomes me, and my mouth drops at his admission. My shoulders drop from the weight of holding them so stiffly, always on guard for anything untoward. I warm inside from his words, my entire body softening.

  He wants to know me better.

  He really said that.

  I inhale a deep breath, and I know what I have to do.

  A preemptive strike against loss and heartbreak.

  I need to know if he’s going to hurt me. I’ve been disappointed too many times by guys in the past to think that someone might actually like me for me. He said he doesn’t mind my language, but that doesn’t mean anything. It didn’t matter if they were frat brothers or hipster poets who told me they liked my eyes or my sense of humor. Guys are guys, and as long as you have two tits and a vagina, that’s all they cared about. I’m surprised none of them ever put a bag over my head or my entire body into a tall garbage bag when I had sex with them. But one thing was always common with them—the lights in the room were always turned off. I guess that’s the equivalent of a paper bag.

  I pull my phone from my purse, hitting my Notes app and scrolling for the folder I call “The L List.”

  I push the phone toward Tomas, watching as it flies across the tabletop to him. He catches it with one hand. He gives me a quizzical look, staring at the phone.

  “You see that folder? I call it ‘The L List.’ The Loser List. It has the names of all the guys who’ve rejected me over the years. I actually added one after we met because the guy I’d gone out with on a date two nights before emailed me and said he didn’t think we were right for each other. I save the names to remind myself that I always scare men off because of my attitude. I’ll never be demure or graceful. My body wasn’t built for that. I’m what you call zaftig. I’m beyond curvy. Allegra is curvy. I’m plump, and it’s just as well because my body type is perfect for the roles I love to sing. So before you get any romantic ideas about us, you should see that list because you’re going to be on it eventually.”

  Show me you’re different, Tomas Novotny. Say something, do something so I know you’re not going to treat me like dirt. I need to know so that I know whether these feelings I have for you are worth the nerves and uncertainty and sheer terror that overwhelm me whenever I’m near you.

  My heart is pounding inside my chest. His sapphire eyes are still boring into mine. And what’s worse, he’s not saying a damn word. He just stares at me, and for a second, his eyebrows furrow in confusion, as if he’s trying to figure something out, probably me.

  His silence unnerves me. Goose bumps pop up along my arms and my knees begin to shake. I need to do something.

  “So, if we’re done here, would you kindly return my phone so I can be on my way?”

  That sly grin appears on Tomas’s face again, and before I can stop him, he looks at the phone and flicks it twice with his thumb. He slowly slides the phone back to me. When I pick it up, the list is gone.

  My mouth drops.

  “What the fuck did you do? That’s my damn phone!” I screech at him.

  I can’t tear my eyes from the empty space where the list once existed. Then in my peripheral vision, I notice Tomas tuck his book away in his bag and rise from his chair, grabbing his leather jacket that was hanging on the back of it. He slings his messenger bag across his chest, aka The Wall. I’m still in shock as he comes around to my side of the table, placing his hands on the armrest.

  And then he leans into my space, close enough so that I can feel his warm breath on my skin. I close my mouth and swallow deeply. He’s never been this close to me before, not since I bumped into him. But this is different. This time, it’s deliberate. My heart begins to race with Formula One speed, my throat goes dry, and then I smell something…Tomas. He’s wearing some kind of aftershave that has a woodsy scent to it, but it’s mixed in with something else. Something male and virile and heady that I can’t describe, but arouses the core of me, and every sense I possess is now heightened.

  “I erased that list, Luciana, because you won’t need it anymore. You’re fierce. You have the heart and strength of a warrior. You are a beautiful woman, and I intend to remind you of that every time I’m with you. You have no idea what you do to me. Remember that. I’ll see you at the benefit.”

  He gives me one last long gaze with those deep blue eyes, then walks away.

  I can’t move. I mentally review what just happened, especially why he just kept staring at me when I gave him my phone and explained the list to him. He seemed confused. Did he wonder why I had the list at all?

  His behavior was different from that of other men. Maybe it’s a European thing, but he never rolled his eyes at me, he never fidgeted, he never looked away or acted bored. And he never made up some lame-assed excuse to leave because he didn’t like being around me. He just sat there, listening to me rant and rave, taking me in so patiently, strong and silent.

  At the end, he said that I have no idea what I do to him. If his intention is to drive me mad until he tells me what exactly that is, then it’s working because I already sense the impatience and frustration settling in.

  No man has ever spoken to me that way before, and I know without any doubt that I don’t want it to be the last time. And even more, I know that I want only Tomas Novotny to be the one who does.

  * * *

  Tomas

  There. That did it.

  The second I erased that ridiculous list from her phone, I knew that’s what Luciana needed to see so that she would know I was serious about her.

  But there was another reason I erased that list.

  If she had the contact details for any of those bastards next to their names, I would’ve emailed myself the list, found each of them, and punished them for causing that strong, fierce, beautiful woman any harm or sadness. I would’ve done it until they begged me for mercy. And even then, I probably wouldn’t stop.

  I watched in wonderment as she explained to list to me, confused because I wondered why she needed to create the list at all. She doesn’t see herself the way I do.

  Zaftig.

  I shake my head when I think about her calling herself that.

  Luciana really is curvy, despite her protests. I love her long, thick, flowing blonde hair that has the color of warm honey. Her blue eyes are always so bright and full of life, and that’s what I want, what I need. I want to be alive again. After what I’ve been through, I want to have a life full of laughter and happiness, and if she lets me, a life of hearing the “f” word on a daily basis.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Northern Italy

  Present day

  And you did, didn’t you? You did remind me.”

  My husband smiles back at me quickly before focusing again on the road ahead. “Yes, my love, I did remind you every time. Especially that night of the benefit at Davison’s parents’ house. You looked so beautiful in that yellow silk gown. It took every ounce of strength I had not to drag you into a closet and have my way with you.”

  I soften at his admission. “You never told me that before.”

  “I’m telling you now,” he replies with a wink.

  I take Tomas’s hand that’s holding mine and kiss the back of it. “Ano. Dekuji,” I say yes and thank him in his native Czech. “It definitely eases the memory of the rest of that night. I still cringe every time I think of Allegra lying on those stairs. But you saved the day that night, you know.”

  “How could I save the day if it happened that night?”

  I can’t help but l
augh in amusement. He’s still learning. “When a person saves the day, it means that something happened that solved a problem. And in your case, it helped Allegra understand how Davison really felt about her. That was also the night something else happened.”

  A knowing grin comes over Tomas’s gorgeous face. “That I shall never forget.”

  * * *

  Lucy

  The home of Mr. & Mrs. Hartwell Berkeley

  7 Sutton Square

  New York, NY

  Six years ago

  I sit frozen in the gold-backed chair in the Berkeley ballroom, along with the other guests. I’m mesmerized. All other thoughts escape my mind. I had absolutely no idea.

  Tomas’s voice is pure male strength. It is virile. It is alive. It is a force. It draws me to him and makes me want to know everything about this man, this man who I thought at first was an annoyance, like a buzzing bee that won’t stop whirring around your head no matter how many times you swat at it.

  The control he has over “Nessun dorma,” Pavarotti’s signature aria, is commanding. He makes you take notice of him. He makes you understand the lyrics, despite the words being in Italian, because of his gestures and the way he makes you pay attention to him with those penetrating blue eyes of his.

  And then he hits those three last lines, singing Puccini’s lyrics about the hero, Calaf, knowing that he will triumph and win the heart of Princess Turandot, the lyrics with the high C that no tenor has ever come close to nailing as perfectly as Pavarotti.

  Until now.

  Tomas Novotny owned it. He made those lines his bitch.

  The entire room of privileged blue bloods is on its feet applauding wildly. I rise from my chair along with the others as tears fall from my eyes, my entire body covered in goose bumps.

  He bows graciously to the crowd, placing his hand over heart as a sign of gratitude, then turning to Derek, our accompanist, repeating the same gesture.

  I’m not the swooning type, but I can’t help myself. He’s so gallant. Such a gentleman.

  It’s been two weeks since I ran into him in the cafeteria. After he erased the Loser List from my phone, he texted me that night to ensure I hadn’t re-created it and to prove it to him, he asked me to meet him for coffee the next day. I showed him my phone, then a huge smile appeared across his face. That weekend I met him at his apartment in Queens, and he took me out to brunch at his favorite Czech restaurant in Astoria.

  He’s playing it cool with me, and I’m fine with that. I’m being cautious as well, but with every gesture, he inches closer and closer to winning me over. He opens the door for me, he stands up when I leave or return to our table, and when I met him at the subway station, he presented me with one single red rose.

  No man I dated before did any of those things for me. I like being with him because he treats me like a woman deserves to be treated. He makes me laugh, and at the same time he gets under my skin because he challenges me, but that makes me want him even more.

  I feel like I could truly fall in love with him, but I’m not giving in to my feelings yet, as much as I just want to jump him and kiss him until all my oxygen is depleted. But he hasn’t made a move yet either, which I found disconcerting at first, but now I’m almost glad we haven’t kissed because that would just completely change everything. For now, the handholding, the deep stares with his eyes, and the feeling of his chest, The Wall, against mine when he hugs me will tide me over.

  As Tomas approaches me, his seat being next to mine, my throat suddenly grows parched and I cannot regain any train of thought. When he finally reaches our row, we simply stare at each other. Without realizing I’m even doing it, I reach for his hands and tightly grip them in mine. We just gaze at each other, no words ever being exchanged.

  It is that moment when Mrs. Berkeley’s voice pierces our intimate bubble. “Bravo, Tomas. Thank you for that stirring rendition of ‘Nessun dorma.’ And now, Allegra returns to join our other soprano this evening, Luciana Gibbons, for the ‘Flower Duet’ from Delibes’ opera, Lakmé, which I’m sure all of you will recognize. Ladies, if you please.”

  Amid all the welcoming applause, Tomas quickly leans in to whisper something to me. “I forgot to tell you something, Luciana.”

  “What?”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  A wave of warmth envelops me as Tomas swiftly runs his lips over my cheek. Electric sparks ignite every nerve ending in my body, and my core clenches at his gentle caress, giving me just a hint of what I hope will eventually happen between us—his chiseled lips over mine finally giving me the kiss I’ve been waiting for. The anticipation slays me when I think about it, but I can wait. I’ve waited this long to meet someone like him, so I’ll remain patient. I give him a wide smile, then walk the few steps to the front of the room, joining Allegra at the other microphone.

  We begin to sing, and I notice some faces registering an “Oh, that song” look because they remember it from that old British Airways commercial.

  Allegra and I are both in the zone, totally in sync with each other. But then I notice something on the screen behind her shoulder that’s not displaying the Gotham Conservatory logo anymore like it was before. Instead, it’s showing old photos of a mother and her child, and then old newspaper clippings, and then…

  Oh fuck.

  It’s the picture of Allegra as a five-year-old being carried to safety by a police officer from the NYPD after they’d found her. She’d been hiding for days after seeing her mother murdered in front of her. I’m the only person besides her father who knows who Allegra is. She changed her name after the event and has never told anyone what happened to her.

  Allegra notices the distress on my face. She turns around and I know she can now see what’s showing on the screen. Before I can stop her, she rushes out of the room. My mouth drops just as Tomas runs up to me.

  “What can I do?” he asks breathlessly.

  “Sing. Now,” I hiss under my breath.

  He nods and I haul myself from the front of the room to find Allegra as the opening notes of ‘La donna è mobile’ waft behind me.

  Just as I head for the room where we had rehearsed before the benefit, I see Allegra lying facedown on the staircase, Davison hovering over her.

  My skin grows cold and I start to feel ill at the sight of my best friend. “Oh my God!”

  Whatever happened, I know Davison is the cause of it.

  “Get away from her!” I snap at him. “Can you move, Alli?”

  Slowly, she begins to turn herself around using her elbows. Then Money Boy, as I prefer to call Davison, proceeds to take it upon himself to announce that he’s taking her to the hospital.

  Like hell he is. “I’m going with her,” I inform him.

  Then I can hear Allegra whisper, “Lucy, get me out of here. Please.”

  Done.

  “You heard her, Davison,” I bark at him.

  He replies with typical arrogance, “I don’t care,” and picks up Allegra in his arms.

  Fuck that.

  I run upstairs to grab my purse and hurry back down, following Davison outside to his waiting limo and helping myself into the front seat before anyone can stop me.

  * * *

  Tomas

  I look out toward the open door through which Luciana has just disappeared. I rush to Derek, our accompanist, and whisper “La donna è mobile” to him. Once I take my place at the microphone, I nod to him and he begins to play. I sing it as best I can, trying to keep my mind focused despite my thoughts wandering to Luciana and hoping all is well with Allegra.

  I finish and take a bow, watching as some guests begin to leave. I look over at Mrs. Berkeley, who waves her hand at me to sing something more. I think I need to sing something uplifting.

  I instantly think of the perfect aria and quickly walk over to Derek again, leaning in to his ear. “Do you know ‘Ah! Mes Amis’ from Donizetti’s La fille du régiment?”

  Derek snorts at me in reply, waving his hand dismis
sively. “Oh, please. Give me a break. Get back to the mic, young man.”

  I assume that means he knows it. I’m still learning all these American idioms and expressions, which can be so confusing. Someone once said to me, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” What could that possibly mean?

  Once again at the microphone, I inhabit the role of Tonio, a young Swiss Tyrolean who has just joined a regiment of soldiers in his village during the Napoleonic Wars. This particular aria is very difficult with nine high Cs for the tenor to reach. But I seem to do all right judging by the audience’s enthusiastic reaction.

  I bow to the guests as Mrs. Berkeley rises from her chair in the front row and comes toward me. She gives me a peck on the cheek and steps up to the microphone.

  “My friends, ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming this evening and for your generous donations to the Gotham Conservatory. Please make sure to collect a gift bag on your way out. Get home safely. Good night and thank you again.”

  I watch the audience begin to leave when Mrs. Berkeley takes my arm and gives me a quick embrace.

  “Thank you so much, Tomas. You truly saved the evening for me.”

  “It was my pleasure, madam. I only hope Allegra is all right.”

  She nods, a look of concern crossing her face. “Knowing my son, I’m sure she is. As well as Luciana. She went with her when Davison took her to New York-Presbyterian.”

  “What is that?”

  “It’s a hospital not too far from here, just up York Avenue…”

  My blood begins to pump faster, my fists clenching.

  What? Hospital?

  “…would you excuse me? I have a few things to attend to.”

  I realize Mrs. Berkeley was still speaking to me. I nod my head absently. “Certainly.”

  A wave of emotion overwhelms me, my heart racing, my mind conjuring so many different images, and before I can comprehend what’s happening, my feet carry me out of the ballroom and down the stairs. I rush for the street and hail a cab.