Don't Be In Love

by Liana Cincotti

The tree that greeted us outside her flat at night was the same shade of her eyes before she leaned forward and kissed me. They were the color of the espresso I made every morning for the past five months. Most mornings I made it jus...

I love her. I love he...

“Hi,” I said, looking up at her. It felt like a warm shot of espresso ran over my skin standing this close to her.

“I came straight from the airport. I wanted to see you.”

“Really? You wanted to see me?” “Of course I wanted to see you.”

Because I was going to tell you I loved you and that I left her.

Tell me you care for me. Because I care for you.

It felt like a serrated knife was being plunged into my chest. She was twisting it and pulling like a caught fishhook.

I was on the verge of needing CPR.

Under the thin straps was a note that said Happy Christmas. ​Dorian. He must’ve dropped this off while I was at work.

A note: I should’ve given you this on your birthday. ​And a Beverly crescent bag. An original Beverly from the original the 90s collection.

Little did they know, I wasn’t much for talking right now. Not when every thought I had went back to her.

While the other half had this innate need to see her.

I could feel her in the room before I saw her.

Standing at the top of the staircase somehow looking more gorgeous than the first day I met her. It was her, my heart pounded. She was here.

It was like seeing your favorite painting for the first time. This strong urge to feel it, wrap yourself in it, cover every wall ...

I could see the shape of her waist and the outward slope of her hips. Even her chest was accentuated by the deep neckline and thin straps. As she took a step forward, a slit that ran up her leg was revealed. My jaw went slack as she rushed to keep the fabric closed at the top of her thigh. The bottom of the pale purple dress shifted like a field of lavender taken...

Her gaze swept the room and suddenly … it stopped on me. Her lips parted while her eyes sparked, roaming my figure....

I handed over my drink. “Can you excuse me?” I started my strides before he could answer. It was the masquerade all over again. I couldn’t control the instinct to find her before someone else did.

Before I could change my mind, I took her hand and pulled her into the center of the ballroom where everyone was dancing in unison.

“What are you doing?” she breathed. I pulled her into my chest. With one hand on the middle of her back and the other in her palm, I was breathing fresh air and suffocating all at the same time. The feeling of her exposed leg through the slit of the dress against my thigh was causing the latter. “I’m dancing with you, what does it look like?” I replied, trying to steady my heartbeat.

I argued, but the chandelier light bouncing off her merlot-painted lips made it much more difficult to maintain my frustration.

“Is Adelaide Adorno admitting jealousy?” “I hate you,” she seethed, squeezing my palm. “I don’t believe you.”

“You’re a pig,” she scoffed. “That’d probably be more believable if you weren’t looking at me like you wanted to kiss me.”

“I wasn’t implying that I had. I don’t regret kissing you.” She focused her gaze on the gardens behind me. “Why are you doing this?” “Because I can’t just forget about you—”

I let go of Adelaide to do the same before pulling her back into my chest. Her head fit into the niche of my neck as we swayed, watching the next pair repeat the same steps together.

The scent of vanilla in her hair was intoxicating to withstand. Usually, I could remedy the problem by stepping away or pressing my mouth to the side of her neck.

“Adelaide, we both know I hang on your every word. I couldn’t ignore you if I tried. If you said no, then I would’ve let go.”

My heart reached my throat as her eyes shifted to my face. I wanted her. Every fiber of my being craved her. I swore it was written all over my face in permanent ink.

“He was too nervous to ask her on a date. She wanted to make it up to him, but he refused. Instead, they ended up trading class notes in the library after. It ended up getting so late that he offered to walk her home from campus. Every night after that, he’d walk her to her flat just to spend more time with her. That was until she took a liking to him too and asked him out herself.”

“I know. He walked her home every night for like three months until she caught on that he liked her. The only reason I know all of this is because he tells it every year during our Italy trip. He swears that if he didn’t walk her home all those nights, that she would’ve never gotten to know him.”

“This has everything to do with Dorian,” he exhaled. “Because you’re in love with him, aren’t you?” “Of course, not—” “I wish I believed you. But the look on your face says it all. The worst part is that I get it, because I’ve known him my entire life.”

Footsteps tapped the stone and then hit the stairs. Suddenly, Dorian was in front of me. “Finally, I found you. We need to go— Adelaide, what’s wrong?” I sniffed and wiped the wetness from under my eyes. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Love, look at me,” he said, and I shivered. He stood on a step below, leaning down. I sat rigid, trying not to give in as his hands consuming my jaw with concern. His entire being overwhelmed me. “Are you hurt? Tell me what’s wrong,” he urged.

Shoulders pressed together, we watched our breath leave our lips as strings of photographers jogged by.

He pulled his jacket off his shoulders and rested it on mine.

“Of course you love him. Oh my gosh, don’t tell me you’re doing this because of me?” She threw her hand to her chest. “I would never take that away from you. You love him and he loves you. What’s more magical than that?”

“You wouldn’t be staying in London for him. I think he’d go anywhere for you if you left.

No train ride or walk home or rainstorm would be ordinary. They’d all be glued to his singular presence. His figure leaning over me or his hand in mine or his wet hair dripping down onto my cheek and his head tilted back as he watched me from my balcony.

“Because I think I love him.”

“But what would life be without the satisfaction of succeeding after a fall?”

“There’s someone downstairs for you.” She smiled. ​My heart plummeted. ​“Who?” ​“You know who.”

Dorian was in a soaked black T-shirt and barn jacket under the awning outside.

folding my arms deep into the crevices of my sweatshirt to avoid brushing the wet strands of black hair sticking to his forehead.

“Did you walk all the way here?” “No, I took a cab. But I arrived ten minutes ago and have been pacing ever since.” “Why are you here?” I asked. “I need to talk to you.”

I turned and pushed the door— He grabbed the handle, caging me in. “Let me finish,” he said.

I turned around, my back to the door, but he didn’t move. I could see every crinkle that lined his lips. Each crinkle that I loved.

“Christmas Eve,” he restarted, “I went to her place to tell her it was over.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “Because I want you to know that everything I’ve said to you is true. I want to be with you.”

There’s nothing for me here.” “I’m here,” he said.