Wednesday, 5 September 1984 — Min, Italy

  The Young Designers Reception—known by several less proper names—was always a raucous affair. Sometimes more so, sometimes less. Tonight’s was definitely more. Everyone was talking about Franco Moschino’s show earlier in the day. Delphine and Geneviève never cked for attention.

  Neither had Aric, for the short time he’d attended.

  Delphine had seen it written on his face since they’d finally escaped the scrum that Franco’s show had become. She’d arranged with several of the even younger designers—those who didn’t yet have shows of their own—for her and Aric to be seen out and about in Min wearing their clothes. She had a keen eye and only said yes to outfits she would pick—and wear—herself.

  In the past few days, Aric would at least make a comment about what he was about to wear. Today, he’d shed his old clothes and donned the new without a word, barely a gnce.

  She knew better than to talk to him about it again. She’d already done that. He would have to find his own way out of the forest of shame and guilt he was still trying to navigate.

  You’re too sensitive for this life, she thought. Maybe it was a mistake bringing you here. Pushing you into this.

  But as if he’d read her thoughts, he looked at her in that moment and smiled. He took her hand and kissed it gently, then held onto it as they walked.

  Her image of him wandering in an endless forest reminded her of the dream they shared. Dreams—plural. The setting had been the same, but nothing else. They’d all agreed those nocturnal wanderings meant something, though none of them knew what. Except that each time, Delphine and Edith had protected a powerless Aric from something menacing.

  In those dreams, it had seemed natural that she would protect him. That she was the strong one—her and Edith. But in waking life, she knew the true bance of power. He was the strong one. Immensely powerful.

  Except at times like this, when he could be quite fragile—and she felt that any wrong move on her part might shatter him. She had to give him space now. Let him don his armor, gird his hips with belt and sword, grip his shield, and remind the world that it took its life in its hands if it threatened him.

  He would get there eventually. But not tonight. Not at the Young Designers Afterparty.

  He stood by her side for the better part of an hour, wearing a wardrobe designed by a young woman from Paris who was beaming not far away—radiant at the sight of her clothes on two such beautiful people. Aric had been polite, but reserved. He smiled more than he spoke.

  Delphine had watched her sister glowing at the center of a cluster of young models—an animated figure even among that happy crowd. Delphine was certain Geneviève was giving everyone a blow-by-blow of her two shows.

  Meanwhile, Aric stood beside her, answering questions asked in four different nguages. Delphine had grown used to it, but she could still hear for herself that his ability impressed others.

  If you saw the other things he could do, you’d faint dead away.

  He didn’t mingle. Didn’t leave her side.

  Until he did.

  “Would it be alright with you if I went back to the hotel?” he asked. His question hadn’t surprised her—only how long it had taken him to ask it.

  “Shall I come with you? Would you like me to?”

  He smiled, and she saw the pain still lingering behind it. “I would love you to. But please stay. I’ll see you when you get back.”

  She’d broken her own unwritten rule then, and kissed him. Publicly. Warmly. She felt his mind brush hers, just for a moment, and didn’t notice the ripple their dispy of affection caused around them.

  “When I get back—” she said, huskily.

  She felt like a fire was burning inside her.

  And in a way, there was.

  Until he was gone.

  And the cold settled in.

  Too sensitive.

  It was still early by Min standards.

  The shops were closed, but the bars and restaurants were still bustling as Manuel Rojas made his way home. The trattoria where he waited tables was small, but popur, and he’d normally stay until closing. But he’d also normally have Wednesday off. He’d only come in because Giuseppe had begged him to fill in for Cra who’d called in sick. Manuel had agreed—with conditions. One of which was a 9:00 PM end to his shift. The owner had agreed, and had even promised Manuel all the tips that came in after he left.

  It was too good an offer to turn down. And it beat sitting alone in his small apartment with his broken heart.

  Three years. How could someone spend three years with another person and suddenly announce that it was over? He had no idea. But apparently Antonio did.

  How many pieces of your heart can you give away before you don’t have enough left to go on living?

  He’d asked himself that question more times than he could count. With every piece of his heart he’d given away only to have it discarded.

  He was still warm from the restaurant and had his coat slung over his shoulder as he walked. The street was quieter than usual. His soft soled shoes fell onto the sidewalk silently. When he heard the sounds of expensive loafers approaching he instinctively looked up.

  What he saw took his breath away.

  It was dark outside of the illumination of the streetlights. But those glowing orbs were more than adequate for Manuel to see a stunning man—about his age, or a few years younger—walking toward him. He wore a sheer silk voile poet shirt in pale ivory.It billowed subtly as he walked, catching the amber glow of the streetlights. The fabric clung slightly in the humidity, revealing hints of the lines of his chest and shoulders beneath. Below were ste-blue trousers. On his feet were soft bck Belgian loafers in kid leather. He walked like he barely felt them.

  Manuel had worked in Min’s fashion district long enough to recognize a model when he saw one. He’d dreamed about several of them. Built them piece by piece in his mind until they’d achieved perfection.

  But he’d never imagined a man as perfect as this one, and as he approached him Manuel began to wonder what it would be like to look like that.

  Then he saw the look on his face. It mirrored the pain that Manuel had felt for the past five weeks, and it broke his heart a second time.

  Aric had been paying absolutely no attention to his surroundings. It was barely a five minute walk to the hotel, and it was a straight shot. His mind had been pying the same thing on repeat, like a loop of tape in a cassette pyer.

  Come to me tonight. Ask any price.

  Ask any price.

  Ask any price.

  It was a man’s voice that woke him from that nightmare.

  “Mi scusi. Sta bene?” Excuse me. Are you alright?

  Italian was definitely not his native nguage. Aric looked a man a couple of inches shorter than he was. Possibly a few years older. He had a warm, approachable face—somewhat handsome but grounded. His expression was calm, with a gentle confidence in his eyes and a trace of a smile that suggested kindness and resilience. His eyebrows were well-shaped and slightly expressive, giving his face character and warmth. His mustache and neatly trimmed beard added maturity without making him seem severe. He gave the impression of someone steady and sincere—someone who’s known hardship, but hasn’t let it harden him. A person others might instinctively trust.

  Manuel Rojas had certainly known hardship. He and his family had fled Chile in 1973—racing ahead of the wave of political violence under Pinochet. He turned fifteen the week after his family arrived in Italy. Others had been less fortunate. The woman he called his sister had been the only member of her family to escape, and his parents had refused to leave her to face her fate alone.

  The man in front of him had dark hair and steel gray eyes—eyes that bore more sadness than was good for anyone to carry alone. His face looked stricken, and Manuel recognized it immediately. He saw it in the mirror every morning.

  “I’m sorry, what?” Aric asked him.

  Manuel saw it in the man’s face. More than that, he felt it in his own heart. This was a man who’d been abused. Not physically. Emotionally. Spiritually.

  A kindred spirit.

  “Whoever did this to you—they don’t deserve you,” Manuel said as he shook his head in emphasis.

  Aric heard the words, and it took him a moment to respond.

  “I—it’s not like that—” he began to say.

  How many times had he said that to his sister about Antonio? It’s not like that. He’s an actor. He’s complicated.

  “I would never treat you like this,” Manuel continued. “Don’t go back to them if they leave you crying and alone on the street at night.”

  It was then that Aric realized that he’d been crying as he walked. He wiped his face with his hand and it came away wet.

  “Sorry—I didn’t know.”

  He looked at the moisture on his palm, but didn’t have anywhere to wipe it off that didn’t involve a piece of borrowed clothing. Manuel saw the problem and fished a napkin out of his jacket pocket and handed it to him.

  Aric took a deep breath and wiped his face and hands. “Thanks.”

  “I have a pce you can stay, if you don’t want to go back to—you know.”

  Arm bells went off in Aric’s head. It was a cssic predator approach. Find a wounded animal and run it to ground. He’d seen it too often in Surrey. A young woman, alone for the first time. Emotional distress. And a man following her around saying, this is why you need a man to take care of you. Of course the man had someone particur in mind.

  It was not only women who were at risk from predators. He knew that very well. It was because of that he felt he was entitled to know exactly what this man intended. A pce to stay. A meal. A drink. Dosed with something.

  Aric felt a shiver run down his spine as he reached out. It was like opening a window and letting moist scented air flow through. But in this case it was the essence of this man’s thoughts—intentions—that he breathed in.

  And what he found wasn’t subterfuge. Nothing cruel, or base, or self centered.

  It was innocence. Heartbreak. Attraction—absolutely, but the purer form. And a selfless concern for a fellow wounded human being.

  Another stranger looked at him, was attracted to him. But instead of offering him money he had offered Aric compassion. Safe haven.

  Manuel saw the man’s face soften as some of the pain departed. The hint of a beautiful smile began to shine forth.

  I have enough pieces of my heart left to offer you one. I think you might be worth the risk, he thought as he looked at that beautiful sad face.

  His voice seemed to act on its own.

  “Si estuvieras conmigo, te amaría con todo mi corazón y mi alma, en esta vida y en próxima.”

  That line, poured from his soul in Spanish, was his secret dream put into words. What he was looking for from life. Someone to give his love to. Someone who was worthy of it. If you were with me, I would love you with all my heart and soul, in this life and the next.

  He never in a million years expected a reply.

  Aric had to force the words past the knot in his throat as his eyes began to overflow again.

  “Es lo más bonito que me han dicho nunca. Gracias.” That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me. Thank you.

  Wednesday, 5 September 1984 — Surrey, Engnd

  Edith was sound asleep when the phone rang.

  She’d been dreaming about a control room, though what it controlled was a mystery to her. But whatever it was, something was wrong with it, and the men and women around her were frantically discussing how to make it quieter. She’d been a spectator at that point. The sound of a ringing phone had started just as she was about to suggest that whatever the machine was, maybe they should just shut the bsted thing off if it was malfunctioning.

  It was the knock on her bedroom door that finally woke her.

  “Edith? Aric’s on the phone.”

  For a moment she thought she was still dreaming. He called her in her dreams already. But like so much of her dreams, she remembered very little afterward.

  “What?” she said as her mind cwed its way back to consciousness.

  “Aric is on the phone. He’s calling from Min.”

  Edith’s brain made the leap from asleep to awake in a single bound at those words.

  She’d specifically told him not to call, all the while secretly hoping that he would. But Monday passed quietly. Then Tuesday. She’d begun to think he’d taken her at her word—and the idea had hurt more with each passing night.

  Carol had been in bed as well. In her own bed, which meant alone. Carlos never spent the night. Those assignations were reserved for his own ft, which he shared with no one.

  “Sorry,” Edith apologized. Carol’s family was famous for calling after dinner. Their dinner. Her father seemed incapable of accepting the time difference. Carol must have thought it was them calling.

  “I’m not,” Carol answered as she retreated back to her own room. “I’m gd he finally ignored what you said.”

  Edith took the phone and sat on the couch.

  “Hi,” she said softly, intimately. Not I thought I told you not to call, or why didn’t you call before now.

  “Hi,” he said back in a simir tone of voice. Not I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, or I know you told me not to call.

  “How’s Min?” she asked. For some reason she couldn’t expin, she felt awkward. Like they barely knew each other. It hadn’t even been a week.

  “Busy. Really busy. Delphine’s run off her feet. When she described it to me she made it sound like a vacation. But it’s work—a lot of work.”

  Edith had gotten the same impression. But all she ever saw of fashion week was the final product, not all the effort that went into producing it.

  “And how are you doing?” she asked him.

  When the pause reached three seconds, she knew something was wrong.

  “I’m fine.” His voice was a whisper. And she knew him well enough to know that when he said I’m fine, he definitely wasn’t.

  Let me help was the first thing that came into her head—and the st thing he needed to hear.

  “Want to talk about it?” she whispered back. She realized he must be lying in bed as he spoke, because she heard the sound of him rolling onto his side—sheets scraping against the receiver, the creak of wood.

  “No. I’m just tired. Delphine and Geneviève dragged me onto the runway. Twice. It was nerve-wracking. I get more exhausted just thinking about it. And the receptions—let me tell you, models and designers know how to party.”

  “Geneviève?” She asked.

  “Right, I forgot to mention—Delphine’s little sister is here. It’s her first time showing in Min. She’s really excited. And she loves the receptions.

  She knew Aric would never do hard drugs. She wasn’t even sure they would affect him. She knew he drank—it had been part of their testing. He could reduce his blood alcohol level from 0.1 to no trace with one burst of energy.

  Delphine, on the other hand—of all their group, she was the one least likely to get drunk. She was the st person Edith thought of as a party animal.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked before she could reply.

  “Me? I’m fine. Really. No runways or receptions for me. Home to work, work to home. Carol and I went to the pub yesterday. We compined about men in general, and our boyfriends in particur. How they treat us too well. How they give us a chance to talk, and listen to what we say.”

  She’d said it like it was an intolerable ordeal, and Aric had started ughing halfway through. The sound acted like a balm for her heart.

  “Well,” he said, ughter still coloring his voice, “I’ll talk to Carlos when I get back. We’ll see if we can do something about that.”

  She ughed in return. His voice sounded more like himself when he spoke again.

  “I’ll let you get back to bed. I’m dog-tired. I’m going to turn out the lights and pass out.”

  She wanted to ask him where Delphine was, but didn’t.

  “Get some rest,” she said instead. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” he answered.

  He realized right after hanging up that he’d forgotten to tell her about their trip to Provence.

  Delphine found him sound asleep.

  His face was peaceful, and she didn’t have the heart to wake him. His clothes y on the back of the chair by his bed On the table nearby was a napkin with writing on it.

  Manuel Rojas.

  02 6943 8217

  Por si necesitas que te lo recuerden.

  In case you need reminding.

  She picked it up and looked at it.

  Hmmmm, she thought, wondering what it was from.

  Whatever it was it could wait until tomorrow. She shed all of her clothing, lifted the covers, and crawled into bed. She y awake for a time, listening to his breathing. Taking in his aroma, mixed with expensive cologne. She thought if she could bottle the combination she and Aric could become quite wealthy. It wouldn’t make him happy, not in real life. But in her fantasy it did, and she smiled at the thought as she drifted off to sleep.