Page 35 of Endless Love

“Let’s go eat, Charlotte,” I tell her gently, and she nods, seeming to break out of her reverie. “I’m hungry, and I’m sure you are, too.”

She reaches for the door, opening it, and slips out into the chilly air. I suck in a deep breath as we step out, filling my lungs with the freshness of it. It feels clean and crisp, and I want to linger instead of continuing on to Vegas.

There’s a different appeal to Vegas, one that I’ve very much enjoyed in the past. It’s a city of lights and excess and sin, a whirlwind of debauchery and overindulgence, and there’s any number of pleasures to be had there. It feels like a place out of time, in its own liminal space, and I would be excited to take Charlotte there if it wasn’t also the place where I’m going to lose her.

Here, she’s still with me. Here, it still feels like there’s a chance that we might still be together somehow, even if I know that’s just a fantasy. Here, it feels like there’s a possibility we could hide away forever.

Every state line brings me closer to the fact that none of that is going to be our reality.

The warm scent of fresh-cooked food, wood, vinyl and coffee hits my nose as we walk into the diner, the small bell above the door chiming as I hold it open for Charlotte. There’s ahandwritten sign by the hostess desk telling us toseat ourselves, and I notice with some relief that the diner is mostly empty. I’m well aware that this wasn’t the wisest choice, and the fewer people here to see us, the better. I’ve yet to see my face or Charlotte’s on the news when I’ve turned on the TV at night in our motel rooms, which means Bradley is still keeping this particular chase quiet for now—probably for reasons of his own. But I don’t want too many people to be able to describe us to anyone.

Especially my brothers.

I feel fairly certain at this point, however, that they’re waiting for us in Vegas. The fact that we haven’t seen a hint of them since they tracked us to that first motel makes me think that Lev found out about my contact, and opted to lay in wait. It doesn’t follow what I know of my brother—he likes the hunt, the chase, likes to taunt and torment and play with his food. But it’s possible those directions came from my father, who Lev won’t disobey, even if he disagrees.

Charlotte is looking around, tense, as we walk to one of the booths. But I see her relax a fraction a moment later when we sit down, and a woman comes over to bring us menus, a pot of coffee already in her hand.

“Coffee for you both?” she asks, and I nod at the same time that Charlotte does. “Creamer?”

“Please,” we both say in unison, and I see Charlotte’s teeth sink into her lower lip in an effort to not laugh.

That smile is still quivering at the edges of her lips as the waitress walks away, and Charlotte looks down at the menu. She’s trying to be upset that we’re doing this, because she knows as well as I do that it’s a bad idea, but she’s faltering.

I take a chance, and reach out to touch her hand. “We needed this,” I say softly. “Ineeded this.”

Charlotte looks up abruptly, but she doesn’t move her hand away. “Why?” she asks simply. “Why the trip out to the lake? Why this? Why do you need anything other than to get to Vegas and get what you need to scrape our identities clean so you can start over? This is what you’ve always wanted, right? Or at least, what you’ve wanted for a long time.”

I hear the trace of bitterness in her voice. She’s still upset with me, and I can’t blame her. Butfuck, what I wouldn’t give to hear her speak to me the way she did before all of this, when she still didn’t know who I was.

“This isn’t how I wanted to do it. It’s not what I planned.” I tap the fingers of my other hand against the laminated menu, my stomach growling as I look down at the list of food on offer. As much as I haven’t minded the quick meals on the road, something hot that we have to sit down to eat sounds incredible.

Charlotte pauses for a moment, pulling her lower lip between her teeth as she looks out of the window, as if she’s making up her mind about something. “Okay,” she finally says slowly. “Tell me how you planned it, then.”

17

IVAN

This is a chance, and I know it. An opportunity to tell her what I really wanted, to emphasize that it was never my plan to steal her away to go with me. That she was a wrench in what I’d imagined for myself for a long time.

I think about what I want to say as the waitress comes back and takes our orders—a Belgian waffle with fruit and a side of scrambled eggs for Charlotte, and corned beef hash with fried eggs and toast for me. Charlotte asks for orange juice as well, amusement in her eyes as the waitress brings it.

“I suppose I need to keep myself healthy if we’re going to be on the run.” She takes a sip from it, looking at me with a hint of curiosity that gives me hope. “Well? Tell me what you want to say.”

I hesitate for a moment. “You know I have three brothers,” I say finally. “You’ve met them.”

“Met.” She makes air quotes with her fingers, rolling her eyes. “It wasn’t exactly the introduction to my new boyfriend’s family that I would expect. Although I guess by then we were broken up, weren’t we?” The humor in her voice is tinged with sarcasm.

She’s not going to give me an inch. It impresses me, in the same way that it strangely turns me on. I’ve never sought out especially combative women before—although I swear when Charlotte yells at me, it makes me hard—but I do like strong women. Women who know their own minds. And while Charlotte might have started out being uncertain of her own desires, all of this has brought out a strength in her that’s making me fall even faster down the slippery slope to being in love with her.

The sound of her calling me her boyfriend, even with sarcasm, even when following it up by saying we’re not together any longer, does something strange to my insides. It makes me want to reach for her, pull her across the table to me, tangle my fingers in her hair, and tell her to say it again, even if it’s not true any longer.

Even if it never really was.

The waitress comes back, setting our plates down in front of us, and I clear my throat. “I’m the youngest,” I say slowly, as the woman walks away, glancing up at Charlotte as she unrolls her silverware. “And my brothers are my half-brothers. I’m my father’s fourth son, and a bastard.”

She presses her lips together. “That’s an archaic word.”

“Crime families can be archaic. Arranged marriages, hierarchies, inheritances. We live by codes and traditions and sets of rules that the rest of the world has left behind. And while the Bratva may be more blatant about their brutality, we’re far from the only organization like this.”

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