Page 67 of The Bonventi Secret
After I finish, I head into the library to grab my bag. I rummage through my desk for my notes, and I see the drawer the diary is in.
You know what? I'm just going to put it back in the desk,I think to myself.
As I go to reach for it, I hear the door open.
It's Alex.
"I was told you need to go to the university library," he says.
Shit.
I close the drawer and straighten up. "Yes, I'm just collecting my things."
I hurriedly toss my computer, notes, and a few other things into my bag and swing it around my shoulder.
"I'm ready."
"After you, ma'am," Alex says.
As we drive to the university library, I can't help but wonder how long I can keep pushing the guilt about disobeying his wishes out of my mind. And more importantly, not talking to him about what I found.
I'm snapped out of it when we pull into the library parking lot and Alex cuts the engine off.
We do the usual walk inside, and he follows me until I find a desk or area to work. Then he finds a chair where he can keep an eye on me and sits. Sometimes I look over at him, and he's on his phone. Other times, he's picked up something nearby and is reading, but one thing is for sure—he's always watching. I'm used to it now, so it would almost be weird if I looked over and he wasn't there.
One time, he did come to my rescue when a fellow student wouldn't take no for an answer. That was nice.
I settle in and spread out my notes, trying to focus on my dissertation. For two whole hours, I just browse the internet, doing absolutely nothing. When it's 12:15, I pack up and head to the special collections area, where I place my belongings in a locker and sit at the assigned seat where my Victorian letters will be brought to me.
As I make notes, I realize I accidentally write Valentina's name in place of the woman's whose letters I am reading.
I think it's time.
This isn't like me to keep a lie, and now that I look down at my journal and see Valentina's name, I know I can't continue on without coming clean.
What will he do?
I don't want to say we're in love, but it's close. It is for me, anyhow. Either way, we can agree we have something deep, something concrete. He wouldn't throw all that away, would he?
Yes, I did go against his wishes, but that was before—when he left me out in the cold and wasn't opening up to me.
I lean back in my chair and, using both hands, rub my temples.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Just tell him.
I care about him, about us, too much to just bury this. Even if I wanted to, clearly, I can't.
When I'm done, I pack up and exit the special collections department. Alex is sitting on a chair and stands when he sees me.
"I'd like to go home now," I say to him.
He nods. "Let's go."
We don't talk on the ride home. It's not a unique experience, as he's a pretty quiet guy. I normally try to get him to open up, but my mind is so preoccupied that I don't, so not a word is spoken until he announces we've arrived home.
We get inside, and I turn to him and speak. "Alex, can you do me a favor?"
