by T. R. Hamby
“Ciao,” Nora greeted, putting on another smile. “This is Michael--Mel King’s brother. He was kind enough to escort me tonight.”
Antonia smiled at Michael. “But where is Mel?”
“Business,” Michael said, glancing at Gio. “And a car show. He’s hoping to enter his Alfa Romeo.”
Nora frowned at him, but Gio instantly perked up. “Oh really? What kind? Stelvio?”
“4C.”
“Ah, excellent. I used to have a 4C. 237 horsepower, if I remember right.”
“I have a Giulia myself.”
“How do you find it?”
“Why don’t we let the boys talk?” Antonia murmured to Nora, and the two drifted away.
Nora couldn’t help but smile again. Well done, Michael.
Now to focus on Antonia.
They paused by the dance floor, picking up two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. Antonia downed her glass, while Nora sipped.
“How are you feeling?” Nora asked, still in Italian.
Antonia looked downcast. “Oh--I’ll be fine. It would have been nice to see Mel though. He knows how to cheer a person up.”
“Yeah--he’s out of the country for a while.”
“I heard the two of you really hit it off,” she said with a smile. “Bezi said you moved in together, sort of?”
Nora felt a pang, and she looked away, willing herself not to cry. “Yeah, we did.”
“That’s nice,” Antonia said, and there was a hint of jealousy in her voice.
Nora took a deep breath. Focus, focus. What would Mel say?
She looked at her. “You look so beautiful tonight,” she said gently. “I hope Gio’s given you lots of compliments.”
Antonia looked away, her face darkening. She shook her head. “He and I have been at each other’s throats for years now,” she said quietly.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
She waved a hand. “It’s okay. Just so we leave each other alone, you know--romantically. Open relationship, I guess.”
Nora allowed a pause, though her heart was racing. “I’m sure you get lots of guys wanting to spend time with you.”
She was staring at the floor, blinking rapidly, and her eyes filled with tears. “There was one,” she whispered, brushing at her eyes, “recently. He fucking died.”
She tried to look shocked. “He died?”
Antonia nodded, seized another glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and took a couple large sips.
“But--what happened? Heart attack?”
She shook her head. “No...god. It’s horrible. The poor thing was murdered.” She whispered the last word, looking at Nora with shock in her eyes.
Nora gave a little gasp. “Do you have any idea why?”
“No,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Eddie was just an agent...it’s not like he hung around the wrong crowd. He would have bored me, actually, if he wasn’t so sweet.”
Nora took a deep breath. This part would require tact. “You don’t think…” she began hesitantly.
Antonia looked at her, startled. “Gio? No...god, no...I mean…”
And she frowned, biting her lip. She was beginning to sway a little, and leaned against the wall to steady herself.
“There’s someone else,” she said, blushing. “Another...friend of mine. We only saw each other a few times, but...she’s been very clingy. Leaving me gifts, calling me every day...I was complaining to her about Gio one day, and she said she’d cut the brakes to his car.”
Nora stared at her. “Jesus.”
“Yeah, well--she’s just a kid, and she’s so little...she could never have overpowered a grown man. I mean, I didn’t even tell the police about her. She’s harmless.”
“Right...of course,” Nora said, nodding.
“I’m sorry, Nora,” Antonia sighed, finishing the last of her champagne. “Ignore me. I’m just a little overwhelmed.”
“It’s okay. I get it.”
She fixed her with a mischievous smile. “The producers for The Magic Flute will be seeing the show tomorrow night. It’d be convenient if you performed at your best.”
Nora felt a thrill of excitement--her first in weeks. “They’re looking for singers?”
Antonia nodded. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”
She grinned. The Magic Flute was one of her dream productions. Any role in that show would be perfect.
She saw Michael and Gio approaching, and looked at Antonia.
“You said your friend’s name was Andrea?”
Antonia frowned. “No...Sofia,” she said quietly. “But--don’t tell anyone, Nora. Please. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You know I won’t,” she said soothingly, touching her arm. That’s something Mel probably would have done, and it seemed to relax her.
“We’ll have to catch the next show together,” Gio was saying, a hearty grin on his face.
Michael was grinning, too. “Of course. How are you, ladies?”
“Antonia,” an unfamiliar voice said, and Nora looked around. A slim blonde woman was approaching, giving Antonia a sympathetic smile.
“Gilla,” Antonia sighed, embracing her. She pulled away and gestured at her. “This is Gilla Johansson, my good friend from Stockholm. She’s here to sing as the queen in the upcoming production of The Magic Flute.”
Nora was amazed. “Oh, wow--it’s so good to meet you. That’s an incredible role. Is it your first time?”
Gilla looked sheepish. “No Italian,” she said in a Swedish accent.
“English?”
She nodded quickly. “Yes, a little English.”
“I was just saying, that role is so huge. Have you done it before?”
She smiled and nodded, sweetly. “Yes, once in London. I am happy to do again here, with my friend. Antonia is wonderful.”
“I could have treated you better,” Antonia sighed guiltily. “I stole Sofia from you.”
Nora’s ears perked up, but she pretended not to care.
“She was good assistant, but she hardly spoke any Swedish anyway,” Gilla laughed. “And you didn’t steal her from me; I give her away to you.”
She was fumbling with her bag as she spoke, but lost her grip, and a compact broke free, dropping to the floor and rolling until it rested at Michael’s feet.
Michael stooped and picked it up, taking a step forward and handing it back to Gilla, who looked a little struck.
“Trevligt att traffas,” he said in easy Swedish, his dark eyes glittering.
Gilla raised her eyebrows, surprised, and spoke to him in Swedish. He replied, and she laughed.
Ugh, puke, Nora thought, looking between the two of them.
“It was nice talking to you, Nora,” Antonia said as she, Gilla and Gio walked off. “Remember what I said about tomorrow.”
“Anything?” Michael asked, following her to the buffet table.
“A crazy girlfriend called Sofia,” she said, feeling a rush as she spilled the details. “She threatened to cut the brakes in Gio’s car. She could have found out about Eduardo and killed him.”
Michael nodded, frowning. “Not bad. Could be worse.”
“Did you get anything?”
He rolled his eyes, grabbing a plate and starting to load it up with food. “No. All he cared about was cars.”
“How did you know to bring that up?”
“He had his keys in his hand. You need to learn to watch.”
“And you’re an ass,” she shot back, munching on a carrot.
He looked at her. “It would’ve been better if you’d gotten a last name.”
“How was I supposed to do that without looking obvious?”
Michael was about to reply, when at his elbow Gilla Johannsson appeared. Nora watched as she smiled at him, before easing past, grabbing a plate and some cheese, and walking off, her long blonde hair swinging.
He watched her go, clearly distracted. He caught Nora’s eye, cleared his throat and returned to his food.
/>
“You were saying something.”
But Nora had an idea. A perfect idea.
Michael caught the look in her eye and glowered, shaking his head. “No.”
“Gilla Johansson used Sofia as some sort of assistant,” she said, ignoring him. “Before Antonia met her and stole her away, presumably to fuck her. You could--”
“Absolutely not.”
She stared at him, exasperated. “What, you don’t want to sleep with her?”
He swore under his breath, his eyes flicking towards Gilla again. It was clear to anyone that that was exactly what he wanted to do.
He sighed. “I don’t sleep with humans.”
Nora snorted. “Okay. Never, right?”
He rolled his eyes. “Not in a long time.”
“Afraid we’re contagious?” she said dryly, raising an eyebrow. “It never bothered Mel.”
“Mel has done enough sleeping with humans for the both of us,” he said, annoyed.
“Well, now he’s only sleeping with me, so you’d better pick up the slack.”
She folded her arms, watching as he frowned at the floor. “Do you want to find out who this Sofia is, or not?” she demanded.
“God, you are an annoying little shit,” he grumbled, looking at her. “Just like him. No wonder he likes you so much.”
She smiled despite the insult. “You have only yourself to blame, for asking for my help.”
He didn’t say anything.
She sighed. It would have to be the hard way.
“I’m going home,” she said, taking her phone out of her purse. “I did what you asked. You can stay and enjoy the festivities.”
“Nora…”
She paused and waited for him to continue, but he said nothing, just stood with his hands in his pockets, frowning at the back of Gilla Johansson’s head.
Nora rolled her eyes and walked off--though again, she couldn’t help but smile. That was a thrill she hadn’t felt since she had found Alessandro. And maybe, when Michael was done having fun with Miss Gilla, he would ask for her help again.
Michael
Nora Rossi was going to be the fucking end of him.
But deep down he knew she was right. It was the only way to get this Sofia’s full name...and, well...Gilla Johansson was very beautiful.
He struggled with himself as he approached her. He tried not to sleep with humans. They were too complicated. Too emotional. Besides, he had his pick of mates back Home, why would he choose a human instead?
Except, of course, he didn’t have any mates left. His reputation was nothing now. Friends had abandoned him, family had distanced themselves. Mates didn’t even make the list anymore.
He felt a horrible pang, and he had to stop for a moment. God, he was alone. Truly alone. If he was killed now--by an Immortal Blade, perhaps--would there be anyone who would miss him?
“Halla,” a voice said, and Michael looked up to find Gilla smiling at him.
He smiled back. “Halla,” he greeted in Swedish.
“You look serious. Did I interrupt something?” she asked, cocking her head, her blue eyes studying him.
“Nothing important,” he said smoothly. “What are you doing?”
She chuckled. “Enjoying the party.”
“Are you?” he asked pointedly, and she stared at him.
Then she smiled. “No...I guess I’m not. Do you want to escort me home, Mr….?”
“King,” he replied. He hated using Mel’s chosen name, but it was easy to remember.
He held out a hand. “Michael King.”
“Mr. King,” she said, still speaking in Swedish. She smirked at him. “Well then. Let’s go.”
They spoke on the way there. Gilla talked about her family in Sweden, her career, her time in London the last six months. Michael listened, trying to appear attentive, although he was nervous. It had been a while since he had been with a human woman, of course.
They got to her apartment, and she looked shy as she let him in. He took a deep breath, taking in the small kitchen, the modern furniture. It was a studio, with the bed in the corner.
“Are you single?” she suddenly asked, setting her purse on the counter. She studied him hesitantly, and he nodded, frowning.
“Yes,” he replied, a little worriedly. He didn’t want her to think this was a date.
She looked relieved. “Don’t worry. It’s only that...I’ve gotten used to men not telling me they’re…” She shrugged, trailing off. “It’s easy to get lied to with this sort of thing.”
He nodded; he could imagine. “Do you do this sort of thing often?”
She gave an indecipherable smile. “No.” And she turned around, brushing her long, fair hair over her shoulder. Michael stared at her bare neck, her small shoulders, before unzipping her dress.
“Do you do this sort of thing often?” she asked, turning around to face him again. There was genuine curiosity on her face, her blue eyes bright.
He actually felt himself flush, and he cleared his throat. “No.”
Her lips twitched into a smile. “Well...I imagine we both remember how it works.”
He smiled, amused.
“Why not? Broken heart?” she asked. She was holding the straps of her dress, keeping it from slipping down. She seemed hesitant, and Michael wondered why. Maybe just nerves.
He cast around for a good answer--he hadn’t expected this much conversation.
He shrugged. “I’ve never been in love before,” he said.
She looked surprised. “Never?”
“Have you?”
She suddenly looked uncomfortable, her pale cheeks turning pink. Michael felt a surge of embarrassment; clearly that was the wrong question to ask.
They were quiet a moment. Gilla shifted, still gripping the straps of her dress. Michael studied her--she was smiling, but he could tell she was still hesitant, nervous. For whatever reason, she was on edge.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Turn around. I’ll zip you up,” he said gently.
She looked taken aback, before frowning nervously. “Maybe I’ll...just change. Is that okay?”
It was his turn to frown. He nodded.
She nodded too, and after a moment went to the closet, rifling around. She didn’t bother to close the door as she slipped her dress off, but Michael turned away anyway. He took off his jacket and loosened his tie.
When he turned back around, Gilla was heading for the kitchen, wearing an oversized T-shirt and a pair of leggings. He took her in--she was gorgeous, even in that outfit.
She glanced at him shyly, opening a cabinet. “I have some akvavit. Do you want some?”
“Sure.”
She poured a couple glasses, then headed for the bed, which was neatly made. He followed, and they sat on it cross-legged, sipping their drinks.
She tapped her nail against her glass, avoiding his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I just needed a drink.”
She glanced at him, and he shrugged. “You don’t have to apologize...I can leave, if you want.”
She shook her head firmly. “No--stay.”
They were quiet for another moment. Michael studied her--she seemed almost troubled, frowning at her glass. He wondered what was going through her mind. It didn’t seem to be good, whatever it was.
He decided a distraction was in order. It was more Mel’s style, but she looked like she needed it.
“Do you want to see a trick?” he asked quietly.
She looked up, intrigued. “What?”
“I can spell your name in any language.”
She smiled warmly. “Really. Any?”
“Any.”
She cocked her head, thinking. “What about...Russian?”
He spelled it in Russian, and she looked impressed.
“Icelandic? Slovak? Hungarian?”
He followed her orders, and she looked amazed. She laughed.
“You’ve been around, haven’t you?” she said, an
d he shrugged, smiling.
She studied him, a mischievous look on her face, her blue eyes sparkling.
She turned to face him. “Tell me something,” she said, “about yourself, that no one else knows.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle, both amused and surprised.
“You would like to know, wouldn’t you?” he replied, and she nodded, unashamed.
He twirled his glass around, thinking. What the hell.
“I...play a little guitar,” he said, avoiding her gaze. He was suddenly embarrassed, and he shrugged.
She sounded curious. “No one knows that about you? Are you any good?”
He shrugged again. “Yes.”
“Hmm,” she said, and she sounded impressed. He looked at her, and found her studying him again, smiling.
“I went to a fancy boarding school, when I was a teenager,” she said, slowly turning red. “I got expelled.”
He was intrigued. She hardly seemed like the type to get kicked out of school. “Why?”
“We went on an overnight trip,” she explained, looking not the least bit sorry. “My friends and I snuck out, went to the beach. We got so drunk,” she began to grin, “that we slept until noon, right there by the water. The chaperones had called the police. Everyone was looking for us. I was the one who bought the drinks, so I got expelled.”
“You don’t seem sorry.”
“It was my excuse to start singing professionally,” she explained. “My parents wanted me to go to university, but I wanted to get started right away, go to auditions. I got my first gig a month later.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.” She smiled fondly. “A thousand years ago.”
He studied her. She seemed much more relaxed now, a happy smile on her face as she reminisced. He took their empty glasses, and set them on the bedside table.
“Do you regret it?” he asked curiously, looking at her.
She smiled again, and shook her head. “Not in the slightest.”
“Good.”
She studied him for a moment, fidgeting with the blanket. Then she rose to her knees, drawing close.
He was still, even as she touched his shoulders. She had been nervous before; he didn’t want to spook her. She didn’t look nervous now, though--she looked curious, gentle.
She kissed him, and he closed his eyes. She was just as sweet as she looked. He took this as permission to touch her, and slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. She sighed, brushing her fingers through his hair, and he reached up and cupped her face.
