Perspiration secretes from his forehead. He rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue, pinstriped shirt, and popped open a few extra buttons, exposing more of his chest hair. Whatever has caused him discomfort, I don’t care enough to ask. Instead, I clench my jaw and give him a single nod.
As soon as Frankie leaves, I grab my bag and hurry out of the club.
I can’t tell Alice about my encounter with Angelo and the blonde. She warned me about him and I can’t handle the “I told you so” speech. She won’t be home until the early hours of the morning, giving me plenty of time to reflect upon the awful memories of tonight.
Refusing to take my shoes off, I collapse on the sofa and flick aimlessly through the TV channels. When I find nothing interesting to entertain my frail mind, I abandon the remote. I leave the television on to drown out the uninvited silence.
My phone rings in my bag. Though I’m hesitant to talk to anyone, I retrieve it to find another number I don’t recognize. I opt to use my normal voice this time. “Hello?” I answer.
“Eva?” Angelo shouts down the phone. The loud music distorts his voice. “Wha- yo- to?”
The hummingbird returns. Why am I so excited he’s calling me?
“What? I can’t hear you,” I tell him.
More garble floods my ear before the music fades away.
“That better?” he asks.
“Yes. What did you say just now?”
“I asked, what are you up to?” he repeats, more clearly this time.
What happened to the blonde?
Before answering him, I remind myself that I’m mad at him. I warn myself not to be fooled by his charm again.
“Nothing,” I say before squeezing my eyes shut and biting down on my lip.
I should have lied. I should have told him I’m engrossed in a fascinating film where a boss falls head over heels for an employee and she stomps all over his heart.
“Good. Meet me at the club,” he instructs.
“I can’t,” I lie.
“Okay, I’ll come to you. What’s your address?”
Why does he want to meet me?
“Great. I’ll be there soon.” He hangs up.
What the hell just happened? Did I give him my address? He must have hypnotized me over the phone or something.
Instead of ordering myself to call him back and tell him not to come, I stash my phone back in my bag, sashay to my room, and check my appearance.
Whatever shred of dignity I had left fades away. I’m a lost cause, completely smitten by him.
Half an hour later, the buzzer sounds. The butterflies return to invade my stomach.
“Hello?” my voice quivers into the intercom.
“I’m waiting for you down here,” comes Angelo’s voice.
“All right,” I surrender. “Give me a few minutes, please.”
After scribbling a note to Alice just in case she gets home before me, I leave it on the breakfast bar and skip down the stairs to greet Angelo.
A shiny vista-blue Shelby Mustang with white stripes and black tinted windows idles outside my building. This has to be Angelo’s car. I recognize it from one of the many photos he has displayed on the walls of his club.
I edge towards the car with caution. As I attempt to peek through the windscreen, the passenger window lowers, and I peer inside.
Unlike earlier, Angelo is now adorned in his suit jacket, with his tie securely fastened once again. He rests back in the driver’s seat with one hand on the steering wheel, watching me with a mischievous grin plastered across his lips. “Well? Get in,” he says.
Though I accept his invitation, I hesitate, tightening my grip on the strap of my bag, while scanning my surroundings. My heart flutters while the corners of my mouth hitch up. I have to readjust my smitten state before climbing into the car.
The moment I close the door, the engine roars and the tires screech, pinning me to my seat as we speed away.
I have to grapple with my seatbelt, and I fasten it with haste. I stare through the windscreen to witness the corner approaching fast. Angelo doesn’t slow down, and I clamp my eyes shut and let out a panicked squeal.
As we hit the corner, my body hurls into the door, only to slam back into the seat once we straighten up again. Fear paralyses my body, preventing my eyes from opening.
After a hellish ride that seems to last an eternity, the engine’s roar quietens, suggesting we’re driving at a respectable speed. I open my eyes. Ahead of us, the headlights expel their glow on the road and along the rows of dense fir trees. No other cars have passed by, suggesting we’ve left the city.
In the twenty minutes we’ve been driving, Angelo hasn’t uttered a single word.
I turn my face towards him and admire his silhouette. The moonlight glimmers a pale light to illuminate his features. The moment I acknowledge I’m sitting this close beside him, alone, the hummingbird flutters around my chest. A smile graces my lips.
“Where are we?” my small voice inquires. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere quiet,” he responds nonchalantly.
The dream from the night before trickles into my mind, settling the hummingbird. The harbor was quiet.
“Will I like it?” I ask.
He glances sideways and the mischievous grin materializes on his lips. “Guess you’ll find out, won’t you?”
The very words to fuel my anguish. I glance down at my hands that comfort one another.
Don’t be silly, Eva. He’s not taking you to the harbor to kill you, my sensible side reprimands me. However, I can’t convince the quiver in my body to disperse.
“You okay over there?” His voice startles me.
I glance his way and find a slight curl plays on his lips. Warmth emanates from his eyes as he gazes back at me.
One corner of my mouth curves spontaneously as the anguish melts away. “Yeah, I’m good,” I recover myself.
Once liberated from his allurement, my eyes travel down the length of his body to his hand resting on the gearstick, where I envision slipping my hand inside his.
“We’re here,” Angelo says, dissolving my fantasy.
I peer through the windscreen and gasp. We’re not at the harbor. Instead, we’re parked in front of an exquisite white mansion. Hidden within the grounds, spotlights shine against the front of the building, allowing a radiant glow to spill onto the shingled ground. I count eleven groups of French windows on two floors. A large porch lies before the white front door, with four white columns supporting a bowed balcony. Ivy crawls up and around the corner of the walls. Shallow flower boxes containing a variety of different flowers sit under each of the lower windows.
I hadn’t noticed Angelo exit the car until he opens my door, offering his hand. As our skin connects, warmth dances along my hand and arm. I look at him through my lashes. Did he feel it too?
As I exit the car, our eyes lock, and once I stand to my full height, I observe the sliver of air between us. He could kiss my forehead from where he stands if he so wishes.
While I tilt my head up, he lowers his. Our noses almost touch, inviting the hummingbird to join our moment. In silence, I plead with him to kiss me. However, he breaks our trance by running a hand through his hair. The corners of his mouth curve slightly as he chuckles and turns his face away.
I chew on my lip and stare down at my feet. Should I allow myself to fall for him?
I can’t help but admire his physique as my gaze travels the length of his body. Visions of kissing him provoke the hummingbird to beat her wings faster, only to have her settle once I find him facing the mansion instead of me.
The trickling sound of water catches my attention and I search for the source. Behind me, centered in the bowed driveway, is a white stone fountain with three tiers. The circumference of each tier shrinks in size as they ascend. There’s a hidden light within the fountain, for as the water cascades from the top tier, the opaque liquid glimmers. A line of small bushes traveling up the driveway hides lig
hts, giving an enchanting effect to the entire grounds. The property is positively breathtaking. Oh, how I would love to see all this splendor during the day.
My eyes flutter up to greet the full moon. Last night, it glared down at me with malice. Tonight, however, it’s the kind of moon that shines for lovers, for a romantic evening.
“Where are we?” I ask as I gaze into his heavenly face.
“My heaven,” he says as he returns his attention back to me.
I furrow my brow.
“I live here.” He catches hold of my hand again and leads me towards the front door.
“You live so far from the city?” I question.
“Do you blame me?”
I’m uncertain how to answer him, so I respond with another question. “Where does Frankie live?”
“He lives in the city with his wife.”
“He has a wife?” I arch one eyebrow, unsure why I assumed he was single. Possibly from the lack of a wedding ring amongst his cluster of rings.
“And three kids,” he tells me.
“How long has he been married?”
“Why the sudden interest in Frankie?” He glances at me, wearing his mischievous grin. “He won’t cheat on his wife.”
As warmth stains my cheeks, I turn my face away. “I’m not interested in him like that,” I mumble. “Just surprised I guess. He didn’t seem like the married type.”
“Why is that? Is it all the women you see him with?” He laughs at his own joke.
With my face lowered, I look at him through my lashes as he continues.
“Frankie was twenty-one when he married Kathy five years ago, and I was his best man.” He studies me as I process the information.
“Who’s the older brother?” I ask.
“Who do you think?” He grins.
I stifle my laughter. “Nope, not answering that one.”
He nudges me playfully. “Oh, come on. You won’t offend me.”
I rest a hand on my hip and tilt my head as I arch my eyebrows.
“Oh fine, spoil all my fun.” He winks. “He’s my baby brother.”
“How much older are you than him?” I wonder.
“You’re just full of questions tonight, aren’t you?”
“Just curious. Since you have a lot of information on me, it’s only fair I know a little about you.” I flutter my lashes.
The two ocean-blue pools gaze at me, inviting the hummingbird to flutter around her cage. His lips hold a slight curve while the moon glimmers in his eyes.
“Two years,” he finally says. “Shall we?”
“You don’t look twenty-eight. I would have guessed early twenties.”
“Ah. You thought I was the younger one, didn’t you?” he chuckles.
I refuse to answer him.
“Thanks for the compliment,” he chuckles again.
Once he notices he has sufficiently quelled my curiosity, he opens the front door and leads me inside to a dimly lit foyer with a wide staircase in front of us.
Unlike at Club Stang, only his cologne pervades the air, making butterflies flutter around my stomach again. Beneath our feet, deep beige velvet carpet lines the floor and leads up the staircase to a balcony. Stone-gray wallpaper lines the surrounding walls with large silver frames, each housing a beautifully painted scenery, hanging in an orderly fashion.
“Where is this?” I point to the nearest painting of a vast meadow on a mountainside, with a quaint stone church mingled with stone cottages and shrouded by trees.
“My hometown,” he replies nonchalantly. He hides his hands within his trouser pockets and looks at his feet, clearly disregarding my curiosity.
Though I want to draw more information from him, I keep my lips sealed while my hands comfort one another.
“Shall we?” He gestures with an open hand towards a door to our left.
Inside the new room, is the same beige carpet from the foyer. However, the walls wear sandy wallpaper. Dark ashen curtains hang from a silver pole in the window with a low oak wood bookcase underneath, lined with books on three shelves. Angelo doesn’t emit the vibe of someone who reads. Nevertheless, someone has spent quality time with each book, considering their worn spines. Compared to my meager collection of books at home, this is a miniature library.
As if he possesses telepathy, Angelo’s presence warms my skin behind me. “I have a library if you’d like to see it sometime. These are just a few of my personal favorites.”
I turn to find his face inches away though his focus remains on the bookshelf. One corner of my mouth curves. Does he share this side of himself with others?
He turns his face slightly to look at me. I gasp and hold my breath as I await his kiss.
To my dismay, he retreats.
After the disappointment diminishes, I continue my observations. A sofa, made from dark wood and dressed in fine cream fabric, lies before an open fireplace. The warm glow of the fire draws my attention, inviting me to sit beside it. The cream-colored marble mantlepiece reminds me of a roadmap with gray lines winding through it. An assortment of silver picture frames lay scattered along the top of the mantle.
One, in particular, draws my attention. I recognize the man in the picture as Frankie, standing beside a short woman with shoulder length blonde hair. Three young children, two girls and a boy, each crowned with golden curls, sit before them. The photo piques my curiosity, inviting me to investigate and absorb every detail of this family.
“That’s Frankie’s family. Adorable aren’t they?” Angelo says.
I turn to face him. “How old are his kids?”
He glides his hand through his hair. “Clara’s five, Anthony’s three, and Sara just turned one.”
I turn back towards the mantle and look down its length. In front of the fireplace lays a large, white, fur rug, that I desire to sit on and wiggle my fingers and toes through its soft hair.
“Where do you want to sit?” he asks.
By utilizing his telepathic skill, he slides his hand in mine, leading me towards the rug I had been admiring and invites me to sit with him. I remove my shoes and leave them beside the rug as I wiggle my toes.
“Are you thirsty?” I hear faintly, like the voice is far away.
The orange glow shapes around his face, enhancing his beauty. The blaze dances in his alluring eyes where I become lost, until the image of the drunk leech pawing at him slithers into my mind, slapping me back to reality. The sickening feeling I endured as I watched her hands and lips all over him returns. Though his suit jacket conceals the lipstick on his collar, I know it’s there. I turn away from him and stare into the fire, letting it consume my thoughts.
“Eva? Did you hear me?”
“What?” I glance his way.
“I asked if you were thirsty.”
“Oh, yes,” I say, trying to disguise my anguish behind a forced smile.
To my astonishment, instead of getting our refreshments himself, he retrieves his phone from inside his suit jacket.
“Albert, bring me a whiskey,” he says, then turns to me. “What would you like, Eva?”
I stare at him, bewildered, and blink several times before I answer.
“Coke, please.”
“And a Coke.” He stashes his phone back into his pocket. “Albert’s my butler.”
Unsure how to respond, I nod once, then lean back on my palms, curling my legs to one side.
“So, why did you bring me here?” I ask.
Before answering, he unbuttons and removes his jacket, laying it neatly beside him, revealing his black vest and white shirt. He stretches out his long legs and leans back on one elbow, clasping his hands together as they rest on the rug, close to his abdomen. I scrutinize his collar.
Wait, the lipstick mark is gone. Did I imagine it?
An elderly gentleman with thin wisps of white hair enters the room carrying a tray. His wrinkled skin hangs loosely from his face. His gray eyes appear tired, though not only from age. Did Angelo wak
e him at this late hour?
Albert lowers the tray, allowing Angelo to gather the two beverages. I nestle my glass between my palms and watch the fizzy bubbles surface and disperse.
“Will that be all, sir?” he asks.
“Yes, Albert. Thank you,” Angelo tells him.
The elderly gentleman shuffles away.
“You mentioned only owning two dresses,” Angelo begins when he’s gone. “Just like your songs, they will become tedious. I like to keep things fresh to keep my customers interested. Frankie and I have already discussed this. You’ll come in tomorrow to discuss music, but first, you’re going shopping.”
I abandon the Coke and stare at him with wide eyes. He knows I only own two dresses, so why would he think I have the money to go clothes shopping?
“There’s no way I can expand my wardrobe until payday,” I say, panicked.
Without uttering a word, he reaches into his trouser pocket and retrieves a black leather wallet. He opens it and extracts a shiny black credit card. While holding it between his index and middle finger, he offers it to me.
“Bring them with you tomorrow for my approval,” he instructs.
Stunned, I accept the credit card. However, I’m unsure if I should feel offended or grateful. While keeping my focus on the card, he continues.
“I loved the blue dress you wore. Buy more like that one. Different colors of course. Get shorter ones to show off more skin.”
My gaze travels from the card to his eyes. I want to thank him for the gesture, to graciously decline and hand back the card, but something inside me warns me not to.
“Finish your Coke and I’ll take you home,” he concludes.
I sit at the breakfast bar with my head in my hands, staring down at the credit card with the name Angelo Cappellini etched across the front.
I got home sometime after 12:30 a.m., though I can’t say how long I’ve been sitting here.
The ride home was silent, except for the roar of the engine. Angelo screeched the car to a halt outside my apartment building and once again reminded me to buy short dresses and bring them with me tomorrow for his approval. The tires squealed as he sped away, instilling fear of enraged neighbors greeting me once I entered the building, demanding to know why I had invited such an unruly friend to disturb our peaceful setting. A sense of relief washed over me as I climbed the two flights of stairs to my floor in solitude.
Twisted City: (Twisted City Book 1) Page 6
