by Lisa Cardiff
A lump of emotion clogged my throat at the thought of everything I’d be giving up in a month. I’d never see my cousins, Alessandro, or my father ever again. And while my feelings for them were complex to say the least, they were all I knew. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Yeah.” The corners of his lips jutted downward. “Lettie’s looking for you.”
“Gah. Can’t she leave me alone?”
“Can’t who leave you alone?” Marcello’s hand slid around my waist, and he smiled down at me like we were a real couple and something inside of me unfurled.
“No one.”
He studied me for a second. “My sister Mila wants to meet you.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll talk to you later, Gian.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
Humming softly, I padded down the hall to my bedroom, studying the ring Marcello gave me. Tonight wasn’t half bad. In another time, another place, I would probably be smitten with him, happy to get away from my father and start a new life in Chicago. His stories of his home, meeting his sister, simultaneously disarmed and charmed me. Our conversations progressed naturally and effortlessly.
When he kissed me after we toasted our engagement in front of a room full of people, I didn’t feel repulsed. His lips felt…well, nice. Better than nice. At first, I panicked, questioning the strength of my feelings for Sal. As the night wore on, I chalked it up as the normal response of a woman who’d only kissed one man. It’d never happen again so I wouldn’t beat myself up over it. He’d go back to Chicago in a couple of days, and shortly after that I’d fade away, never to be seen again. Tonight would be a small blip on my life’s radar, soon forgotten by everyone, including me.
The thing that did concern me was that Sal left the party immediately after the toast, and I couldn’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to watch him parade around with another woman pretending they had a future together. Thinking about Sal with someone else made my hands ball into fists and my stomach knot. I flipped on the lamp next to my bed.
“Did you like kissing him?” Sal stepped out of the shadows, his leather loafers striking the hardwood floor with brutal thuds. Unease trickled through me.
“Holy shit. You scared me, Sal. What are you doing in here? I thought you went home.”
“I drove around for an hour then I climbed into your window to wait for you.”
I lifted the pearls over my head, and Sal caught my arm midway.
“Leave on the pearls and take off the ring.”
I glanced at the perfectly proportioned diamond ring on my hand. I hadn’t thought about it once since Marcello slipped it on my finger. It was weird how little time I’d spent with him, and yet, he managed to read me so well. I loved the jewelry he gave me. The engagement ring was delicate enough that it wouldn’t interfere with playing the piano. He indulged my weird sense of humor in our letters. And his kiss…well, it’d never happen again, which meant I needed to erase it from my mind.
“You don’t like it?” I lifted my hand and wiggled my fingers, trying to make light of the whole thing.
“No.” His voice was strangled. Rage glimmered in his eyes, overshadowing his usually handsome features. His cheeks were flushed and his neck corded. I inched backward, swimming in a sea of unexpected anxiety.
We stood a few feet apart. The air in my room felt chilly, and I rubbed my hands up and down my upper arms. “What’s wrong? Are you mad at me?”
“Mad? I don’t know. You tell me. Should I be mad at you? Would you be mad if I was hanging all over another woman in front you?”
Ducking my head, I stared at the polka dot rug beneath my feet. “Sal, you knew what was going to happen today. It’s not like I kept anything from you,” I whispered, feeling like I should say more or have a better excuse, only nothing came to mind. We both knew the score. We both knew the rules. I never made any promises about tonight.
He cursed under his breath, stalking toward me, pausing close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. I angled my torso away from him, anticipating a verbal assault. When he didn’t speak, I looked up. The anger pulsing out of him felt dirty and thick, and it stuck all over me like a wet blanket.
Sal murmured, “I couldn’t stand seeing his hands and lips on you, Em. I wanted to kill him. Tear him apart with my bare hands. Can you imagine the crazy shit going through my head?” He captured a strand of my hair, curling it around his finger.
I swallowed hard, barely able to complete the action. “I did what I had to.”
“Are you having second thoughts? Did you change your mind about marrying him? If that’s what you want, I won’t fight you.” He tipped his head to the ceiling, his face bleak, his shoulders bunched tight. “Fuck, even saying that makes me sick to my stomach.”
“No, Sal.” I tugged on the lapels of his jacket so tight like I could force him to retract his gallant offer. I didn’t want gallant. I wanted someone who’d fight for me at any cost. “How could you think that? Do you have any idea how much I lo—” I paused mid-word. “How much you mean to me?”
“I tried so hard, Em. I honestly did. But I don’t want to wait any longer.”
“Wait for what?” I choked out.
“I need you. All of you. I need to know you’re mine. I want you so damn much. I’d do anything for you. If you only knew how you’ve changed me…” He pulled me closer to him.
I sucked in a breath as his lips came within millimeters of mine. My promise to Marcello rattled around in my brain like an omen. A chill whizzed down my spinal column, and I shoved aside the trickle of guilt and focused on Sal. On us. On this flicker in time.
With a sliver of the fading daylight peeking through my blinds, his hands circled me, slowly releasing the zipper at the back of my dress. The soft buzz sounded more pronounced in my ears, almost as if my father and anyone else lingering on the floor below us could hear it. Or sense it.
He pushed the dress from my arms, and it pooled on the black and white rug, a lacy lavender wreath around my ankles. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, my arms went to my small breasts, hiding them from his greedy gaze.
“You’re so damn beautiful, Em. I can’t believe you’re real.”
He removed the gun holster from his waist and shrugged out of his suit jacket and snowy white dress shirt. A dark thatch of hair stretched from the bottom of his navel, arrowing into the waistband of his pants. My fingers tingled with the need to touch him, and for the first time, I knew he wouldn’t deny me.
He lifted me, his hands gripping my hips, and I circled my legs around his waist. The warm skin of his hard chest met my breasts, soft against hard, and we both sucked in a breath. He marched me backward and laid me on the bed.
His tongue slid against the seam of my mouth. I opened eagerly, and he deepened the kiss. His hips rocking slowly between my thighs, I held tight to his waist. Ready to explode with need, Sal’s mouth skated down my neck, paying homage to the sensitive skin beneath my ear and at the hollow of my throat. My entire body vibrated with a mishmash of need and fear of the unknown.
The pads of his fingers swept down my ribcage, rounding my hips as he pulled my nipple into his mouth. His teeth and tongue tag teamed the sensitive point and my head rolled to the side, an exaggerated moan falling from my lips. Something about the softness of his mouth contrasting with the roughness of his teeth and stubble set me on fire.
“Oh, God, Sal.”
“I know. I know,” he mumbled and I could feel his lips curve into a smile against my skin.
My jittery hands fumbled with his belt buckle. The sound of clanking metal and the swoosh of leather echoed in the silence of my bedroom. I tugged on Sal’s zipper, fusing his mouth to mine. I released him from his pants, running my closed palm up and down his smooth velvet flesh, thick and hard. The instant his hand slipped inside my panties, I arched my hips greedy for more.
“Mmm,” I mumbled.
My eyes drifted closed, and I gave in to Sal. My engagement, kissing a
nother man—all of it faded away like a hazy dream. We morphed into a flurry of tangled body parts, greedy hands, and seeking lips. Whimpers of need intertwined with stuttered breaths.
He nipped my ear. “Did it feel this good when he kissed you?”
All the heat building inside of me turned to ice, and I buried my hands in the silky-smooth duvet beneath me. Images of Marcello downstairs having a drink with my father freeze-framed through my brain, and the unease of my betrayal and dishonesty slithered through me. I had no intention of marrying Marcello, but being with Sal like this smacked of cheating, and something about that made me extremely uncomfortable. I wiggled my hips and pushed at his chest, trying to get out from underneath him.
“Sal,” I rasped, “we need to stop. We can’t do this.”
He raised his weight onto his forearms. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
“No, it not that. It’s just that…you were right all along. Having sex with you right now would be a mistake.”
His eyes of a thousand different colors narrowed until all I could see were his black pupils. “What do you mean? You’re the one who told me we should do what we want. What’s changed?”
I dragged my hand up my forehead and smoothed back my hair. “I know. I know, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. We need to wait until we don’t have all of this drama hanging over our heads.”
“This is about him. He charmed you into thinking he’s a good guy. That he’s not half bad.” He climbed to his feet, stuffing himself back into his pants. “God, Em. He’s a prick. I wasn’t going to tell you this, but he brought his fucking mistress to your engagement party. Everyone knew it too. Think about that. You’re choosing him over me, and he doesn’t even respect you enough to break things off with her or come alone. If he can’t stomach being away from her for a few days, you can be damn sure he’ll shove her in your face every chance he gets after you’re married.”
“His mistress?”
My stomach tilted. What kind of sick game was Marcello playing? He gave me this whole speech about breaking things off with Sal, accepting the past and moving on with no hard feelings while his girlfriend was waiting outside the door.
“Yeah, the brunette in the emerald green dress. He’s been seeing her for years, but he can’t marry her. She’s not Italian. She’s some stripper from one of his clubs in Chicago, so if you’re doing this for him, your loyalty is wildly misplaced. He doesn’t care about you. You’re a box to be checked on his way to becoming the head of the outfit.”
I yanked the throw blanket to my chin covering my trembling body, needing armor to conceal all the sickening emotions rioting inside of me. While I hadn’t changed my mind about marrying Marcello, my feelings toward him had softened. God, I was a horrible judge of character. Every word out of his mouth was a lie, and I didn’t have a clue. How pathetic. Part of me wanted to have sex with Sal solely to one up Marcello. I couldn’t be with him out of spite, though. I’d only be cheating Sal and me.
“I’m never going to marry him, so it doesn’t matter if he paraded every woman he’s ever touched in front of me. I don’t care.”
“Then, why are you pushing me away?” He paced beside the bed. “I care about you so damn much, Emilia. I’ve waited for you. I haven’t pushed you for more until now. What else do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. I trust you completely. But being with you tonight like this doesn’t feel right, especially when I stood in front of all of my friends and family a couple of hours ago and misled them into believing I would marry Marcello.” I swallowed hard, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. “It feels dirty. I don’t want to taint our relationship with him. When we’re finally together, I want it to be about us and what we feel for each other. I’m not telling you it won’t happen until we’re out of this place, but I don’t want it to be a reaction to your jealousies or my insecurities.”
Sal linked his hands behind his neck and lifted his face to the ceiling. “No, you’re right. Sorry I pushed this. The last thing I want is to hurt you or make you uncomfortable.”
Still clinging to the blanket, I scooted to the edge of the bed, threw my legs over the side, and wrapped one arm around him. “Thanks for understanding. I know I’m probably giving you whiplash with all my back and forth.”
“Shh.” His knuckles trailed down my neck. “It’s okay. I don’t care if it happens tonight or six months from now. I love you and—”
My heart sped up erratically, and I met his heavy stare. “You love me?”
He chuckled. “Of course I do. What do you think all this is about? I wouldn’t risk my life and my family’s life if I didn’t love you.”
“Will something happen to your family if we go through with this?”
“They’ll be okay. My brother’s going to college next year, and my mom has a job now. I’m not worried about them.”
I frowned. “You promise?”
He cupped the side of my face and kissed the tip of my nose. “I’ll miss them, sure, but I’d miss you more if I didn’t go with you. You’re my future.”
“You’re mine too,” I replied, ruthlessly suppressing the memory of the man who uttered those exact words so many years ago. Sal loved me. I loved him, and that was all I needed to make a new life. A perfect life with the one person who loved me enough to give up everything. My mom would have approved.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Marcello extended his visit so he could celebrate my birthday with me in less than a week. My father vetoed all of my carefully crafted objections to this change of plans. Apparently, Marcello wanted to get to know me better. I didn’t give a shit either way except that it gave me less time to prepare my getaway and finalize plans with Sal.
“Dinner was great,” Marcello said to my father. “Thanks for inviting me, Dominick.”
“No problem. Emilia and I like having company for dinner. It’s only been the two of us for so long.”
I checked the urge to roll my eyes, knowing the childish gesture wouldn’t win any points with my father. If he wanted to sit here acting like a happy family that was his prerogative. In reality, he barely bothered to join me for dinner on most nights, and when he did, it usually involved takeout or a meal prepared by Bianca, our sometimes housekeeper slash cook. The only thing the past dinners with my father and tonight had in common was strained silence.
Tonight, Bianca made a seafood brodetto with grilled bread. Neither my dad nor I were big fans of seafood, but evidently Marcello requested it. So here we sat, picking at our bowl of five or six kinds of fish drenched in basil heavy tomato sauce. Luckily, Bianca had added plenty of red pepper and garlic to mask the fishy smell, and I succeeded in gagging down enough bites to stave off my hunger until I got to my room where I could munch on the snacks hidden in my desk drawer.
Marcello pointed his spoon at me. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s okay. I’m not that hungry.” For this or the company, I wordlessly added.
For three nights, Marcello had rattled off question after question like a job interview, and I did my best to answer without revealing my distaste for this whole charade, the best description for what was happening. I acted as if I had every intention of going through with this arranged marriage, and he pretended he didn’t have his mistress tucked away in his hotel room or wherever he was staying.
“Emilia eats like a bird,” my dad interjected.
God, I hated when he brought up my eating habits or my size. It made me sound like some neurotic head case. I ate plenty, and as for being small, so was my mom. Except for my coloring and hair, I didn’t get much of anything from him. On occasion, I wished I had inherited some of his height, but more often, I was thankful I didn’t resemble him physically. Since my mom died, I hated him more than I liked him, so it’d suck if I saw him every time I glanced in a mirror.
I placed my spoon beside my plate. “May I be excused?”
My father tossed his napkin on the table. “Not tonight, sweetheart. I have some busi
ness to take care of so I asked Marcello to stick around until I get back.”
“That’s not necessary. Sal can—”
“Sal’s busy. He can’t sit around babysitting you anymore.”
I glared at Marcello from under my lashes; his stoic face revealed nothing. What did he say to my father about Sal?
“Marcello, I’m sure you have stuff you want to do,” I said. “I’ll be fine here by myself, and I won’t be very good company. I’m probably going to watch T.V. for an hour, then go to bed.”
He lifted and dropped one shoulder like he didn’t care. “I don’t have anything more important to do than spend time with you. That’s why I’m here. When we’re back in Chicago, I’ll be working late most nights, so we might as well make good use of our time together now.”
I gritted my teeth, biting back a boatload of rejoinders that would only make this visit more awkward. “You want to watch a movie?”
“I had something else in mind.”
“You did?”
He stood and held his hand out to me. “I was hoping I could hear you play the piano again.”
Eyeing his outreached palm like a snake ready to bite, I swallowed back my nervous energy. I hadn’t stepped foot in the music room since my father had unilaterally canceled my lessons. I attributed my lack of interest to being busy with my escape plan. In truth, I had a hard time accepting how drastically my life had changed in the past year. My father crushed my dream of reaching my mom’s level of success as a concert pianist without a second thought.
When my mom died, I poured all my energy into becoming the type of musician who would make her proud. For years I questioned whether I truly loved to play the piano. Sadly, it took my father taking away the option to realize how much I wanted it.
Even if I succeeded in getting away from here, I’d never be able to play anywhere that would bring attention to me. For the rest of my life, I had to accept I’d only be able to play in private settings with close friends. I’d never walk in my mom’s footsteps or become her legacy.
