Twisted In You_A Twisted Romance

by Rachel A. Marks

  My body arches, needing to be closer. My god . . . I want more.

  Something bangs on the door, jolting me from the spell. My eyes fly open and I suddenly recall that there’s a world outside. Fin doesn’t seem to care, he presses against me harder, bringing his mouth to play along the other side of my neck.

  Willow yells, “I’m coming in, so if anyone’s indecent, it’s time for a show!” And the door opens, three faces on the other side getting an awesome view of Fin on top of me.

  He lifts his head and looks at me with a playful grin, whispering, “I’m not even close to being done tasting you, little nymph.” He rolls off, pulling the sheet up to cover me. “Should’ve locked the door,” he drawls.

  Willow grins wickedly. “Well, I see now why you’re not answering your cell.” She tosses my phone onto the bed. “Diego’s been calling for, like, three hours.”

  The familiar tune of an iPhone ringing comes from the other room and Jade jumps a little before pulling her own cell from her pocket. She looks at the screen and her eyes grow. “It’s Diego. Should I answer?”

  My head’s too foggy to think in the sudden chaos. “What is going on? What time is it?” I look at my phone and gasp, “SHIT!” One o’clock in the afternoon! Afternoon! On Saturday.

  I told Diego I’d be in at ten today to check the shipment and I had that client meeting at twelve. “Answer your phone!” I yell at Jade.

  She fumbles at her cell for a second then taps the green button. “H-hey,” she says into it.

  I’m waving for her to hand it to me but Lance comes up behind her and grabs it.

  “Look, buddy,” he says, sounding exasperated. “I get you’re her boss but one call is sufficient. Not twenty! My sister’s phone’s been ringing off the damn hook all morning and unless someone’s died she doesn’t want to talk to you because she’s getting a good piece of ass right now and it may be—” He stops mid-stream, listening.

  I wave my arms at him now, giving him the I’m-going-to-kill-you hand motion.

  Lance rolls his eyes from whatever Diego is saying. Loudly. I can hear his forceful voice on the other side of the line from across the room. “Okay, boss-man,” Lance says, “calm down. No need for the Spanish lingo. I’m giving her the phone.” He tosses the cell at me and throws his hands up, walking away, into the kitchen. “I tried.”

  I pick up the phone and put it to my ear, cringing. “I am so sorry,” I whisper.

  Diego breathes for a second then says through gritted teeth, “I've been trying to call all morning. I was getting worried.”

  Guilt lands like a stone avalanche on my head. “I slept too long, I’m an idiot. I was up late last night.” I cringe at how that sounds.

  “Yes, your brother mentioned some . . . activity. None of my business. I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”

  “I am,” I say, my voice small. “I’ll come in now. I swear, I’ll—”

  “No," he says, quickly. "It's fine. I took care of the client meeting and the shipment. There’s nothing more you need to do today.”

  I’m having trouble forming words as tears of embarrassment and mortification climb up my throat, even though I'm not sure why. I feel more horrible about my morning make out session with Fin than about missing work. Like I've been caught cheating. Which is ridiculous. “I’m so sorry, Diego.”

  “It's fine,” he says, gently, “I’ll see you tomorrow night, though? Things are tight, and I really need to be able to know that I can depend on you.”

  I nod, forgetting he can’t see me, then whisper. “Okay.”

  He doesn’t hang up like I expect, I hear him breathing on the other end of the line for a few tense seconds before he says, “Be careful, Verity.”

  And I know he’s talking about whoever I’m with. “I will,” I manage.

  The call drops as he hangs up.

  I sit there, Willow and Jade looking at me with worry in their eyes and Fin silent next to me.

  Lance calls from the other room, “Don’t give in to The Man, Sis! YOLO!”

  I release a groan and fall back onto the bed, recalling why I never have fun. It always gets me into trouble.

  ELEVEN

  Fin tries to make me feel better, sort of. As he gets dressed he asks if I’d meet him for coffee on Tuesday after his session at the studio. I agree, just wanting him to be gone so I can feel sorry for myself.

  After he and Lance leave I jump in the shower and wash off the smell of alcohol and smoke and guilt. After a good scrub and a granola bar I feel a little more human. Willow’s gone to class. Jade is having her daily chat with one of her siblings on the phone.

  I stare at my painting for a little while, then decide I’m not in the state of mind to be inspired by something like a tree-shaped-woman or a woman-shaped-tree. By six o’clock I can’t take it anymore. I have to go talk to Diego. I know he’s not mad but there was something in his voice. A hesitancy, like he wanted to say something. And there’s all this stuff in my head that I need to get sorted out. About him. And me. Maybe he’s feeling it.

  It’s probably nothing. He’s likely just annoyed at me for being a flake. But there's no way to know that unless I'm looking at his face. I need to really apologize. And I can’t leave it until tomorrow. By then I’ll have paced a groove into my bedroom floor.

  The studio is quiet when I walk in and I don’t see Diego in the office so I wander through the gallery, to the storage room, hoping to find him there.

  The sound of a female voice hits me as I come around the metal Dega statue.

  I spot Diego. And my body stiffens, feet rooting to the floor.

  He’s sitting with a woman, a wooden shipping box in front of them that’s covered in food, and he’s whispering something in her ear. She’s stunningly beautiful, and very interested in whatever he’s saying, delicately touching her own neck, her eyes keyed on Diego’s fingers playing with a wine cork. Her lip catches between her teeth as she leans closer.

  Then she smiles a silky smile and I know exactly what they’re talking about.

  She presses even closer to him with a naughty laugh, similar to Willow’s sex giggle but sultrier.

  And I don’t even know how to process what I’m seeing.

  Is he seriously seducing this person? But she’s a woman. An older woman. An older woman I’ve never seen him with before.

  I stare, dumbfounded, as he picks up a grape and lifts it to her lips.

  She opens her mouth, taking it with her tongue.

  And my head explodes, my insides twist, panic filling me, as I watch real hunger fills his eyes.

  I jerk back, forgetting to be quiet, and knock the arm of a metal sculpture, sending it rocking with a loud squeak.

  Diego’s head comes up. His casual smile twists into a frown when he spots me hiding behind the metal mermaid.

  “Verity,” he says, shock in his voice. His gaze darts to the woman, who’s now curiously studying me. Is that fear on his face?

  I swallow my panic and raise my hand, giving a small wave. But I don’t move from my lame hiding place. “Sorry to interrupt your . . . um . . . meeting. I’ll just . . .” I wave at the exit and then turn quick and head for safety.

  I hear his chair scrape the floor behind me, then footsteps. Diego catches up when I’m almost to the door. He stops me with a grip to my arm. “Verity, wait.”

  I actually consider pulling from his touch and running away, but when I catch his gaze, everything in me becomes turmoil again, stopping me. My lips immediately form that fake smile. “Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to intrude.”

  He lets go of my arm. “What’re you doing here? I thought I gave you the day off.”

  I start to make some excuse, tell him I forgot to check something for a new client—in this moment I can’t bring myself to tell him I came to apologize—but I suddenly feel betrayed, or conned or something. Even though I have no idea why. The man should be able to flirt with whoever he wants. But that sort of logic doesn’t stick in my head r
ight. So, instead I lean close, and hiss, “Who is that woman?” I motion over his shoulder at his companion who’s out of earshot but still watching us intently.

  “She’s a friend,” Diego says ridiculously calm, “not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Really?” My tone is a bit more shrill than I like. But I don’t believe it. He’s lying. Why is he lying? The man has no life. He’s always working. He even sleeps here sometimes. And I've never seen this woman once in the studio—I’m fairly sure I know all of his female friends. Definitely all the straight ones he'd be flirting with that aren't me.

  My voice gains pitch and I’m not sure how to stop my inner bitch from taking over. “She’s a friend? A friend you’re about to have sex with in the storage room? I thought you were gay!” As soon as the words fill the air, they punch me in the gut and I instantly bite my lips together in case anything else wants to burst out. Okay, I officially just fell off the ledge.

  His eyes grow. “What is wrong with you?” he asks through his teeth.

  He takes me by the arm, pulling me with him to the exit, and out the door into the back alley. As soon as it clicks shut behind us he stops and lets my arm go, making me stumble. “Did I just enter a parallel universe? What’s going on? No one is having sex in the storage room, Varity. And if I was you’d have nothing to say about it. I’m your boss for Christ’s sake!”

  His words sting. But he’s more than right. “I'm so sorry,” I choke out, putting my fingers to my lips like it’ll stop me from saying anything else stupid. Guilt filters through me, making me tense. It’s becoming a familiar feeling when I’m with him. My god, I’m a mess.

  He stares down at me for several heavy seconds and I can’t seem to meet his gaze anymore. The sounds of the street traffic, the smell of car exhaust and sea air, it all filters down the shadowed alley.

  “Why are you here?” he asks, finally.

  I chew on my lip for another second and then try to explain, “I was coming to say . . . you know . . . that I’m sorry about flaking this morning and everything.”

  He looks dubious. “You came to apologize?”

  “I’m not doing such an awesome job.”

  He releases a sharp laugh. “Not exactly.” And then he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “You got a little distracted with the sex accusations.”

  I groan and hide behind my hands. “I keep doing dumb stuff. I’ve been acting like a toddler.”

  “What’s going on with you, Verity?” I’m struck by the genuine tone of his question, almost brotherly. He tugs on my wrists, nudging my hands away from my face.

  I shake my head, not sure I can explain it all, not sure I even know the answer. But I feel like I should try. “I'm lost, I guess. There are so many things. I'm not sure how to explain everything I'm feeling.” I take in a shaky breath. Come on, Verity, just spit it out. If I’m already mortified I may as well dive in and tell him everything. “After the night of the party, there’s been so many things I’ve needed to say. I know you probably don’t feel the same, but—”

  The back door clicks open, breaking into my confession. The mystery woman pokes her head out. She somehow manages to peek at us gracefully, even with a dumpster not ten feet away. “I think that I should go. We’ll continue this later?” Her voice is lovely with a rich accent. French, I think.

  “Yes, go,” Diego says. “Please.”

  “No!” I say, feeling like a heel. I totally ruined their . . . whatever it was. I'm acting like a lunatic. And I’m pretty sure that I’ve made whatever is going on between us worse. “Don’t go. I’ll go.”

  I start to turn and head down the alley, needing to get away from him. I want to get in my car so I can scream. But Diego takes me by the wrist, stopping me in my tracks yet again.

  “No,” he says, making sure to look in my eyes. “You stay.” Then he leads me to the door and I have no ability to say no with his hand on me like that. Which is crazy.

  When we're all back inside and he lets go I shift my feet before I follow them both into the middle of the storage room. The mystery woman smiles at me over her shoulder with the hint of a question on her face. It’s a really stunning face, too. Perfect angles and soft cheeks, with rich chocolate hair framing it all in big wavy curls. She has one of those amazing figures that’s curvy with an accentuated waist, not thin but not by any measure overweight. She’s older, mid-forties maybe.

  And she exudes sex.

  “This is Francesca,” Diego says, introducing me to his mystery lady. “She’s a longtime friend from New York.”

  I nod at the woman because I don’t quite know what else to do—I have this weird urge to curtsy. A long-time friend. It’s so odd to think of Diego having a life before this place. But obviously he did. And now it looks like I’m getting a small peek into the window of his past.

  “Francesca, this is my intern, Verity Landon.” He pulls up another box-seat to the makeshift table and motions for me to sit on it. “Francesca was attempting to help me to decide on the right wine and cheese combinations for the Arbor Show.”

  My stomach twists in embarrassment. I apparently spazzed out and called my boss a closet heterosexual over cheese. “Oh, I’ll leave you guys to it. I think I’ve done enough damage today.”

  “Nonsense,” Francesca says, warmly. “Diego has mentioned you’re quite talented. I’ll stay. I’d love to chat with the young woman who’s stirred so much passion in my old friend again.”

  I glance at Diego and my brow goes up in question. He gives the woman a hard look, like he’s unhappy with her comment.

  "Don't you think you should go?" he asks her. And it seems very clear that he doesn’t want her here anymore. Which just makes my curiosity explode.

  She’s either blind to it or doesn’t care, because she says, "Of course not, darling. You know I've been dying to meet your little protégé."

  His jaw sets. “You’ll stay, Verity.”

  I’m not sure how to argue with the order so I just obey, walking over to sit on the box. I came here to talk to Diego, and now I’m in a nightmare. It would be tough to mortify myself any more than I already have, though. My leap to sex between them both was insane. I mean, they’re two consenting adults, it’s none of my business. And Diego’s my boss, he should be able to date or befriend or sleep with whoever he wants—whether I kissed him in a fit of drunk desperation or not. I have no right to horn in on his sex life, whatever it looks like.

  I’m so glad I didn't confess everything I’m feeling in the alley. Especially the part about how I feel about him. Talk about mortifying. I wonder if he would have laughed in my face.

  “Well, good,” Francesca says with a sultry smile. “This should be quite enjoyable.” A dark look of pleasure slinks across her perfect features, and I have this weird flash of the first time I saw Sleeping Beauty and I wonder if this woman wants to put a curse on me, like Maleficent did to Aurora.

  “I’ll go grab another bottle of wine,” Diego says, leaving me with his intimidating friend.

  When he’s out of earshot I turn to her. “I really am sorry I interrupted.”

  “Silly, a party is always more exciting with surprises.” She pulls a glass from a box beside her and pours a small amount of a red wine into it, handing it to me. “Have something to drink and relax.” She motions to the glass in my hand. “This is a nice light Pino. Very subtle, which I think makes it a good sipping choice.”

  I blink at her, totally clueless.

  She nudges the drink toward me. “It’s good for you. Think of it as dipping your tongue into a little culture.”

  I take the glass by the stem and sip the wine, then nod like I like it, but I barely taste it. “So, you know Diego from New York?”

  “Yes, I’ve known him for many years. We’ve always seemed to find each other, wherever we end up.” Her dark eyes tell a story, and I realize as I watch her Maleficent grin, I was right. I’m sure of it. They have had sex. It’s not longing in her eyes, it’s
a secret satisfaction. Familiarity. And I wonder how in the world Diego, my Diego, could do anything intimate with this woman.

  I quickly ask the question in my head before he comes back. “Where did you meet him?”

  She hands me a cracker with cheese on it. I take it and pop it in my mouth then take a swig of wine, hoping my compliance will get her to tell tales.

  “At an art exhibit,” she says. “And then I spotted him in a little shop in the garment district. I saved him from buying the most ridiculous hat.”

  “And I’ve paid for it ever since,” Diego says, coming into the room, carrying two more bottles of wine.

  She laughs that sultry laugh again and a look passes between the two of them that fascinates me.

  Oh my god. He is totally sleeping with her. How is this possible? The idea doesn’t want to fit in my head. “What was he like back then?” I ask, unable to stop myself.

  He sits down beside Francesca again. “Don’t answer that.”

  She sighs. “Oh, come now, mon chouchou. Your student wishes to know her master.” She says the word master in this distinct way, and I can’t tell if it’s her accent or not, but the tone of her voice makes Diego shift in his seat.

  He glances at me, then gives Francesca another look; this time I’m pretty sure he’s giving her a warning. “Let’s taste the wine.”

  I watch him open another bottle and realize the way these two keep glancing at each other now, sharing some secret, is exactly like my parents used to do when they weren’t agreeing on something but they didn’t want to show emotion in front of Lance and me. It’s kinda creepy.

  I take a swig of my Pino instead of a sip this time, and Diego refills my glass with some wine from the new bottle.

  “This will need a few minutes before the taste has opened up,” he says. “It’s a 2011 Petit. Very rich.”

  “We need chocolate and whipped cream with it,” Francesca says. “Maybe some ruby cherries.” There it is again, that twinkle of knowing in her eyes as she looks at him. And now it feels like she’s teasing me. Like I’m the third wheel.