‘Oh wow,’ I whisper.
‘But here’s the fascinating thing. The face in that empty envelope of skin is meant to be Michelangelo’s self-portrait.’
I exhale my breath at that piece of strange knowledge.
‘Why did he do that?’
He shrugs. ‘It’s a metaphor for the artist’s tortured soul.’
I stared at the grotesque skin. It is hideous and yet I’m not sorry I saw it. It adds a fascinating new layer to the stunning beauty stretched out above and around me. I know Michelangelo’s tragic and anguished skin will haunt my dreams, but then again so will the splendor of his creation.
I take Zane’s hand in mine. ‘Thank you for this experience,’ I whisper and tears come into my eyes.
He frowns down at me. ‘Are you OK?’
My face cracks a wobbly smile. ‘Yes. Just happy.’
When it is time to leave I can’t resist looking back one last time, knowing that this moment will last in my mind forever.
Twenty-one
Dahlia Fury
Back at the villa we go for a swim in the pool. Splashing and laughing we chase each other like children in the heated water. Afterwards, Zane sits me on the edge of the pool and eats me out while I gaze at a reddening sky and smell the citrusy scent of the lemon grove.
A bird flies overhead as I climax and I feel in my bones that today is special. No matter how long I live I will never forget this day, when I was in a foreign land with a gorgeous man I would have turned myself inside out for.
Exhausted and satiated, I let my palms slide along the tiles until I am lying down. The cool tiles feel so good on my back. Zane pulls himself out of the water and, dripping water on my body, picks me up and carries me to our bedroom. The shutters are drawn closed against the afternoon sun and it is cool and shady. I am nearly dry as he lays me on the bed and with his mouth, tongue, and hands he worships my body. Like I said before, today is special and I will never forget it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ljDcvhkRuOc&nohtml5=
(Who Wants This Music Tonight?)
That night I persuade Zane to take me back to Luca’s restaurant so I can have exactly the same dish I had the night before. He suggests other restaurants but I refuse to give anything else a chance. What else could be as good?
‘If you’re absolutely sure you don’t want to go elsewhere …’
‘I’m very sure. We are leaving tomorrow and I might never come back to Rome in October and there was a lot of tartufo left in Luca’s hand last night.’
Zane just laughs.
After dinner he takes me to a club called Roxy. It has a mahogany bar front, marble floor, brass fittings, potted palms, and plush, deep-red, velvet rococo style armchairs. The effect is one of uber-luxe sophistication. Populated by the oh-so-chic, perma-tanned men and women in designer shades, it has the definite air of wannabes trying to be cool and trendy, but probably trying too hard to be that.
We are shown to a table by an effusive, smooth talking waiter.
‘I brought you here to try the affogato. Ice cream with a cup of espresso poured over it.’
‘OK,’ I agree readily, my senses already open to another new experience.
Zane orders an affogato for me and a cognac for himself, while I look around curiously. Next to us two men are playing chess. There is a small stage with a white piano on it, but it is in darkness at the moment. I catch the eye of a deeply tanned man who raises his glass at me. I turn away and my gaze collides with Zane’s.
‘Making friends?’ he bites out softly.
‘Nope. I’ve got all the friends I need right here at this table,’ I say with a massive grin plastered on my face.
Something passes briefly over his face, an old hurt, or betrayal, then it is gone. I reach out and touch his hand. ‘Hey, trust me. I’m not going to hurt you.’ His hand grasps mine hard.
My affogato arrives in a little glass dish and he releases my hand. I dip the spoon into the ice cream floating in coffee and taste it.
‘Mmmm … very nice,’ I say. ‘Want to try?’
‘No, there is still a bit of your taste in my mouth and I don’t want to lose it,’ he drawls lazily.
I blink, my pulse quickening. Hell, this man sure can throw me off guard at the drop of a hat.
Just then the spotlights for the stage come on and I drag my eyes away. A man in a white velvet jacket and a bow tie goes to sit at the piano and the audience claps. He starts playing the piano and a woman with wavy hair in a long red gown comes to stand next to him.
She picks up a mic from the top of the piano and starts singing an Italian song. She is actually very beautiful, in that inimitable Mediterranean way. Her dark and soulful eyes search the room restlessly until they find Zane in the crowd, and fix on him. For an unguarded moment I see her freeze and falter, then she catches herself. Flicking her luxuriant hair she turns her back on her audience and sings the next line facing away from us.
By the time she turns around to face us, she is strong and confident again. Her voice is smooth and her gaze fixed on Zane. She is singing for him! I swivel my eyes surreptitiously to look at Zane, and he has gone completely still. My heart falls like a stone.
On stage the woman drapes herself erotically on the white piano.
Taking a deep breath and trying to look normal, I spoon some ice cream into my mouth. I feel the cold travel into my stomach, and try to stop the sensation that it has all been unreal, just a dream. That I was just fucking with myself.
There is nothing between us, except his lust and my stupidity.
He brought me here knowing she would be here. It’s as obvious as hell that they used to be or still are lovers. Why do that to me? Why rub my nose in it? Unless I am here to make her jealous!
I lean back into the plush seat. I can’t even get up and leave. I wouldn’t know where to go. Plus I am here on a fucking fake passport. I’ll just have to sit here like a sour lemon and watch some other woman eyefuck the man I am in love with. I sit stiffly as she finishes her song. It seems to last for hours. I don’t look at Zane.
‘Grazia,’ she breathes seductively into her mic, and starts gyrating towards us. I take a deep breath. Behave, Dahlia. Be dignified. Be the better woman.
‘Zane,’ she calls. Even his name on her tongue is like a mating call. She has no eyes for anyone but him. I don’t even register.
‘Ciao, Silvia,’ Zane says softly.
She leans down and kisses his cheek close to his mouth leaving behind a lipstick mark. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she whispers, but I still catch her words and instantly feel acid pouring into my stomach. How dare they do that in front of me? If I stay here a moment longer I’m going to scratch her eyes out and I’ve never been violent with another human being before and I really don’t want to spoil my perfect record. Well, except that time I tried to slap Zane and that other time I tried to attack him, but I was horribly provoked.
I am about to stand and excuse myself in the iciest voice I can manage when Zane says to her, ‘I didn’t know you worked here now.’
‘Why? Wouldn’t you have come if you knew?’ she asks lightly, but it doesn’t hide her terrible sadness.
She is in love with him, but I don’t care. I want to jump up and do a happy dance right here. He didn’t know she would be here. He didn’t bring me here to humiliate me, or make her jealous. It is just one of those weird coincidences.
She opens her mouth to say something else but Zane says, ‘Silvia, meet Dahlia, my wife. Dahlia, meet Silvia, a very old friend.’
The news hits her hard. She blinks with shock and confusion. Reluctantly she turns towards me, her eyes flying to my rings.
‘Congratulations,’ she says hoarsely. ‘You are a very lucky woman.’
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘I really should go back to my routine,’ she says.
‘Nice to have met you,’ I say.
She nods then turns to Zane. ‘I hope you will be very happy,’ she chokes.
Zane doesn’t say anything, just nods solemnly.
She turns on her heels, goes back to the stage and starts belting out a fast number, strutting across the stage and looking like the consummate professional. Her heart is broken but she has her pride.
The mood at our table has become strange and strained. Zane turns to me. ‘We can leave now … if you want.’
I nod silently.
We walk in the streets still full of people, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Then I slip my hand into his. He looks down at me and smiles. God, I love him. Every day I love him more and more.
Twenty-two
Dahlia Fury
I loved you at your darkest.
-Roman 5:8
We arrive at the villa and as we pass the swimming pool it suddenly occurs to me that I might not have such a good opportunity again, so I turn towards Zane and push him as hard as I can backwards. For a second he hovers in the air, his total bewilderment etched across his face, then he lands in the water with a great splash. I slap my hand over my mouth and try to suppress the hysterical laughter that is bubbling up into my mouth.
His head and shoulders pop out of the water, and he immediately starts peeling off his clothes. There is no swearing, no scolding. In fact, he seems so unconcerned about being in the water it surprises me. I watch him undo his trousers, kick them off and let them sink to the bottom of the pool. Next his shirt. Then he swims to the side where I am standing and hauls himself up so his forearms are resting on the edge of the pool.
He grins at me. ‘You’re not coming in, bella?’
I cross my arms over my chest. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Too bad,’ he says and suddenly his hand shoots out and curls around my ankle.
I freeze and look down at the wet hand encircling my ankle then back to his eyes. They are sparkling with suppressed laughter. ‘What’s the matter, little fish?’
‘Please don’t,’ I plead.
‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t?’
I say the first thing that comes into my head. ‘I’ll do something really special for you.’
One eyebrow arches. ‘I’m intrigued. Carry on.’
‘Show me your thigh.’
Keeping his hand firmly curled around my ankle, he lifts his leg out of the water and rests it on the edge of the pool.
I crouch close to him. ‘This is just the beginning,’ I say smiling enticingly, and scratch his thigh the way that Stella had taught me to that night at Jamie’s. I must have done it right because his eyes widen and underneath his wet boxers his cock is a soldier standing to attention.
‘Now let go of my ankle for the rest of the technique,’ I croon.
He lets go of my ankle, grabs me around the waist, and chucks me into the water. As I am flying into the water I am actually in such a state of shock I don’t even scream. Stella could make a stranger drive her home at breakneck speed for a promise of the rest and I couldn’t even get my lover to defer retaliation.
The water is actually surprisingly cold. I emerge swearing and spluttering.
‘You’ve ruined my good dress,’ I grumble, treading water.
‘You ruined my good suit,’ he replies reasonably.
‘Now you’ll never know what I had planned for you,’ I say huffily.
He grins. ‘What, after the thigh scratch?’
‘You know about the thigh scratch?’ I ask incredulously. Stella gave me the distinct impression that it was her own personal invention.
He shrugs. ‘Everyone knows about it. It’s just a cock tease. Nothing comes after it.’
‘What?’
He laughs. ‘Yeah, whoever taught you didn’t tell you that?’
I’m going to knock Stella’s head hard the next time I see her. I swim to the side where he is standing with his hands on his hips, and he holds out his hand. I put my hand into it and he grasps it tightly and hauls me out in one smooth move. He kneels down and takes my shoes off.
‘Come on,’ he says, and we run barefoot and dripping into the house. I leave my wet clothes on the floor and he towels me dry so vigorously that I am quite pink and glowing by the time he finishes. He brings a hairdryer, plugs it into the wall, and makes me sit between his knees while he dries my hair.
‘I love your hair,’ he says.
I look up at him with a warm smile. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ He is silent for a while then he switches off the dryer. ‘There. All done. Feel like a hot chocolate?’
I twist around to look at him. ‘You’re gonna make it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’d love to have a cup.’
I sit on a stool huddled inside a fluffy bathrobe and watch him chop a bar of chocolate into small pieces. Then he pours milk into a glass saucepan and puts it on gentle heat. As it warms he drops the chocolate in and whisks it until it is a rich thick mixture and the delicious smell of chocolate fills the air. He pours the hot chocolate into two mugs and puts a mint leaf into each one
‘Now for the secret ingredient,’ he says and adds a dash of peppermint schnapps.
We go outside and cuddle up on the outdoor seat that is big enough to be a double bed. The weather is beautiful and the sky is full of stars. He gets on it first and pats the area next to him. I climb in carefully holding on to my mug and curl up to his big warm body. We drink in silence, a delicious feeling of languor spreading through my body.
I put our mugs on the ground and stretch and yawn lazily. I feel safe, cherished and protected, but I want him to feel that too. I know he has demons and I want badly to be that formidable woman who holds them at bay.
‘God, I could stay here forever,’ I whisper.
I feel his hand tighten fiercely around me. ‘I’m sorry about Silvia.’
I look up at him. There is tenderness in his eyes. ‘It’s OK. You don’t have to be sorry. I understand how she feels. I would feel the same in her shoes.’
He looks down at me, his brow creased. ‘So why did you push me into the pool?’
He thought I had shoved him into the pool because I was mad about Silvia. Well … I grin evilly. ‘Revenge. Remember when you chucked me into the pool back in England?’
He throws his head back and laughs, a low sexy rumble. ‘Remind me never to cross you,’ he says.
‘Yes, I’d strongly recommend that course of action.’
He touches my cheek as if it is as fragile as a soap bubble. ‘You’re driving me insane, rybka.’
‘Good,’ I say staring up at him. There are stars behind his head. Heavy lidded he looks at me. Heavy lidded he takes me.
I feel him leave my body and, very gently, so as not to wake me up, slide out of bed. Quietly, he pads across the bedroom and opens the door. The click of the door closing is soft. I breathe quietly. I already know where he is going. I let a few minutes pass then I sit up and go to the door. I open it a crack and listen.
Nothing.
I walk out into the landing and I hear the first strains of music. Quietly, I go down the stairs and sit on the bottom step listening to him playing the piano. I close my eyes and get lost in his dark and brooding music. Oh, Zane. If only you will allow me into your world.
It gets cold but I don’t move. I huddle up, eyes closed and listen. I don’t know for how long I sit there listening to song after song, but suddenly I feel I am no longer alone. My eyes snap open and see him standing there.
I spring up, one foot on the first stair, ready to run.
‘Don’t go,’ he says.
I stare at him.
‘I don’t want you to be afraid of me.’
‘I’m not,’ I whisper.
‘Then why are you running away?’
I shake my head wordlessly.
He comes up to me and touches my face. ‘You’re freezing,’ he murmurs.
I realize how cold I am. He lifts me into his arms and carries me upstairs and lays me on the bed. I hang on to his shirt.
‘Who taught you to play the p
iano?’ I whisper.
His eyes become bleak. ‘Don’t get too close, Dahlia.’
‘Let me in,’ I beg. ‘I’m always open and naked for you.’
‘If I wanted to hurt someone, the first thing I would do is take someone important to him, his wife, his child, his mother. If I let you in you will become all those things to me. You will also become the target, and I will become vulnerable.’
‘Do you know the saying, “just when the caterpillar thought his life was over he became a butterfly”? Why can’t you give up this life? We don’t have to live in England. We can live here, or we can go somewhere else. I’d go anywhere with you.’
He shakes his head sadly.
‘What is the point of all this money and wealth if you’re not happy?’ I ask desperately.
‘But I am happy,’ he says and begins to take my nightgown off. He stares at my naked skin. ‘You look like the teardrop Beauty shed,’ he says wonderingly.
A smile trembles on to my lips. I love this man so much it hurts. ‘Really, you’re just a musician and a poet at heart, aren’t you?’
‘If I was a poet I would have said your eyes are two smears of chartreuse in the dark.’
‘Exactly my point.’
He moves to kiss me.
I hold his face between the palms of my hands. ‘Do you know when your lips touch mine you make me feel like I am flying?’
His lips touch mine. ‘Then, fly Dahlia fly. Fly as high as you can.’
Twenty-three
Aleksandr Malenkov
‘Mama, I wrote a piece of music for you.’
Mama’s mouth opens in a gasp of surprise. ‘You did what?’
‘I wrote a piece of music for you,’ I repeat.
Mama stares at me curiously. ‘Since when have you wrote music?’
I shrug. ‘Writing music is easy, Mama.’
‘You wrote it for me?’ she asks, touching her chest with her right hand.
‘Yes,’ I say happily. Her blue eyes shine like stars and make me feel proud.
You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2) Page 11
