Dinner was my choice. I would attend my parents’ little setup, but I wouldn’t play the simpering, wounded puppy. I would be the strong, independent woman I knew myself to be. Nico could only upset me as much as I allowed him to, and I was choosing not to let him affect me at all.
I was a Genovese, and we were made of cold steel.
Being home had allowed me to regress and fall into being the scared little girl I’d been for so long. In a matter of hours, I’d forgotten the woman I’d become. They didn’t know that side of me, but they didn’t know a lot of things. It was no surprise Michael was the one to remind me, even if that hadn’t been his intention.
Michael had been my lifeline after Nico left. He picked me up off the ground, dusted me off, and helped me find myself.
In my family, we all had secrets, and Michael was mine.
Chapter 7
Nico
Now
The house smelled like minestrone, just as I remembered. I didn’t spend a ton of time at her place when we were younger, especially when puberty hit and her dad got more protective. Most of our time together was spent at school, but I did visit her house on occasion, and the place often smelled like minestrone.
I had mixed emotions about being there. Part of me dreaded the stifling awkwardness of sitting near her and knowing she hated me. I hadn’t had a particular plan going into our little lunch setup, but I still managed to surprise myself at how I handled the situation. I had needed to ease tensions and get her to let me in, but I hadn’t intended to cut myself open for her. The words fell from my mouth before I could stop them. When I saw her look at me with such raw pain, I couldn’t help myself. I had needed her to know she wasn’t alone.
My sentiment wasn’t exactly well received.
At least our initial reunion was over—I had known it would be the hardest part. Dinner might turn out to be just as much a cluster fuck as lunch had been, but part of me didn’t care. Part of me would still rather get to see her, touch her, smell her, than leave her in peace.
Yeah, I was an asshole.
Of course, when Enzo suggested I stopped by for dinner, it wasn’t like I could refuse. If I’d had a choice, would I have taken it? Probably not. I wasn’t the playground protector Sofia had grown up with. The boy she’d known grew into a hardened, selfish man. There was a time I would have done anything to keep her from being upset, but now, I’d spent too many years looking out for my own best interests. After feeling my lips on her skin, smelling the berries and cream scent on her hair, and seeing the flecks in her hazel eyes, I wanted more—whether it hurt her or not.
When Mrs. Genovese directed me to the dining room, I noted that the wallpaper had been changed, but everything else had remained the same. A long cherry red table with eight chairs filled the room, and a formal china cabinet loaded with breakables lined the back wall. Four places had been set on one end—the head of the table, one on the near side, and two on the far side. The two seats together were clearly intended for us, and I wondered how Sofia would respond.
“So, Nico, Enzo tells me you’re quite the professional boxer.” Carlotta looked at me expectantly even though she hadn’t technically asked me a question.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s harder to find competition in the heavyweight division, so I don’t fight all that often anymore.”
“I’ll bet. You ended up growing so much since we saw you last! How tall are you now?”
“Six four. The last four inches didn’t hit me until my twenties.”
“Isn’t that something? Of course, you were always big for your age, but still … I almost didn’t recognize you!” We both gave a small laugh just as Enzo joined us at the table. Mrs. Genovese poured some wine, and we visited about inconsequential matters as we waited for Sofia to join us. All the awkward small talk had been worth it the moment she stepped into the room.
Hair pulled up in a twist, Sofia stepped gracefully into the dining room in a vibrant red dress that clung to her lithe frame, accentuating her modest curves. She wore a broad smile painted blood red to match her dress. She was sexy as fuck, and my dick stirred to life just at the sight of her.
This was not the same woman I had encountered the day before.
Sofia had come to dinner ready to play, and I was more than game. Her reaction at lunch had been raw and honest; this was a show … a challenge.
I lived for a good challenge.
“Sorry to keep you all waiting. I had to freshen up.” She walked without hesitation to the seat next to me as I stood to help her into her chair. “Thank you, Nico.”
“My pleasure,” I responded, my voice a sensual caress.
She pretended to be unaffected, but the hairs along her arms stood in response to my voice. I fucking loved it. Sofia and I never had the opportunity to fully explore each other sexually, and it was clear I had missed out. We were so in tune with one another that her body couldn’t help but respond to mine. Sex with her would be worth the one-way ticket to hell I would earn, if I wasn’t headed there already.
The room suddenly heated from the influx of sexual tension, along with her parents' understandable discomfort.
“Well,” called out Mrs. Genovese. “I suppose I’ll grab the antipasti.” She scurried off to the kitchen, quickly returning with a platter of meats and cheeses.
“Mom, everything smells delicious,” said Sofia as she reached for her glass. “I’d say this evening calls for a toast.”
We each lifted our glasses, and Enzo narrowed his eyes at his daughter, just as aware of her games as I was.
“To long-lost friends and unexpected reunions.” She cut her eyes over to me, a saccharine smile on her lips.
What I wouldn’t have given to see those lips swollen and smudged after I’d kissed her senseless. She thought she was running the show—that she could sweep in here, toy with me to her amusement, and then walk away without a backward glance.
She didn’t have any clue who she was dealing with.
Before we brought our glasses down to drink, I added my own contribution. “To new beginnings and to happy endings.” I laced my toast with a heavy dose of innuendo, holding her gaze captive as I said the words. There was a good chance Enzo was going to jump up and rip my throat out for the comment, but I’d needed to show her she couldn’t affect me.
Her throat bobbed as she struggled to swallow while we clinked glasses. She then cleared her throat and brought her glass to her mouth. I was envious of the deep red liquid as it touched those lips, and I wondered if the wine would make her even more brazen or send her crawling back into her shell.
Enzo and Carlotta began to serve themselves, but the moment I lifted my hand to reach for the platter, Sofia sat tall.
“Please, let me. You’re not big on cheese, as I recall, so some of the meat and maybe an olive?” She placed a few items on my plate, accidentally sending one of the olives onto the table. “Oops! Guess this one’s mine.” She picked up the olive and placed it between her lips, sucking gently at the juices and holding my gaze before the olive disappeared into her mouth. “Mmmmm … tasty,” she purred.
“Jesus Christ,” muttered Enzo. There was no way in hell he would be putting up with our behavior if he hadn’t been the one to initiate our gathering. He had wanted Sofia and me to connect, so he had little choice in the matter.
Hoping to keep my boss from ripping my throat out, I cleared my throat. “Mrs. Genovese, how are the plans for the big party coming along?”
More than happy to carry the conversation and give us all a reprieve from the tension, Carlotta ran through all the details of the gala she had planned. We ate soup with delicious crusty bread and sipped wine while we discussed the current state of the New York political scene and how far the Patriots would go in the playoffs.
All the while, Sofia and I waged a silent war—a casual touch of her hand on mine in conversation, my arm draped over the back of her chair, her licking the cream from her fingers as she sampled the tiramisu, and my knee a
ccidentally resting against hers as I turned to listen to her father. It was a war between two grown adults where the strikes were strategic acts of casual flirtation, and a direct hit resulted in flushed cheeks and shortness of breath.
I found the whole thing endlessly entertaining because no matter the outcome, I would win. She was attempting to make a statement about her indifference, but she only succeeded in proving the opposite.
Sofia Genovese was just as much mine today as she was the day I walked away.
And if there’d been any doubt, she had been the one to hand over the evidence to annihilate those doubts, although not by choice. In one of her many sensual parries, she released her long, golden hair, shaking free the strands from their sleek twist. In doing so, she pulled free the necklace that had been concealed underneath the neckline of her dress.
My eyes were immediately drawn to the small pendant in the shape of the Eiffel Tower, and all humor evaporated. My posture stiffened, and she was instantly aware of my sudden change. When she realized where my eyes were fixed, her hand flew to her chest and tucked the pendant back in its hiding place. She made every effort to appear casual and unaffected, but the pulse point at her neck was fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird.
A melee of emotions suddenly raged inside me.
Sofia had feelings for me—after all, hate was a feeling—and she was clearly affected by me sexually, which had given me hope that I might wear down her defenses. But spotting that necklace gave me reason to believe that I was far closer to obtaining my prize than I had ever thought possible. I was stunned she still owned the thing, let alone wore it.
Sofia might not know it, but she was mine.
Now, I just had to prove it.
Chapter 8
Sofia
Now
For days after dinner with Nico, I berated myself for revealing the necklace. I’d been so rushed with my little plan to flaunt myself that I’d completely forgotten I was wearing it. The smug bastard probably left the house convinced I still harbored some unrequited affection for him when that couldn’t have been further from the truth. I just happened to like the necklace. It had nothing to do with the man who had given it to me.
I wasn’t some love-sick teen clinging to the vestiges of my first love.
That was absurd.
I was a student of the arts, so I appreciated the cultural significance of Paris in the art world. The Eiffel Tower was merely representative of my love for painting. That was it.
How many times would I have to reiterate that argument to believe it?
The thoughts had cycled through my mind so many times it was dizzying. They were there all during Sunday dinner at my parents’ house when Alessia brought her new boyfriend, Luca. They’d been present at my first week at work and had been front and center as I accepted my degree today in front of hundreds of spectators. A day that should have been about my accomplishments and the thrill of future endeavors was bogged down by the looming shadows of the past like a nest of gnats I couldn’t escape.
Despite the distraction, the ceremony had gone smoothly. I was incredibly proud of what I’d accomplished and the fact that I’d pursued my passion despite the multitude of people who warned me repeatedly about the unemployability of an art degree. Time after time, I had disregarded their proffered advice and stuck to my guns.
I was thrilled to be taking the art world into the twenty-first century by bringing art sales and appreciation into the world of social media. I wanted to market myself to art lovers and foster relationships with people who followed my work, rather than rely on an arm’s length transaction through a gallery. I was confident a new era of cultural expansion was waiting to be explored, and I was happy to lead the charge. Until my new business venture took root, I still planned to work in the gallery, but my long-term goal was online sales.
I had my degree and the opportunity to pursue my dreams, so I should have been on cloud nine. I wanted to be. Truly, I had tried. If it hadn’t been for those damn thoughts of Nico and the necklace, it would have been a perfect afternoon.
By the time the ceremony was over and we had returned to my parents’ house for a private post-graduation celebration, I was physically sick of my own thoughts. Day after day of running on the hamster wheel, and I was no closer to knowing how to handle Nico. I would see him at my party the next night and desperately needed a strategy.
My parents and sisters toasted to my accomplishments with champagne, and we all wore smiles and talked about the upcoming party. I tried my best to participate, but the moment the opportunity arose, I slipped out onto the patio overlooking the bay where the crisp evening air could clear my head.
You don’t just cross my mind; you live in it.
What the hell was he thinking to say that to me? Nico had no right to show up out of the blue and drop a bomb like that. Each time my mind replayed his sultry voice saying those words, my blood warmed me from the inside out like the heated fibers in an electric blanket.
I told myself the heat he stirred was purely anger, but I knew deep down it was more. It made me wish I had one more glass of champagne to drown out the thoughts—the ones that whispered what a hypocrite I was. Because as much as I hated liars, I knew I was lying to myself. The heat was somewhat born out of anger, but there was also a much more problematic source. More instinctual. Visceral.
I still craved Antonico Conti.
How could you move on from someone who was your everything? You didn’t. That person lived inside you whether they were standing next to you or a thousand miles away. The fact that I still wore his necklace, the one he bought for me, wasn’t just evidence that I still cared for him. It was proof that I’d never even tried to move on.
It was no wonder I’d had no other boyfriends. I’d told myself I wasn’t interested or that my studies were my priority, rather than boys. But now, I was having to face that it was all a bunch of bullshit. I had turned my back on that part of my life, hoping it would fix itself and was surprised to check in seven years later and discover the abandoned attic of my love life was the same as I’d left it. A few more cobwebs and a layer of dust, but otherwise no different.
I could have tried to meet someone new, or at least removed the reminders of Nico from my life. And in the alternative, if I wasn’t going to pull the weed out by the roots, then I should have owned my feelings and fought for what my heart wanted.
But now, it wasn’t so simple.
Now, things had changed.
I had changed, and there was no way I could tell him my secrets.
As I stared at the water’s edge, shivering in the cold, I realized that, either way, it had to stop. I couldn’t keep holding a torch for him. It was time to let him go or open myself up to him and risk being devastated all over again. Just the thought made my stomach churn violently. Was that my theoretical “gut” speaking, telling me I should walk away? That thought was almost equally as upsetting.
The arguments swirled in an endless whirlpool, getting no closer to any plausible solution. The choppy waters stirred up memories of times when I’d snuck onto that same patio to meet with Nico when he wanted to tell me about his first time driving or how his first day of high school had gone. My dad didn’t allow boys over at the house—I wasn’t allowed to date until I was sixteen—and no matter how much I argued that Nico was just a friend, my parents wouldn’t budge. He didn’t have a cell phone, so we couldn’t text. Sometimes, we settled for talking at school or phone conversations, but every now and then, he showed up at my house unannounced and threw pebbles at my bedroom window until I met him outside.
For ten years, from the time I was five until fifteen, Nico was my life. He was good, and pure, and honest. He was my escape from everything I hated about the world. At fifteen, I’d lived more of my life with him than without, and I couldn’t fathom ever losing him.
The last year of our friendship, our relationship had started to evolve into something … more—something even more beautiful tha
n it had been before, which I hadn’t thought was possible. My freshman year, his sophomore year, we were both in the high school wing of our K-12 private school. It started with sweet notes left in my locker, then progressed to holding my hand in the halls, and on to a first kiss—a stolen moment in the supply closet of the art room.
I always loved Nico, but my freshman year, I fell in love with him.
Not just teenage puppy love. Nico became my favorite part of every day and the thing I pictured in my head each night as I drifted to sleep. He planted himself deep inside the fibers of my being, his roots interwoven with mine like two redwood trees, separate at first sight but one creature when you dug down deep.
When he left me, he’d violently ripped us apart, and my wounds had never healed. I had convinced myself they had—placed bandages over the gaping wounds—but underneath, I was just as raw and damaged as I’d been seven years before.
And now he was back to throw salt in those wounds. Why now? I had no doubt there was a reason behind his sudden appearance. Was I willing to be near him to figure it out, or was self-preservation more important? I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but either way, I was in trouble.
Chapter 9
Sofia
Then
“Can I ask you a question?” Nico asked one day as he sat on the swing next to me.
“Yeah, I guess.” I squinted over at him in the bright sunlight. Nico and I had become friends over the prior weeks, and I liked talking to him.
“One of the kids in my class said your brother died. Is that why you’ve been so sad?”
His question made a thick lump form in my throat. Aside from the night Marco had died, I hadn’t cried for him. All it took was one question from Nico, and tears pooled in my eyes. If I said a single word, the heavy droplets would overflow, so I simply nodded.
“Okay. We don’t have to talk about it. Let’s just see how high we can swing. Sometimes, when the swing is going up and up, I feel like maybe I’m a bird and I can fly. You want to try?”
Never Truth Amazon Page 6
