The King

by Taylor Danae Colbert

  A breeze blows by, knocking her long ponytail off of her shoulder, baring it for my eyes to feast on. I picture, for a moment, walking out there and grabbing her hips, pulling her into me, peeling those leggings off of her long, slender legs, sliding that sports bra off over her head. I’d make love to every inch of her, right out in that yard. Every. Single. Inch.

  But just as I feel my dick standing at attention, she spins around to stretch in the other direction, and her eyes catch mine. But instead of stopping or playing shy, she narrows her eyes on mine, challenging me to keep looking.

  So I do.

  She reaches an arm up and grabs her elbow, pulling her other arm down into a stretch, her eyes still on mine. She gives me a little smile, and I can’t stay away from her any longer. I do a little shimmy to try and hide the issue in my pants, and when I’m sure it’s disguised enough, I walk out the back door.

  “Enjoy the show?” she asks as she switches arms. I chuckle and grab one of the lawn chairs, sliding it into the grass and sitting next to her.

  “It was decent,” I say, trying to pretend like she didn’t have me melting where I stood just moments ago. It’s funny, but one look at her and everything feels so much lighter. “You have a good morning?”

  She breaks her stretch and bends down to grab her water, squirting a long stream into her mouth. I lick my lips as I watch like a fool. She shrugs as she sets it back down.

  “I mean, as far as being held captive goes, there could be worse scenarios,” she says with a smile. I shake my head and laugh.

  “I don’t want you to feel like you’re being ‘held captive’,” I tell her, my tone growing a little more serious. Her eyebrows knit together as she catches on to the seriousness in my voice. I stand up from my chair and walk toward her, stopping only when we’re an inch or two apart. Even a little sweaty from her yoga or whatever the fuck she’s doing out here, she smells so sweet that I feel woozy. Her big green eyes open wide as I get closer, and I reach my hand down and tilt her chin up to me. “I want you to feel at home,” I whisper into her mouth. We move closer and closer together, our lips a centimeter or two apart.

  “Well, then,” she says, “let’s go play house.” She gives me another one of those devilish smiles and spins on her heel, heading toward the house. I follow like a puppy in training, practically salivating at the thought of what this could mean. Play house as in fuck like mad? ‘Cause, God, I hope so.

  When we get inside, she turns to me, and I take a hungry step toward her, my whole body pulling itself closer and closer to her. But she reaches onto the counter and grabs something then shoves it into my gut.

  I look down at the bag of rice in my hands and look up at her, one eyebrow raised.

  “Measure two cups of that,” she says.

  “Are we...cooking?” I ask, my visions of bending her over this counter coming to a fiery

  crash and burn before my eyes. She smiles and nods as she goes into the fridge and pulls out a bunch of vegetables.

  “What did you think we were gonna do?” she asks. “Un passo alla volta.”

  I look at her and raise an eyebrow. My dad understood Italian but spoke very little of it at home. My grandparents did when they were alive, but I only remember a little.

  She smiles.

  “One step at a time,” she says. “When I was younger and I would be anxious or worried about something, my mom would take me into the kitchen and just start to cook. And she would tell me to take the recipe one ingredient, one chop, one dice at a time. And it would remind me to take whatever it was that was bothering me…one step at a time.”

  I nod and smile, swallowing my disappointment as I start to measure the rice out like she instructed, following her orders as she starts the makings for stir fry. I’ll take whatever steps she wants me to take. And after a few minutes, I find myself laughing. Enjoying this.

  Like time with her is a cure-all for whatever ailment I might have.

  9

  Scarlett - Senior Year

  I brush out the ends of my long curls and take one more look in the mirror before smoothing out my sundress and turning out the door.

  “Sweetie, we gotta go!” my dad calls down the hallway, not realizing I’m only a few steps away.

  “I’m ready,” I say, flipping my hair over my shoulder and walking toward the door. He pauses for a moment and looks at me. “What?”

  He shakes his head and smiles.

  “Nothin’,” he says. “Just noticed that you’re never late going to Marlon’s anymore.”

  I clear my throat and drop my eyes to the ground. “Hey,” he says, nudging me, “there ain’t nothin’ wrong with it, sweetie. He’s a good kid. But if he fucks with you, I’ll kill him.”

  He points a finger at me when he says it, but then his serious face breaks into a smile as he opens the front door and lets me go first.

  On the way :) I text him when we get into the car.

  Been waiting all day, he says back, and my stomach flips. Dominic and I have been hanging out as much as we possibly can. I’ve missed a class or two––or three––to wander the halls with him, and we spend most of our lunch periods underneath the bleachers, sitting on his coat and making out.

  I want him even when I’m with him.

  Next to him isn’t close enough.

  Shit. I’m in trouble.

  A few minutes later, we pull up to the Castianos’ and park, and before we make it up the steps, Dominic is at the door, opening it wide to greet us. He takes my hand and leads me inside then sticks a hand out to greet my dad.

  “Happy Sunday, all,” Mrs. Castiano says as she makes her way to the bottom of the stairs, her stilettos clicking across the hardwoods as she holds her arms out and welcomes us into the dining room. “Scarlett, that is a beautiful dress.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Castiano,” I say, feeling my hand clam up against Dominic’s as we take our usual seats.

  Dinner goes as usual. Our fathers monopolize most of the conversation while Mrs. Castiano tries to get a word in edgewise to ask us all about school. Gio pouts in the corner, and Avie pipes in with some snarky comment or random fact she learned in school, the comic relief we all need. And underneath the table, Dom’s hand reaches for mine, resting on my lap. And every few minutes, he slides it an inch or so higher until my breath hitches in my throat.

  I turn to him, my eyes wide, but he doesn’t look at me. He just smiles and slides his fingers a little farther up until I clear my throat and slam my hands down on the table.

  “You okay, Melucci?” he asks me as innocently as a fucking angel. I nod and reach for my water, motioning to my throat.

  “I’m good,” I choke out. “Something went down the wrong pipe.”

  He gives me a slow nod and raises his eyebrows.

  “Maybe you need some fresh air?” he asks. But before I can enthusiastically agree, his father waves his hand.

  “Actually,” Marlon says, “Sal and I were going to have a quick chat in my office, and we’d like you to step in, Dominic.”

  Mrs. Castiano slams her wine glass down on the table, her big brown eyes wide as she glares at her husband. Our eyes are like ping-pong balls, bouncing back and forth across the table from one of them to the other.

  “Marlon,” she warns, her voice low.

  “Irene, it’s just––”

  “Don’t you dare say it’s just business, Marlon,” Irene says between her teeth. “He is our son.”

  “Irene, we will talk about this later,” Marlon says, standing from the table.

  “If you take that boy into your office, there will be nothing to talk about,” Irene warns. And then there’s a cold stand-off. Marlon and Irene, staring each other down, him at one end of the table, her at the other.

  I look at Dominic, but he doesn’t take his eyes off his mother. He swallows as Marlon walks to the doorway, my father right behind him.

  “Dominic,” Irene says, desperation in her voice. But his eyes drop to the table in
front of him, and then he stands slowly and walks toward his father. When he gets to the end of the table, he bends down to kiss the top of his mother’s head then turns the corner to follow our fathers.

  Irene’s chest heaves up and down, Gio and Avie’s eyes both down on the table, afraid to look at her. She clears her throat and looks at each of us.

  “Excuse me,” she says, pushing out from the table and dropping her napkin on her completely full plate. I look across the table at Avie.

  “You guys want to go sit out back for a little bit?” I ask. Gio lifts his big brown eyes to me after a minute then runs a hand through his dark-brown locks.

  “I think I’m gonna go upstairs,” he says. I nod as he gets up and walks out of the room. I look at Avie.

  “Ave, you wanna go out back? Get some air?” I ask. She sighs then nods and pushes out from her chair. We walk through the kitchen and out the back door, stepping onto the patio and looking up at the stars that have started to twinkle in the now-dark sky.

  “So, Ave,” I say.

  “You should still call me Avianna,” she corrects me, and I smile.

  “Avianna––sorry,” I say. “How have things been here, with your family? Your parents?”

  She drops the stone she’s holding and looks up at me.

  “Okay, I guess,” she says. “But I’m not going to talk about it. It’s a family matter. That’s what Daddy says.”

  I nod and lean back against the chair.

  “You like my brother, don’t you?” she asks me after a beat of silence. I turn to her and smile.

  “Who, Gio?” I ask, playing dumb. “Yeah. He’s great.”

  She narrows her eyes, purses her lips, and crosses her arms over her little body.

  “You know I mean Dominic,” she says. I look down at my hands then up at her.

  “Yeah, Avianna,” I say, “I like your brother.”

  She nods slowly, contemplating my words.

  “Well,” she says, “be nice to him. Or I’ll tell my dad to deal with you.”

  Then, she stands up and heads back inside just as Dominic appears at the back door.

  “Did...did my ten-year-old sister just threaten to order a hit on you?” he asks. I stare at him, wide-eyed, then bust out laughing.

  “I think she did,” I say when I finally get it together. He smiles and walks across the patio to me, pulling me up by my hands.

  “Well, just in case it wasn’t clear,” he says, bending down to kiss me, “I like you, too.” I smile against his lips. “Listen, I’m running out tonight with my dad and Mick.”

  My eyes open wide, and I take a step back.

  I want to ask.

  I want to ask him where he’s going—and then ask him not to go.

  But we made a deal.

  I nod slowly, but he presses his forehead against mine.

  “Listen,” he says, wrapping his arms around my back, “can I take you out tomorrow?”

  I look up at him and cock an eyebrow.

  “Take me out? Like on a date?”

  He smiles down at me.

  “Yes,” he says. “Like on a date.”

  I nod as he kisses me again slowly, leaving my head spinning the whole ride home.

  The next day, he’s at our door in the middle of the afternoon, looking absolutely devastating in his dark-gray t-shirt and jeans. His biceps flex as he opens the car door, and again when he drops his hand between my knees as we ride.

  A few minutes later, the driver parks the car. I look around.

  “Coney Island?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “That okay?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  He helps me out of the car, and we walk across the lot and onto the boardwalk, my hand nestled perfectly in his. His blondish-brownish hair blows in the breeze, and a mix of corn dogs and ocean tickle my nose.

  We walk a ways, stopping for fries and funnel cakes, watching a break-dancing troupe, looking up at the kites flying across the beach.

  As we’re walking, me popping pieces of cotton candy into his mouth, he stops at a small kiosk.

  “Wait here,” he says.

  He lets go of my hand and walks around the kiosk, running his hands over each piece of jewelry as he walks. Finally, he freezes, his eyes flicking up to me, and a smile tugs at his lips.

  He points down at something, and the man working the kiosk takes it out. I see Dom pull his wallet out and hand the man cash, then he walks back over to me. When he reaches me, he holds up a necklace, a silver chain with a gorgeous seashell charm on it.

  He walks behind me and clips it on, the metal of the charm cool against my skin.

  “I looked for the thing that would always remind you of this day,” he whispers as he spins me around. I look down at it in my fingers then look up to him.

  “Always,” I tell him as I press up against his lips. And after a moment, it’s like we forget we’re in public in the middle of the boardwalk. His hands wrap so tightly around me that the breath leaves my body, and I tug on his hair.

  I feel his hand sliding down my back until it’s just above my ass, and I squirm a bit beneath his touch. He feels my hesitation and breaks our kiss.

  “Scar,” he whispers.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and he tilts my head up. I open my eyes slowly to meet his.

  “Don’t say you’re sorry to me,” he says. “Let’s walk.”

  He takes my hand and starts leading me back down the boardwalk toward where the car is parked.

  “It’s not that I...it’s not that I don’t want it. I just…I’ve never done it before, and I...” I start to say, stumbling over my words.

  “Scarlett, you don’t have to explain anything to me,” he says, stopping in his tracks and spinning me toward him.

  “But you’ve done it, haven’t you?” I ask him, my voice hushed, my eyes at the ground. He tilts my head up with a thumb again and looks down at me.

  “It doesn’t matter what I’ve done,” he whispers. “When I picture it now, it’s only ever with you.”

  I feel my stomach flip.

  “Scarlett, believe me when I say I want you. I want this with you. But I want to do it right. I want to take all the time in the world with you. So, whenever you’re ready, I will be too.”

  And right here in this moment, I realize I am in love with Dominic Castiano.

  10

  Scarlett - Present

  I’ve heard from my dad just the right amount for me to not worry that he’s dead in a ditch somewhere, but just little enough for me to constantly be wondering what the fuck is going on. But I have to admit, waking up to Dominic sitting across the table from me every morning doesn’t completely suck.

  A few nights a week, he gives Silla the evenings off, and he and I cook together in the big ol’ chef’s kitchen. By cooking together, I really mean he just leans back against the island, bulging arms crossed over that big, broad chest, watching me as I dice and chop, and occasionally taking orders when I need help.

  And then, every night, after we watch some T.V. or read together, he stands as soon as I do. And every night, we walk up the first flight of steps together, then the next, and he walks me to my bedroom door. He doesn’t touch me, kiss me, nothing. He just looks at me, this faint smile on those perfect lips, and says goodnight.

  Tonight, as we make our way up, he pauses and turns to me.

  “So, tomorrow is Sunday,” he says.

  “Yes. And?”

  “And I just wanted to give you a heads up that I think my sister and Leo are coming for dinner,” he says, running a hand through that head of hair I’d love to run my own fingers through. I nod slowly, trying desperately to think up an excuse that could get me out of this, despite the fact that I’m not allowed to go anywhere, and I have literally nothing to do.

  Ugh. Avianna Castiano.

  She entered my life like a cyclone, and she wreaked havoc for the entirety of mine and Dominic’s relationship as the ten-year-old she was. No
w she’s all grown up, and that cyclone has morphed into a tornado of epic proportions. She’s like the sun in the Castiano world. Everyone and everything revolves around her. Well, at least, it used to. She moved out a few months ago, and I’m not really sure where that puts her now as far as priorities go. But if I know Avie, I know she’s still commanding every city, every building, every room she walks into.

  “Thanks for the heads up,” I say with a nod as I reach for my door. “Night, Dom.”

  “Night, Scar,” he says with a quick head nod, then he turns and walks back down the hall.

  And as I watch him walk away through the crack in my door, I feel that familiar tightening in my chest, my whole being aching to ask him to stay.

  The next day seems to drag on. Dominic left a note on the kitchen table, telling me he was running out for a few errands, so I make breakfast, do my yoga, then make lunch. As I’m cleaning my dishes, I feel a tickle on the back of my neck, and a single sunflower pops up in front of my face. I turn off the sink and grab it from his hand as my whole face lights up.

  “Guy was selling them in the park today, and it reminded me of you,” Dominic says, popping one of my baby carrots into his mouth. I bite my lip, but it’s useless in hiding the smile he brings to my face.

  “I love it,” I tell him. He takes a few steps toward me until he’s an inch or two away, and I’m drowning in his scent. He keeps his eyes on me as he reaches an arm up and opens the cabinet above my head, pulling down a crystal vase and placing it in my empty hand.

  “Good,” he says with a devilish smile as he steps back and lets me gather myself. I quickly fill it with water and put the flower inside, setting it on the center of the island.