by James, Ella
“What a bigot. Do you want to get married?”
“What’s the point?” He shrugs one shoulder. “He’s never going to let me inherit. For years it’s been these games, and I’ve done everything he said. And now this.”
“Maybe we should try, though. If we don’t like married life, there’s always divorce.”
My teasing elicits the smile I was hoping for. “I’m not joking,” I say. “Let’s do it tomorrow.”
“We should think about it more,” he says quietly.
“We’ve thought about it for years.”
He leans back against the pillows, closing his eyes. “I do love your bed.”
“I love it when you make me breakfast. There’s enough room here for both of us.”
“Who’s saying we’d live here?” He’s smiling.
“I guess that’s a good point.”
“We could live here,” he says.
“I could move in with you.”
“You could have the music room you’ve had your eye on all this time.”
I laugh, thinking of that room in his house. “Every woman needs a grand piano by her bed.”
I lie down beside Jace and wrap an arm around him. “It’s going to be okay. Let’s at least try. If it doesn’t work, you’ll move on to something better.”
“I can’t do much without the money.”
“Do you want me to get pregnant?”
He laughs, widening his eyes. “Do you want to?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You deserve more.”
“I don’t want more. I’m content,” I lie. “I’m married to my work.”
“You know I don’t believe that.”
“Believe it. You’re my best friend.”
“Thank you.”
I hold him for a while, and then he goes, claiming he’ll be fine tonight and doesn’t need to sleep here. I look at the ceiling, at the sky lights cut between the wood beams over my bed. Then I unlock my phone, open a new app, and check the camera view of Luca’s driveway.
23
Luca
“You pretty sure about the IP it’s streaming to?”
My brother bites the inside of his cheek as he nods down at his phone. “It’s your girl.”
“She’s not mine.”
He shrugs, looking very James Bond in his tailored suit as he stands at the granite counter in my kitchen.
“When do you think it got put there?”
His brow furrows. “Looks like the camera started exporting data from here…twenty-eight days ago.”
That’s the day after the Sunday I said goodbye to Elise at her cabin.
“Modern Perimeters? Or is it Jack and them at LamCam?”
He snorts. “Nobody in Brooklyn’s fucking with your house.”
“Then who was it? Do you know?”
“Test run from this device to her IP was done in New Rochelle. Not sure of the name yet. I can find it later. Could have even been an individual. I’d think the surveillance companies around here wouldn’t take you on.”
I button up my starched dress shirt, giving him a skeptical smirk. “Me?” I’m trying to tease. But Soren doesn’t tease. He lifts his eyebrows. “Yeah, you crazy motherfucker.”
I grin. “I’m a perfect gentleman.”
“And I’m a law-abiding citizen engaging in the intellectual delights of the interwebs.”
I snort, grabbing a pack of gum out of a bowl on the counter. “You ready to get going?”
He shrugs.
“Your gig,” I say.
“I’ve gotta go. Thanks for going with me,” he says as we walk into my garage. “If Smyth can get a girl like Keri, and a bunch of people want to throw them some engagement parties, the least I can do is force myself to go to one.”
I can’t help smiling as I slide behind the wheel of my black Mercedes S-Class. Soren’s come a long way in the last few years. Yes, he’s a hacker, pretty much nocturnal, and he does most of his friendshipping online—but he’s doing stuff like this more often. Pushing himself. He runs a massive part of my business, protecting all of us from criminal charges in a variety of ways, and he even has some legit clients. He plays in a chess league, mentors a kid through Big Brothers Big Sisters, and edits Wikipedia so often I think he’s on the payroll. Ever since he got attacked the one time, he’s been learning Judo, too.
“I’m not planning to stay long,” he tells me as I hit the button to close my driveway gate. The party is happening at another home in Kings Point, so we’re only driving four blocks. “You really don’t mind?” he asks.
“C’mon. When have you known me to say ‘no’ to a party?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “All the time?”
“I’m all about the party.”
He rolls his eyes and then gets lost in his phone. He’s still got anxiety, and I think he uses his phone to keep it at bay—especially headed into something social.
As I drive slowly down the quiet street, past gold-ringed street lamps and beneath the leafless trees, I think of the camera, nestled in the branches of a tree just outside the gate that frames my lawn. I would have never noticed it—and didn’t—but each month, Soren sweeps my property for bugs and such. He came over around dinnertime tonight, did the sweep while I whipped up spaghetti—mom’s old recipe—and hacked the camera from his laptop while I showered.
I can’t help a quick grin as I think of Elise not even having the data sent to a shielded IP. She has no clue what she’s doing—which is a big clue she’s not doing this for work. Her office would have people on the payroll who would do a clean job. There are ways to disguise cameras that are sending wireless data. Whoever she hired to put the camera in my tree didn’t even do that. I’m surprised my security people didn’t catch a strange car at the end of the driveway. Guess that’s something I’ll need to look into.
I occupy myself the last block or two to the house wondering about tomorrow: Saturday. Last weekend, she didn’t run in Central Park. First weekend in almost a year that she didn’t run either day, despite advocating for us to run together sometimes. I guess she’s taking my advice. Still—disappointing. Even as I know it’s fucking reckless to engage with her again, it bothered me she didn’t go. I felt pretty sure it was a sign she’d washed her hands of me. But then this camera.
Soren’s engaged friend, a tech type dude who makes apps, comes from money, and his cousin owns this house we’re going to. Seven thousand square feet, Tudor-style, with lots of weird-ass, harsh, square hedges.
“Is this a maze?” I ask as we creep down the driveway line.
“You know, it kind of looks like it is. She likes you,” Soren adds as we approach the valet tent.
I give a hearty snort. “Likes me behind bars.”
“You know I track your data,” he says simply, and my mouth opens a little as I realize he must know about our weekend at the cabins.
“Well, fuck.”
He chuckles, but his eyes are wide as he looks at me. “What’re you doing?”
“Fucking up, Sor. Fucking the fuck up, and being too emotional.”
“Not a bad thing to be in the good graces of the D.A.”
I blow a breath out, rub my temples, and then we’re out of the car. Soren mutters something about having to sweep the car for “gizmos”—as he calls bugs and tracers—after we leave; it’s true there’s always a risk anyone could tamper with my car when valet takes it, since almost everyone in Brooklyn knows who I am.
We’re offered a ride on a golf cart, but we start the two hundred yard trek across the lawn instead.
“You know you love the gizmos,” I say.
He gives me a weak smile as we approach a gratuitous, oval-shaped fountain.
“You should be careful,” he says quietly, casting his gaze toward the nude man spewing fountain water out of his stone mouth.
“Careful is as careful does.”
He frowns before we start up the steps. “What does that mean?”
&nbs
p; I laugh. “Just making shit up.”
I feel his eyes on me, but there’s no time for talking. We’re at the door; we’re being ushered in. I’m surprised, not for the first time, at the overlap in social circles. I know lots of people here—I’m never the social pariah I would have thought a mob guy would be—and, evidently, so does Soren.
He walks off with someone in black dress pants and a striped button-up, and I’m hung up for a long time talking to Todd, this guy I know from Columbia. It’s kind of funny, because I’m not sure he knows what I do for work. We talk about taxes, and he asks about my accountant, and it’s confirmed: he doesn’t. Then he frowns, tilts his head, and says, “You’re in trading, right?”
I do this little nod thing—not a real nod; fuck me—and there’s a swell of sound from over to our right. He looks over into the sitting room across the hall. I look, too, and there’s Elise. I’m so astonished to see her, I think my mouth lolls open as I drink her in. She’s got on a deep green gown, and she looks like a goddamn queen.
“Oh, you must know Jace,” Todd says, following my gaze. “He’s a good guy. I heard he got married last week.”
It’s an instinct—running. Even for a guy like me, if something goes sideways and I can’t kick some ass, I’m looking for an exit.
Soren’s got my phone tagged; he can see where I am, so it’s fine for me to go. Up some polished wood stairs and another flight, then down a hall, into the last door on the right, and it’s a room with a small, delicate-looking bed—some kind of spindle shit—and a giant oil painting under a spotlight. I see floor-to-ceiling curtains drawn over…yes, these would be doors.
I step onto a balcony, tugging cold, damp air into my lungs. I’ve got my hands around the rail—feels cool—and my eyes shut, and I can hear the not-so-distant sloshing of the sound, the vessels with their low horns and the far-off traffic. I can hear the chatting and the laughter inside.
Holy fuck.
Elise is married.
I lean over, put my head down on the knuckles of my hand that’s on the rail.
What, did you think you might end up with her? She felt sorry for you. Or maybe she wanted you because she knew she was about to marry him.
That’s not true. I know it’s not, but…I don’t know. I don’t know anything—except she’s married. Elise married Jace. I feel like someone kicked me in the chest.
I take deep, long breaths, till I think I can see straight again. Then I lift my head. I should get the fuck out of here. There’s a bunch of trees below the balcony. I watch their bare, sharp-looking branches sway in the wind. Then I turn toward the slider door and do a double take.
“Luca.”
I flinch at the sight of Elise. “What do you want?”
“I saw you.” Her eyes are wide. Her hair’s piled on her head. Her gown scoops downward at the neckline, revealing creamy cleavage. She looks like a married woman.
“Congratulations.”
“It’s not—”
“My business,” I cut in, stepping around her so I can get the fuck off this balcony. But Elise grabs my arm.
I shake her off and step into the bedroom.
“Don’t go.” Her voice is high and plaintive; her eyes, when I glance back at them, look desperate with regret.
“Luca…” Her voice sounds thick with tears. “Talk to me, please.”
I turn around to face her. “What would you like me to say?”
“I’m not in love with him. He’s my friend.”
I blink, schooling my mouth so my lips don’t twist into a scowl. “I hope you’re happy together.”
“Don’t do this.” She steps closer.
“Do what?”
“Don’t look at me that way!”
“What way?”
“Like you’re…just numb,” she whispers.
“You want it to hurt?” My pulse picks up.
Tears well in her eyes. “No.”
“It does hurt,” I say, grabbing her arm and pulling her close, so her chest and mine are pressed together. “But that doesn’t matter, does it? You were never going to be mine.”
My heart pounds harder saying those words aloud, knowing how true they are.
“I am yours.” She wraps her arms around my neck, urging my face toward hers with a warm hand on my nape, and then her mouth is on mine. We’re kissing, and it’s hard and frantic. We can’t stop until we have to break apart to breathe. “I am yours,” she says as tears drip down her cheeks. “Even if no one knows.”
“Don’t say that unless you want to be mine. Don’t say it if you’re fucking someone else.”
“We’re not.” She wipes at her eyes.
“How’re you gonna get that baby?”
Her mouth forms a tiny circle. “How’d you know?”
“Same way everybody in Manhattan knows.”
She looks stricken.
“Fuck, I’m sorry—that’s not true.” My hands squeeze her arms. “I know because I pay attention. Because it’s bothered me for years. It drives me fucking crazy, but…you have to do what’s good for you, la mia rosa.” I look into her eyes as I tell her, “Do what makes you happy.” When a little tear drips down her cheek, I lift my hand to thumb it away.
Elise wraps her arms around me. “Come with me,” she whispers. “Please.” She takes my hand and tugs me toward a door beside a dresser.
Anything you want. I can’t say it because my throat’s too tight, but I have the feeling of a marble being pushed down a hill. Everything she wants, I’ll do, I think as I push the door open and find a closet. This will have to be the last time—
Her mouth seals over mine, and then our tongues are tangled.
“Luca.” Her hands grip my shoulders. “This is so messed up.” Between our frantic kisses: “Dani said that we’re a tragedy. I think we are.” Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. I know because I taste them. She’s gripping my hair, breathing fast and shallow.
“Why’d it have to be this way?” she whimpers.
“I don’t know.” I wrap her against me, holding tight so she feels like I’ve got her. “Why’d you marry him?” I choke, my mouth against her hair.
“He needed me to. What does it matter since I can’t be with you?” Now she’s crying, and I feel so fucking sick for her, for all the things we can’t undo.
I lean against some shelving in the closet, rub her back and kiss her forehead. “You can’t be with me…that’s true. You did what was smart. That’s good.”
She’s trying to get her breath, to slow her breathing. Then she drops down to her knees in front of me and wraps an arm around my leg.
“Pull down your pants,” her voice rasps.
“What?”
“Take your pants down, Luca. I want to do this one last time.”
When I don’t—I can’t—she does it herself, finding my erection with her warm hands and her even warmer mouth.
I can’t help a loud groan as she sucks me between her cheeks and tightens her grip on my base.
This is wrong, though; I can’t let myself come when she’s like this. I sink to the carpeted floor, holding her as she pushes her face against my shoulder, rubbing her hair, whispering, “Andrà bene…andrà bene. Andrà bene, la mia rosa…” till she’s still and quiet and only mine. For just this moment, she’s no one’s but mine, and so I hold her like I’ll never let go.
When she looks up at me with her brown eyes, when she kisses my chin and cheek, I lay her down and use my mouth and hands to make it better.
She’s moaning loudly, I keep covering her mouth with mine, and then we’re laughing between gasps. She’s right on the verge of crying, her chest and shoulders shaking. I don’t want her going there again, so I push her gown up and duck my head beneath the heavy green silk. I make my way through the layers to her thong—green, just like the dress—and tuck it aside, so my tongue can lave her where she’s slick and swollen.
“This is all you need. I’ll give it to you, rosa. Let me make you feel
good.”
She grips my head through her gown and writhes around the closet’s floor like she’s gone mad. And I push. On and on and on until she’s weeping from her need and I’m so hard I feel each heartbeat in the head of my cock.
She says, “Inside.” She lifts her hips, rubbing herself on my face. “I need to feel you, cuore. Just one more time…”
We’re too frantic to be careful. I shove her dress aside and rip her panties away, stuffing the thong in my pocket. I press myself against her, and she lifts her hips. Her hands are rubbing my arms and her face is rapt with need.
“Make it hurt,” she says in a voice that shakes.
That’s where I fail. It feels like heaven. We’re both shuddering and panting, clinging to each other like we’re shipwrecked and we’re both going to drown.
“Remember me,” she whispers.
“Forever,” I say in Italian.
And Jace opens the door.
24
Elise
They read Romeo and Juliet in high school classes. The story’s sad, but it’s not real. You close the book and leave your desk and walk into the hall, where everyone you know is talking, smiling, planning for the weekend. You think life—your life—will turn out fine. Even if a part of it goes wrong, you think the course will right itself. No one expects to live a tragedy. And so it’s strange to find you’re doing just that.
I don’t feel like a victim…but I think maybe I am. They say you have choices in life—that you can chart your course—but that’s not true. I never realized before. I suppose it could be considered a blessing that I’m just now learning this, at thirty-six years old. I’ve lived a lucky life, despite the loss of Becca. Now I’m seeing how the world can wreck you, and not for any reason other than because that’s just…what happens.
Lots of variables are pre-set. You can’t choose what they are, and sometimes they line up in such a way so as to ruin your entire life. And you can’t fix it. People say, “Well, fix your attitude”—but I can’t lie to myself.
