Page 45 of Satin Empire

His eyes go wide. “Shut up. You’re into the hubster now?”

“Don’t call him hubster. That makes me want to vomit in my mouth.” I wave him away and take care of a customer, but when I return to where he’s posted up, he’s not letting it go and badgers me until I tell him more. “Fine, okay, Carlo isn’t as bad as I thought he’d be. I wouldn’t say we’re falling madly in love?—”

But we’re doing something. I can’t pretend like we aren’t, even if I wanted to. We’re definitely fucking like our bodies are about to fall apart, but I don’t tell Noah that detail, because gross, he’s my cousin, and while he and I certainly share a love of the male form, I don’t want to talk about my sex life with my family, blood or otherwise.

It’s not just the sex. Even if the sex is mind-blowing, aggressive, and really fun, it’s also the stuff around the sex: the laughter before and after, sharing our lives, spending time at his family’s house, getting to know each other. There are bad things, like how he snores sometimes and takes up half the freaking mattress with his enormous bull-sized legs, but that’s normal relationship stuff, and I didn’t expect to have normal relationship anything with him.

“What’s this mean?” Noah asks, looking at me with big moon eyes, and I can tell he’s struggling not to make fun of me. “Are you going to have Rossi babies?”

“God, no,” I say, horrified at the thought, but also deeply aroused on a very primal level, which is doubly horrifying. “We’re just figuring things out, okay? I’m stuck with him for a while whether I like it or not, and it’s easier if we get along.”

“True, but you don’t need to get along that well.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“Imply something weird again and I will pour enough coffee on your face to leave you disfigured for life.”

“I can only imagine how hard being your husband must be.” He laughs when I try to smack his head and dances out of reach. “Seriously, don’t go dark on me again, okay? Niccolo’s been asking about you.”

“I’ll come visit,” I say as a deep wave of shame washes over me. I’ve been avoiding home, not because I can’t go back, but because it reminds me too much of being trapped. I don’t want to crawl into the cage again, even if I know I can get out whenever I want—only my little brother is still living in that house, and I can’t just abandon him.

We spend a little while longer chatting about how things are back home. He updates me on Mom’s gossip (“she’s a total lunatic, so about average”) and about how Orsino’s doing (“slightly grumpier than usual”) and when he heads out, I’m left feeling an odd pang of homesickness. And I don’t even consider that house my home.

I’ve spent every waking moment since Mom married Orsino wishing I was somewhere else, and now that I find myself in a totally different house, finally out from under the thumb of my psycho, overbearing stepfather, I almost wish I could go back there. That’s the sick thing—it’s like my own mother managed to Stockholm Syndrome me or something, because now I actually miss my old room and the sounds of Orsino stomping around at night and all my old routines.

I’m still thinking about my old life when work’s over, and melancholy washes over me when I step into Carlo’s beautiful apartment. It isn’t home yet, and I can’t imagine when it’s going to be, but the sight of him hunched over a laptop at the kitchen island makes me smile despite myself, and the grin he lobs back when he looks up sends a shiver of excitement down my spine.

“Come here,” he says, gesturing at the screen. “I want you to see this.”

“You’re not about to show me cat pictures, are you? Because I wouldn’t mind that, actually.”

“No cats,” he mumbles, eyes narrowed at whatever he’s studying. “I’m allergic to the little devil creatures.”

“I’m allergic too, but they’re too cute to hate. I mean, seriously, what’s better than a kitty lying in your lap and purring away as you pet them?”

“A lot.” He grabs my wrist and yanks me next to him. “Stop talking about fur demons and check this out.”

“Fur demons? What is wrong with you?” But he ignores me and I look at the laptop. He’s flipping through real estate listings, and it takes me a second to understand what I’m looking at.

They’re mostly vacant buildings, big structures, former warehouses and shipping centers, that sort of layout.

“What do you think of these?” he asks, biting his bottom lip, and that uncertain gesture makes some deep, dark part of my brain go all soft and mushy, and I have to resist the urge to pull him against me and hug the shit out of him, even if he thinks cats are fur demons.

“You’re doing it,” I say and he doesn’t seem to like the excitement in my voice because he rubs at his face with one hand and gives me an exasperated sigh.

“Yes, I’m doing it. Renzo wasn’t happy, but he figured it would be worse to fight me on it, and here we are.”

I clap my hands together, grinning like a total maniac. “I am so freaking proud of you right now,” I say and he rolls his eyes at me.

“Stop acting like I just aced the SATs or some shit and look at the listings.”

I fight back on my urge to say more because it’s true, I really am proud of this man. Even though I barely know him, he’s already taking my advice and putting himself out there, already chasing after a dream that might blow up in his face but he’s doing it despite that. And there’s also a pang of jealousy: I’ve always wanted to do something like this, always wanted to put myself out there and fight for whatever I love the most, except I don’t have any idea what my dream even is.

We go over the listings. They’re expensive, but he doesn’t seem concerned about the cost, which is mind-boggling to me since we’re talking millions of dollars, but whatever. He doesn’t seem excited about any of them though, and he finally flips the lid closed and shoves the laptop aside.

“I’m guessing that’s a no on all of them,” I say as he grabs two glasses and pours us both some wine.

“I can’t fucking decide and I loathe feeling like this.” He slams the wine bottle back into the refrigerator and drinks like he wants to eat the glass. “I’m not the kind of man who worries about shit like repercussions and unforeseen problems, but there’s a lot of pressure to get this right. If I fuck it up, Renzo’s going to use it like a cudgel against me.”

“Why’s your brother such a dick?” I ask and immediately regret saying it, because Carlo’s face shuts down. He stares at me for a second, expression hard, and he finally points a finger into my chest.

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