Page 18 of A Game So Reckless

One of the chairs is tucked right up against the table where I left it.

The other chair is off to the side where I didn’t.

Because around this time yesterday morning, before my appointment with Antonio, I dragged that very chair out into the only sunny spot on the balcony so that I wasn’t freezing my butt off in the shadows.

The chair is in the shadows now. And not only that, but it’s facing the wrong direction. Yesterday, I’d been sitting with my back towards the doors, stretching my bare legs towards the edge of the balcony and the backyard.

This morning, the chair is in precisely the opposite orientation. Like someone’s been sitting in it while looking in through the doors.

I shiver, goosebumps rising on my arms and brushing the soft fluff of the sleeves of my robe.

“Get a fucking grip,” I say out loud, shaking my head. It was probably just one of the staff doing some tidying or watering the plants out there or something.

Even though I’m the one who always waters the plants on my balcony.

Narrowing my eyes and squaring my shoulders, I wrench open the balcony door and shove the chair back into the spot I’d expected to find it, spinning it so it’s facing away from the doors once more.

I don’t feel any better. I just feel like an idiot. Freaking out about patio furniture after everything that happened last night. I should be worrying less about chairs on balconies and more about men on rooftops.

Both the men who fall…

And the men who throw them.

I head back inside, pulling the door tightly closed behind me. Even that brief moment outside has left me sweaty in my robe. It’s going to be another brutally hot and humid day. I shed the robe and exchange it for a yellow bikini and a flowy pink bathing suit cover up. I doubt I’ll be allowed to go anywhere today after last night’s events, and if I’m to survive being stuck here all day, I plan to do it in the pool. Preferably with a bottomless glass of sangria in my hand.

But when I leave my room and start heading down the stairs, Papà’s disapproving voice stops me dead in my tracks.

“What the fuck do you think you’re wearing?”

He standing near the front door dressed in dark pants and a red dress shirt, like he was just about to leave when I made my entrance.

“What?” I ask, looking down at the sheer pink fabric over top of my bathing suit.

Hmm. This bathing suit top is looking a little snug, now that I think about it. I swear, everything I eat goes straight to my ass and my boobs.

“You think that’s an appropriate outfit to wear the day after your fiancé died?”

I blink at him. Is he serious? He thinks I should be in mourning?

Grim irony reminds me that I had that very same thought yesterday at the hair salon. I felt more like I was in mourning when my fiancé was alive than I do now that he’s dead.

“So… A black bikini, then?”

“Upstairs,” Papà snaps. He raises a big fist and points a single finger back up the way I just came, as if I’m too stupid to understand what the word upstairs means. “Go get changed.”

“Into what? It’s a million degrees out there!”

“Do not fuck with me, Valentina! Not today!” His chest heaves, and he drags his hand through his slicked-back hair before fixing me with his commanding gaze. “You will go upstairs. You will find something sensible to wear for once in your life. And then, you will start to prepare for the funeral.”

My stomach sinks. My throat hurts. Like there’s an olive stuck in it.

“You don’t mean Dario’s funeral,” I finally choke out. There’s no way he expects me to go to such an event.

Especially when he basically accused me of killing the man.

“Of course I mean Dario’s funeral. You’re going,” he replies instantly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like I’d be crazy not to go. He gives me a mirthless smirk and then, just as he opens the door to leave, he adds, “After all, you’re the one who’s planning it.”

Chapter11

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