Page 12 of Isle of Pain

6

MARIE

GIVING ORDERS TASTES BETTER THAN WHISKEY

My skin buzzes with the thrill of touching Nico’s lips, the power that surged through my limbs as I felt his tongue under my finger. My heart is in my throat as I flee to my room.

I’ve been drunk since I was sixteen years old. A bottle of cabernet sauvignon—maybe two—and half a glass of whiskey aren’t a good excuse for my behaviour. No, I can only blame myself and the deep amber eyes of Nico Capaldi. How the silver hoop on his bottom lip and the metal on his brow enticed me to get closer. How his wet pink lips drew me to him more than any alcohol I’ve ever wanted to drink. When he looked up at me with ease, he emanated a darkness I wanted to drown in.

If this is what Lisa felt when she sneaked around with her bodyguard, I understand the appeal. I’d give up alcohol forever to feel this exhilaration again. At least, I think I’d try.

But as always, I’ve made everything awkward. Him, his brother and my cousin Giulia are staying four more days and I need to escape him. I can’t bear to look like a fool. I already feel like one everyday of my ridiculous useless life. I don’t need thereminder when I look upon his gorgeous rugged face with high cheekbones and perfect shaved jaw that could cut glass.

And all the piercings. They look like freedom and compliment his face so perfectly.

I pretend that I’m sick so I don’t have to face him for the next two days.

Mammona keeps sending soup and her delicious food to my room but it tastes ashen on my tongue. With my forced quarantine, I’m left to stay in a room that’s devoid of the one thing I can’t go without.

With Christmas and the festivities in the Moretti household, I was looking forward to not having to hide my little problem. Everyone drinks too much on the holidays. So I didn’t refill my hidden places with the miniatures I enjoy so much.

On the first day, my skin prickles with awareness and a pounding headache. I can ignore it by sleeping the day away. It actually looks like I’m sick so that’s perfect for Lisa to leave me alone.

Now, I’m on day two of no alcohol. But I devised a plan. Our family is composed of night owls, and crime doesn’t stop because it’s Christmas. At night, everyone’s gone to the clubs we own or do whatever it is they do. I wouldn’t know since I’m not privy to this type of information.

It’s the perfect time to strike.

Lisa sleeps soundly next to me, her soft snores filling the silent room. On featherlight feet, I get out of bed and open our door, closing it gently behind me. I oil the hinges regularly for this exact purpose. Me and motor oil are best friends, if one can believe it. All the doors in our homes are silent. And by now, I know where the creaky floorboards are. I avoid them all as I make my way down the stairs to the ground floor in the dark.

Out of the secondary kitchen, located at the very back of the room, there’s an old wooden door that leads to a wine cellar.The temperature drops when I step into the metal staircase and I shiver. The air smells of damp earth. The electricity in the light bulb emits a low buzz and a faint yellow glow meant to avoid any disturbance to the ageing process. My senses are ecstatic because this smell, this light, this cold settling on my skin, it means I’ll get what I need really soon. My body vibrates with need and my heart rate picks up as I walk deeper into the subterranean room.

Wine before bed isn’t my preference. The sugar in it can fuck up my mood the next morning, but this will have to do. And it’s no hardship to drink a delicious vintagePatrimonio.

On the back wall are shelves of the best wine Kalliste has to offer. A few spots are empty and I pick a bottle up from one of the lower shelves, hoping it won’t be missed. No one checks the collection down here anyway.

I take a closer look at the label, face downcast, and glide my free hand over the label to remove any dust collecting on the bottle. A small smile pulls up my lips.

“I’ve never seen anyone look at a bottle of wine so lovingly,” a voice that makes me shiver for a very different reason says behind me.

I startle and turn around, clutching the bottle in front of my chest as if I need to protect it from my attacker. A familiar silhouette leans against the door frame, a leg crossed over the other and hands nonchalantly in the pockets of black jeans.

How is he not in pyjamas at this hour? Does he even wear pyjamas? I blush at where my mind went. It’s innocent enough but also,not.

This artificial light shouldn’t be complimenting anyone. Yet, Nico looks like a Death God coming to collect another soul. The shadows across his face have his eyes look a little sunken, the undertone of his skin a little grey. But instead of unnatural, it gives him an extra aura of assurance. I want it for myself.

Then I realise I’ve been gawking for too long and my surprise turns to embarrassment, then to anger. I’ve had this ritual for years and no one ever dared to question me or step into my space. He’s been here three days and he thinks he can barge onto my private place of safety?Who the fuck does he think he is?

“What are you doing here?” I bark, but he doesn’t flinch. No, the bastard just shrugs.

“I saw you walking down the stairs. I was about to have a walk outside but following you seemed more interesting. Why are you picking up wine at two in the morning, Marie?”

He’s so bold that my mouth drops open.

“That’s not of your fucking business,Nico.” I emphasise on his name, hoping to convey how much I hate him in my space right now and need him gone, but it has the opposite effect.

Nico straightens and takes a step inside the cellar.

My eyes widen and my cheeks flush. It’s one thing to have someone I barely know witness my sins, and another entirely to have them so close to pick me apart while I do them.

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