Page 31 of Bitter Poetry
His words are bitter poetry; the memory of his touch, burning flames.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
The necklace he gave me singes my flesh: a piece of him is still touching me.
“This is going to be awful with a capital A,” Jessica mutters beside me.
I huff out a breath, glancing toward the front of the vehicle. The driver likely can’t hear us, but I’m still glad she kept her voice low. We’re meeting Ettore’s sister at the wedding boutique. If Helena was a bitch before, she’s turned into a queen bitch now. The only saving grace is that Ettore doesn’t cope with hereither, so she will return to her other brother’s home after the wedding.
Helena will be gone.
But so will my sister.
“Yeah,” I agree.
Her eyes are still on me. “What happened?”
She’s too young for this conversation, but either way, the less she knows the better.
“I know something happened. Does he have a plan?”
I glance toward the driver again. He isn’t paying any attention and thankfully her words were suitably vague.
“No,” I say bluntly. “I wish he did.”
“What did you talk about then?”
I snort inelegantly.
“Did he kiss you,” she whispers, smirking.
I shoot her a warning glare. If only it were just a kiss. Words are forming in my mind. Ones I shouldn’t speak. My heart kicks up a beat. “I need you to lie for me.”
Her eyes search mine. She grins, showcasing the side of Jessica that thrives on drama. “As if I’d tell anyone.”
“Not that…” I grimace. “Not only that.”
God, I’m actually doing this, caught somewhere between jubilation at my first experience with a man, and desolation because it’s made everything worse. I’d resigned myself to the wedding and told myself I could learn to like Ettore. He’s polite and courteous. So what if his eyes on me makes me feel uncomfortable? He’s going to be my husband. He has every right to look at me.
“I want your firsts. All of them.”
I don’t know what Dante’s plan is, but I know I’m going to see him again, that he will touch me, and, worse, that I will welcome it.
“Go on,” she says. “In case it’s not obvious, I don’t want you to marry Ettore. He’s almost as bad as his stalker brother, Cosmo.”
“Please stop calling him a stalker.”
She smirks. “He kind of is… But I promise not to call him that to his face. Christian calls him creepy Cosmo. Maybe I’ll start calling him that instead.”
“Christian is unstable. Please don’t learn from him.”
“Well, I like him,” she says a little defensively. “He says what he thinks. Probably calls Cosmo a creep to his face.”
I snort a laugh, and then I want to cry because our lives are going to hell, and I don’t want that to change Jessica. Yet how can it not?
“He probably does,” I concede. “But at least try not to learn from him.”
“I can’t help it. He’s going to be hanging around all the time. He’s fun.”
