Page 123 of Cara
“I heard the commotion outside. I wasn't even aware that you were still married.”
“She spent several years in Sicily due to a family member's illness. We saw each other when we could.”
“You’re a busy man. I get it. I barely see my family, and we live in the same country. It’s very nice to meet you, Sophie.” He chuckles, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips. “You are a fortunate man, Marcello.”
“I'm aware.”
Dante and Bo are already seated at the table next to ours, but as we settle into our assigned places, I'm yearning for some of Mimi’s positivity right now. I hoped we’d be together and that they could somehow make this easier. As another man greets the senator, Xavier presses a hand to my back, and we sink into our seats together. “Are you okay?”
I nod, glancing up at him and the concern that exists solely in his eyes. “Yes.”
“We won’t stay long.”
“Promise?”
His tempting mouth tilts into a smirk. “How about this? We skip dessert.”
“Can we do that?”
“We can do anything we want.”
I slip my hand into his, shaking it. “Deal.”
His laugh alone does wonders to calm me. “I didn’t know we were doing business.”
“What do you want in return?”
His gaze darkens several shades. “Ask me that when we’re alone.”
Once the senator has delivered his grand speeches, occupying the stage for nearly an hour with promises and visions of a better term than his last, the party truly begins.
Drinks are served every couple of minutes. The meal starts with sparkling prosecco and aperitivos. Antipasti and frito misto follow, along with veal shanks glazed in a mushroom marsala sauce. Charcuterie precedes dessert. Throughout the meal, the topics at the table of honor lose their formality, aided by the revolving liquor.
Although a glass or two might have calmed my nerves and loosened my nervous tongue, I immediately turned down the waitress’s offer of another flute. Xavier takes the drink, but never actually sips it. He’ll hold it and convince everyone that he’s having a great time, but it’s an act.
Throughout most of the meal, while making small talk with the senator’s wife about the flower arrangements and the women’s club she wants me to join, I find myself comparing the man I married to who he is now, how different he has become.
Stepping out of his father’s imposing shadow after years spent juggling an undercover crime organization and several semi-reputable businesses, Xavier pauses before each answer, carefully choosing the words that come out of his mouth. The table scrutinizes every syllable, each person hanging on all of his responses, hoping to catch him slip up and see beneath the impenetrable mask of control.
He can steer a failing conversation with a word, effortlessly navigating the uncomfortable questions directed at me with charming ease.
Just like in the past, when desperate men sought time with his father, they now wait in corners for a break in the conversation, boldly approaching the table for a chance to talk to him and invite him to clubs, golf courses, and conferences.
Xavier’s control of the harbor is something to covet, and they’ll do anything to get a piece.
Only beneath the table do I notice Xavier’s leg moving, a sign of anxiety. He’s taken on the bulk of the conversation, saving me more than once, and it must be exhausting to be that alert. When my hand rests on his thigh, that movement ceases. He gives me a gentle smile, a silent thank you, just before the senator asks for his opinion on the latest permit infractions that Congress signed into law. That’s when I check out of the conversation, scanning the room for our friends.
Dante and Zeke are sitting at the bar on the south side of the room. Mimi is chatting with a woman at another table, wearing an awestruck expression. Whoever she’s speaking to, it’s clear she’s a fan. Bo is on his own, digging into his meal. I lean in close to Xavier. “I’m going to talk to Bo.”
I hop a table over and lower myself into the seat beside Xavier’s most trusted confidant and best friend, nudging him with my shoulder. “Xavier mentioned that you’ve been dating someone for a while. What’s going on there?”
“Hm? Oh, Denise.” He smirks, revealing there’s clearly a complicated answer to that question. “She’s not the type to go to these things.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Three,” he says, pointing at himself. “But it’s an aspect of my life that she can’t stand, one of many things she doesn’t like… We actually ended things the other night.”
“I don’t even need to give you my advice. You know what I'm going to say.”
