Page 29 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
Did Cristiano Di Santo just give me a compliment?
Why is it that sometimes you’re faced with a meal that simply doesn’t disappear no matter how long you look at it?
I curl another string of spaghetti around my fork and stare at the wall ahead as I feed it into my mouth. Then I chew it for longer than normal, because my throat simply won’t entertain the idea of swallowing it.
The invisible blinkers I’ve attached to each side of my face don’t stop his voice from wrapping itself around my ears and sliding its way inside, making me hot from the mere sound. I didn’t know sound could do that.
Since Cristiano delivered that loaded instruction, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. It doesn’t help that he’s sitting at the far end of the table, next to Papa, coasting hisgaze over to me every thirty seconds. He’s attempting to make Allegra feel comfortable about the fact he’s here and his brother conspicuously isn’t.
“I’ll be sure to let him know exactly what he’s missing,signora. I haven’t tasted spaghetti like this since my mother was alive.”
He’s trying to put her at ease, but I can tell by the way her fork drops into her bowl the topic of a deceased parent has caught her off-guard. I look up sharply—not at the sound of clattering cutlery but the realization he too lost a mother.
“Perhaps you can give me the recipe to share with our cook.”
“Of course,” Allegra replies, composing herself. “It’s a family recipe, but ... well, I suppose you are about to become family too.”
His eyes burn the side of my face. My invisible blinkers are useless; I don’t need to see him to feel the weight of his gaze.
“How is the waste-disposal business going?” Papa asks. “I hear you’re doing well in the north.”
Cristiano looks down at me as he takes a long sip of red wine. “Yes, Nicolò just won a few major contracts with the help of some friends in Washington.”
I suspect this is code for dirty politicians sending government contracts their way in return for backhanded payments.
“We’ve also financed a new division. Private residential. I believe Sav plans to launch it in the next few months.”
“Do you have branding for it yet? A logo? Trilby could design something for you—right, honey? She’s about to finish up art school, just in time for the wedding.”
My gaze snaps to Papa. “What about the other courses I talked to you about, Papa? And the galleries that offer management programs?”
Papa continues as though he didn’t hear a word I just said. “She’s a qualified designer. Top of her class.” He jabs a fork in my direction, then he spins his last few strands of spaghetti around it.
My jaw would hit Allegra’s fancy tablecloth if I weren’t so incensed.
“Wastop of the class.” I pick up my napkin and dab the corners of my mouth before laying it gently to one side. “Unfortunately not qualified though, and it sounds like I never will be.” My chair scrapes the wooden floor as I stand. “Excuse me,” I say, sweeping my gaze across everyone except Cristiano. “I have a headache. I’m going to get some fresh air.”
Allegra inhales tightly. “Take some Advil, Trilby. You’ll be fine to join us again in thirty minutes.”
Guilt tingles across my skin as I walk the short distance to the library. I’m behaving like a child, and it isn’t like me at all, but I feel like I’m walking barefoot into a fire with no protective clothing to keep me from getting burned.
What on earth was Papa thinking when he said I was the only one of the four who could handle marriage to a don? I haven’t even married Savero yet and I’m struggling to keep the resentment at bay. How will I handle a whole lifetime of dinners with my husband and his capos and associates if I can’t even handle one dinner with his brother?
Cristiano’s voice echoes in my ears, and I can still feel the burn where his fingertips dug into my skin. He doesn’t even need to be in the same room as me to haunt my every thought.
I shake the sound of his velvety voice from my head. It’s fine to not be attracted to my husband-to-be. People have arranged marriages all the time to people they’re not attracted to. But to be more attracted to his brother would beunthinkable.
I leave the door of the library ajar and walk to the window. Mama’s rosebush in the center of the lawn is beginning to bud.I miss her so much it’s like I have a permanent hole in my chest. Mama would tell me what to do and how to behave. She’d make sure I don’t jeopardize my family’s future. I wish she were here. I need her to stop these traitorous thoughts, because I’m not sure I have the strength to do so myself.
Resting my hands on the windowsill, I look out over the gardens. Papa has worked so hard for everything we have—I won’t let him down. But despite my loyalty I feel angry at him, and it’s taking everything in me to contain it.
I had plans before Papa decided to marry me off. I wanted to graduate art school and work for a gallery. I wanted to champion new artists and give them spaces to show their work to potential investors. I wanted to counteract all the death and destruction in the world with beauty.
I’m incapable of producing such great beauty myself, as evidenced by my black splatter marks, but I could beam others’ sunshine into the skies. However, it’s clear Papa has other plans for me. Namely, not taking my education any further and having me deliver work for just the one client: Di Santo Incorporated.
A figure moves past the open door, casting the room in shadow. I look over my shoulder to see Cristiano leaning against the doorframe watching me.
I turn around, rest back against the window, and stare back at him. The hem of my dress rises up my thighs, and I make no move to tug it down like I normally would in front of any other man. He’s inmyspace after all.
