Page 37 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
“It would be my pleasure.” I sneak a timid smile at him, but a flash of his harsh eyes sobers me.
“Will, Miss Castellano. Itwillbe your pleasure.”
“Of course,” I rush out. “That’s what I meant.”
I cast my eyes downward and curse my brain for emptying completely. I have a million questions prepared, but I cannot for the life of me think of one. “How are you finding your new position?” I ask, internally kicking myself when his brow creases and his top lip hooks upward.
“I won’t ever talk to you about my work, Miss Castellano. So don’t ask me again.”
“Oh, um, of course,” I splutter. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you have hobbies?” he asks, though his gaze wanders as if he couldn’t care less.
For some reason I decide not to disclose the truth about my love of art. I feel so unbearably uncomfortable that I don’t want to bring a part of the real me into this conversation.
“Tennis,” I say, confident he won’t ever ask me to demonstrate my skill—which is fortunate, because I have zero hand-eye coordination.
His lips thin out into what could be a smile, but I’m not sure, and I follow his gaze toward a figure darkening the door to the house.
My heart, God damn it, pounds at the sight of Cristiano. He’s wearing a suit, and he must be boiling in this heat, but I can tell even from this distance he’s barely broken a sweat. He prowls onto the terrace, greeting two men I’ve yet to be introduced to, then Beppe, Nicolò and Papa, and Savero.
After exchanging a few coded words with his brother, his gaze lifts to mine. My heart trips over itself, and I curse the stupid thing.
One glance at him and I’m right back in the passenger seat of his car, the road spinning around me even though Cristiano drove as smoothly as if he’d just popped out for gelato, not to shoot straight through both of a man’s hands.
I can still taste the nausea that crept up my throat, mixed with guilt and regret. It’s my fault Rhett may never have the useof his hands again. If only I hadn’t gotten so drunk that night at Joe’s.
I can still feel the roll of notes curled inside my fingers, the wet blood trickling down my chest. It stained the neckline of my dress. I should have been repelled by it, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
I knew unequivocally there was no such intention behind it, but as my eyes burrowed into the blood-soaked bills Cristiano had just shot a man for, I couldn’t help but think it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done.
Sera coughs beside me, and I realize my gaze is still locked on Cristiano. He’s looking back at me, and though his expression is indifferent, a smile pulls at his eyes.
I spin away as if I’ve just been caught stealing red-handed.
After the food has been eaten and the plates cleared away, servants bring more trays of drinks for us all. The mood is light and strangely enjoyable.
Cristiano stands and lifts his glass of whiskey in our direction. His voice is thick and dry when he commands everyone’s attention. “I’d like to make a toast.”
“Grazie fratello,” Savero says. No smile reaches his eyes, and his expression isn’t friendly as he looks sideways at Cristiano.
It occurs to me I haven’t seen them exchange many words together.
“To my brother and future sister. May you enjoy much happiness ... together.Congratulazioni.”
His gaze doesn’t leave mine as he tips back his glass and drinks the entire thing.
Trilby
The evening at the Di Santo residence was short-lived. I was both aggrieved and relieved about that. No matter how many times I tried to make conversation with Savero, he would give me a one-word (or one-line, if I was lucky) response then walk away. I didn’t particularly revel in being dismissed repeatedly, but feeling the weight of Cristiano’s gaze the entire night? Now, that ... That I could live with.
Before we went home, Savero announced the date of the wedding, and my stomach dropped to the floor. It’s four weeks away.Four weeks.Just the thought of being married to that man in such a short time makes me lightheaded. I feel as though I only have four weeks leftto live. And that’s a dangerous feeling.
So when Sandrine, my classmate at art college, invited me to her birthday party at a club across town, I agreed.
Only Sera knows I’ve come here tonight. Everyone else in my family is none the wiser. Living in the apartment next door to them can be lonely at times, but it has its advantages.
Since I’m out on the down-low, I’ve dressed accordingly. My navy dress is reasonably conservative in that it covers the essential bits, but it’s as snug as a dress can be. I’ve shunned the beige kitten heels Allegra keeps trying to force me into, and I’m standing four inches taller in a pair of my mama’s favorite stilettoes.
