Page 13 of Forbidden Property
“It doesn’t have too much vermouth,” Nicki snaps. She turns to me with a smile and hands me a mysterious pale yellow drink with bubbles.
“This, my dear friend Geralynn, is a limoncello spritz, because you are too good for the basic aperol spritz.”
“What’s in it?”
“Love,” Nicki says. “And the nicest prosecco I could find in Renzo’s cabinets.”
I have to stop myself from glancing nervously at Renzo for approval. Instead, I take the flute glass away from Nicki and bring the drink to my nose. The dry bubbly liquid sears the inside of my nostrils but it smells good. Whatever Nicki made for me, I trust her.
“Where’s your cocktail?” Renzo asks her. Nicki holds up a bottle of Absolut.
“I put some water in this,” she says. “That should get me drunk.”
“Do you ever worry about a man wanting to marry you?” Renzo asks her. My skin crawls with disgust at the misogynistic and strangely controlling comment. Why should he care about that? Times like this, I feel sorry for Nicki and the family she was born into. Stuff doesn’t matter if you have no freedom and every man in your family blatantly treats you like an object.
“Just drink you stupid asshole,” Nicki says.
She tips the vodka to her lips and instinctively, I join her. The first sip of the limoncello spritz isincredible.Nicki has always been a talented bartender. After work, I need a strong drink that comforts me on the way down. Yummy. The bubbles leave just a slight burn that rips my troubles straight out of my head. I can almost pretend Renzo isn’t in the room with us.
“Nicki, this is good…”
The first sip comes with a sudden, strange side effect. There’s a tangy aftertaste just along the roof of my mouth and when I press my tongue to the spot where the after taste gets strongest, a powerful tingling sears down my arm.
Ouch.I tell myself that I must have smoked too much weed and I’m imagining things. More of that delicious limoncello spritz should help sort out that weird tingling. I have a second sip and although I don’t get the tangy aftertaste, the tingling gets stronger. I cast a glance at Renzo, who isn’t looking at me at all.
Hours slip through my fingers. It’s like watching a movie and hitting fast forward, speeding up each time you hit an emotional high point. There are so many voices that they drown out my own thoughts. There are a few moments of consciousness where I get glimpses of control again.
Was it something in the drink?
Nothing feels real and I’m not myself, but I’m awake and things keep happening that I agree to with active enthusiasm. This has to be a strange, drunken dream. I have to go to sleep so that I can wake up and take control again. I don’t want to exist in this dream world.
I want control. The discernible absence of any sense of what I’m doing fills me with a deep and primal dread that overwhelms every part of me. I’m in the passenger seat of a horror movie and trapped with a villain.
I just want to wake up.
Chapter Seven
Renzo
What the hell did Nicki put in that drink? The first sip hits my mouth followed by an immediate tangy aftertaste on the roof of my mouth. It’s not the typical flavor you would expect from a traditional negroni, but I wouldn’t be surprised if my sister added margarita salt to my glass to fuck with me.
She doesn’t appreciate how I treat Geralynn. I wouldn’t have any cause to mistreat Geralynn if my sister didn’t foolishly keep her around. That nasty tangy aftertaste doesn’t disappear.
“What did you put in this?”
“What the hell do you think?” Nicki snaps back. “I know how to make a goddamn negroni, you pompous asshole.”
Is she defensive out of guilt or because it’s Nicki’s personality? I find it strangely difficult to tell the difference. I take another sip of the negroni, allowing it to soak around my cheeks. That tangy aftertaste gets stronger.
“Nicki, this tastes off.”
“Why? Because it’s a negroni? Please be quiet, Renzo.”
The kitchen blurs around me, and time slips through my fingers. There’s not enough time for me to react and attempt to focus to get my bearings. One sip steals away my control and itfeels like I’m trapped inside my head, a prisoner within my body, which moves without my consent.
The scene in front of me changes so quickly that I explain it all away easily – I drank too much, passed out, and now I’m dreaming. The only explanation for this is a dream. I’m walking through the large double doors to my bedroom with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her skin sparkles with a deep umber color. Her body moves gracefully in front of me. She stumbles against the door frame and I catch her.
This is a dream, right?Her body leans against mine. We laugh together and stumble forward a bit more, into my dreamy bedroom. The woman with me smells like damascus rose with a touch of vanilla. I want to sink my teeth into her skin and my dick inside her. It’s a dream, so I can do whatever I want.
