Page 32 of Of Grief And Gratitude

“Let me know if that changes, yeah?” I finished my now cold espresso and set the cup next to Dante’s. My oldest brother nodded once, and I settled back in my chair to pass the time until Mamma had food on the table. In our house, Easter dinner lasted from afternoon to evening, with multiple courses and enough fare to keep you full for days after.

An hour later, Riona walked hesitantly into the room, pausing when she saw Cosimo tossing his knife. He’d been playing with the fucking thing the whole time we’d talked.

“Your mother wants me to bring you to the dining room,” she explained, wringing her hands together as her eyes stayed glued to the knife. “Your brother and his wife are already in there.”

Cosimo finally realized he was making her uncomfortable and flipped the knife closed and put it away as he stood and passed her without a word.

“Thanks,” Dante said as he passed Riona, patting her lightly on the shoulder.

That left us alone when I stood and faced her. She looked like a confection with powdered sugar on her jaw and the apron she wore to protect her dress.

“You look like they put you to work,” I observed, moving closer. She smelled like cinnamon.

“First, I had to lie to my mother about dating you. Then I missed Easter with her to continue this farce with your family,” she hissed angrily, her cheeks turning darker than her dress. Her blue eyes blazed with hatred. “Fuck you for that.”

I grinned to needle her and leaned in, licking the sugar from the smooth skin on her jaw. “But your secrets are still safe with me… for now.”

She began to protest, but I silenced her with my lips against hers, pulling her against me with an arm around her waist. My cock pressed into her lower belly, and I ground against her slowly. Her gasp granted my tongue access, and I risked getting bitten to taste her again.

Riona’s fingers speared through my hair, her nails dragging against my scalp hard enough to sting. I moaned into her mouth, and my hands trailed down to squeeze her ass.

She fisted my hair, and I felt strands pop from my scalp as she tore me away from her lips and snarled. “Do not touch me.”

Riona whirled and stalked from the room, leaving me to rush after her while rubbing the back of my head. My fingers came away smeared with blood, and I licked them clean before walking into the dining room. Fuck, I loved when her claws came out.

I pulled up to the curb in front of Riona’s apartment building just before lunch the following Wednesday, and spotted her immediately. She stood under the awning, avoiding the rain even though she wore a tailored black raincoat with the hood up. If she were trying to look inconspicuous, she’d failed miserably. There was nothing forgettable about her figure in that clinging green skirt that ended just above the knee. She wore another pair of those pointed heels I needed to feel while deep in her tight pussy.

Was I doomed to sit with a constrained erection every time she was near?

I rolled down the window and called out to her, “Hurry up while there’s a lull in the rain. Wouldn’t want to get that gorgeous ass of yours wet. Not that way, at least.”

She crossed her arms and lowered her head as she hurried to the car and climbed in. “Maybe I’d rather be soaked through than sit in a car with you again.”

“I can help with that,” I offered suggestively and peeled away from the curb, making her plaster her back against the seat. “You were soaked when I had my fingers deep in that tight little pussy.”

“Can you just not today?”

I looked over and caught a flicker of vulnerability on Riona’s face before she turned to look out the passenger window. Was that remorse I felt? It was a foreign emotion that tugged at the top of my stomach like reflux burning me internally. Only this couldn’t be fixed by an antacid.

I shut my mouth, and we stayed silent for the rest of the drive to Angelo’s. Before I could pull my keys from the ignition after parking, Riona threw the door open and hopped out, wobbling when her stiletto found a divot in the parking lot’s asphalt.

I caught up with her just as she made it to the front door, reaching in front of her to hold the door open. She had the good sense to throw her shoulders back and smile when the hostess greeted us.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Neretti,” the young woman chirped. “Would you like a menu for your guest today?”

I looked toward Riona, who nodded slightly. “That would be perfect, thank you.”

The hostess nodded and pulled a menu from under her station before leading us to the private dining area. My family rarely dined with the rest of the customers at Angelo’s. I pulled out a chair for my lunch date and waited for the hostess to take her coat and hang it by the door while Riona sat. She had a plain, white, high-necked blouse on that tied in a bow around her throat. She might have intended for it to quell my inappropriate thoughts, but it had the opposite effect.

I tried to read Riona’s face while the hostess retrieved glasses and a water pitcher for us. She looked at me and asked, “Wine, sir?”

“Let Angelo choose whatever works for our food,” I answered dismissively. She nodded and left us alone. Riona’s knee bounced under the table. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous now.”

“Hardly,” she snapped, reaching for her thin shoulder bag. She withdrew a binder and set it in front of me, pointing to the title. “Rules of etiquette.”

“Seriously?” I stared at the binder like she’d coated it in poison. “I’m not a fucking debutante… but I fucked a few back in high school.”

Riona shook her head disapprovingly, her red waves bouncing over her shoulders. She looked like a naughty librarian from porn I’d seen. “You might literally be the worst.”

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