Page 10 of The Viper

My apartment is small and old, but at least it’s clean and uncluttered.

The range is an antique, but functional. I lift my right leg to lean on my left as I heat up the sauce for my pasta. My hips move slightly to the upbeat music coming from my phone. Lifting the spoon, I taste the sauce and screw up my nose. “More salt,” I say as I add a pinch.

I glance at my phone in case Eliza has called or messaged. But she hasn’t and this reminds me it’s now been three days since I’ve heard from her. I know she doesn’t want to worry me, but I need to know she’s okay.

The music suddenly seems too happy for my heavy mood. I leave the wooden spoon in the sauce, and pause the music. “Talk to me,” I say as I lift my phone and stare at it. “Come on.” I will Eliza to call me.

There’s a knock on my door, and I crinkle my brows as I look toward it. Maybe it’s Eliza. I leave my phone and rush toward the door. I open it, ready to throw my arms around my sister. “Oh, it’s you,” I say when I see Dominic. “What are you doing here?” I position myself in the doorway, and pull the door behind me so he can’t see in.

“I wanted to see if you needed anything.”

“I don’t.” I step back and try to close the door, but he shoves it open and steps inside. “Go away.”

“Are you cooking?” He looks over to my little kitchenette.

“Wow, you’re a genius,” I say with sarcasm. “You can leave now.”

He shrugs out of his jacket and places it on the back of one of the chairs at my small, two-seater dining table. “Let’s taste it.” Dominic walks over to the range, lifts the spoon and tastes the sauce. He screws up his nose and looks to me. “You’re going to eat this?”

“So, you push your way into my home, and then insult my cooking? You’re a real charmer, aren’t you?”

He plonks the spoon down in the sauce and turns the range off. “Come on, I’ll take you to a real Italian restaurant, one that makes the best sauce and serves it with homemade pasta. Not this store-bought shit.” He flicks a revolted look at my boxed pasta. “This is a travesty, not food.”

I open the door and stand to the side. “You’re more than welcome to leave.”

“This isn’t food. This is cheap and nasty.”

“Thank you.” I smile at him. “It’s what I can afford. So, thank you for insulting me and reminding me that I’m poor. I appreciate it.”

Dominic shuffles awkwardly on the spot. “I’m taking you out to dinner. Let’s go.” He puts on his suit jacket and buttons it. It’s a shame I don’t like him, because he looks damned fine in a suit. “You can wear what you have on; you don’t have to change.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” I snap. “You barge into my home and continue to insult me and you expect me to go to dinner with you. Are you demented? Delusional?”

“I’m sorry,” he swiftly apologizes. “I would like to take you to dinner.” I screw my face at him. “Please.”

“Sorry?” I pretend to not have heard his plea. “What was that? I missed what you said at the end.”

Dominic pinches the bridge of his nose. “I said, would you please come to dinner with me?”

“So, you’re asking, which means I have an option.” I slam the front door shut and lean against it. “No, thanks.”

He walks over to me and reaches across me for the door handle. He’s so close I can feel the heat rolling off his body onto mine. The faint aroma of cigarette smoke mixed with the ocean breeze drifts past me. This is a bad idea. I shouldn’t go anywhere with him. “I wasn’t asking, Rosa,” he whispers in my ear as he’s reaching for the handle.

My eyes involuntarily close as I push my body into his. Jesus, what is he doing to me? Get it together, Rose. No, I can’t let him play me like this. My eyes open and I lift my chin. “My name is Rose, not Rosa.”

“Rosa is the Italian version of Rose.”

“Well, I’m not Italian, so it’s just plain Rose.” I stand my ground, refusing to allow him to overtake my senses the way he has.

Dominic cages me against the door, and looks into my eyes. His fiery gaze is a vortex of lust. They can easily suck a woman deep into them, but not this woman. “The car is waiting, Rosa.”

“You go ahead and I’ll meet you down there.” The moment he’s out of my apartment, I’ll lock him out. That way I don’t have to be close to him any longer, and I can eat my stupid box pasta in peace.

He wraps his hand around my wrist, pulls me off the door, opens it and tugs me behind him. “I’m not a fool, Rosa.”

“Stop calling me that.” I try to use my weight to stop him from dragging me toward the stairs. “I’ll scream.”

“No, you won’t,” he says with confidence.

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