Chapter 15
The palazzo was quiet as I walked upstairs, my mind replaying my conversation with James. I believe he told the truth about my family needing his money, but he was withholding something about Roberto and their plans.
A door clicked shut in the hall. I stopped on the stair, just below the landing, wanting to avoid running into anyone in my family. I lacked the energy for conversation, or worse, conflict.
I stood on tiptoes and watched in confusion as my mother stepped out of Sara’s bedroom. I held my breath as she locked Sara’s door and walked down the hall to her bedroom.
As her door shut, I finally exhaled. My heart racing, I quickly walked up the remaining stairs and stood in front of Sara’s door. A ball of nerves, my heart pounding, I turned the glass doorknob. It was locked.
I placed my hand against the smooth wood of Sara’s door. A wave of frustration seized me and my head dropped. Tears flooded my eyes. Why was my mother sneaking in and out of Sara’s locked door?
No one was allowed inside her room. This was one of the unspoken rules that grounded my family. At least that is what I believed. Confusion and fear gripped me.
I felt lost, like a boat without a keel adrift in unknown and choppy waters. I wanted to feel safe again, but the safe harbor my old life offered was gone. There was no going back.
I wished that Sara was alive on the other side of this door. I wished I’d never accepted Roberto’s proposal and that my parents could speak with me openly of their grief.
I took a deep breath and waited for my tears to retreat before walking inside my room. Fully clothed, I lay down on my bed. A single thought anchored me in my sea of confusion. I needed to protect my family from financial ruin and not blindly accept this narrative that the Street Acquisition was our only option. I felt in my bones, that something was off with this deal.
And what about Dylan, I wondered? If I could go back, would I turn a different corner and avoid crashing into him that moonlit night? No. I wanted to change a lot of things, but the idea of not meeting Dylan made me ache.
I wished he hadn’t talked to James about Bella Baci or given me unsolicited advice about my father. I lashed out. And when I saw him again, if I saw him again, I was going to give him a piece of my mind right before I begged him to take me to bed. I’d apologize for losing my temper with my mouth, my breasts, and my aching and wet pussy.
As my world felt less familiar, I craved the comfort and heat of his body. He numbed all my broken and hurt places. I knew we had no future, but he’d shown me colors that I could only see in his arms. If he was destined to be only a memory, he was my memory to keep.
Depressed, I stared up at those damn chubby cherubs overhead. This time, they didn’t make me happy or sad. I was just tired of watching their frozen, but cheerful, little dance.
I closed my eyes as my phone buzzed. It was a text from Leo.
8pm Drink Drink Drink
Please please please
I wanted to bury my face in my pillow. I did not want to go out tonight. I wanted to climb into my bed and lose myself to sleep, but I’d made a promise to Leo, and I wasn’t going to break it. I hearted his message and closed my eyes.
I wished I’d been smart enough to bring a box of my caramels home. Chocolate made everything so much better.
I napped and dreamed of hiding in Sara’s wardrobe. I awoke, smelling the scent of the cedar planks and remembering the touch of her silk dresses brushing over my face. I had burrowed as far back into the wardrobe as I could. I had wanted to stay there forever.
I surmised that seeing my mother triggered this dream, or was it a memory? Mama had opened the door to Sara’s bedroom like it was a normal room in our house. There was nothing normal about it.
My sister had been dead for over twenty years. Why was her room kept like a shrine? And why wasn’t I allowed inside?
I woke up as my phone buzzed with another text from Leo. I read his message and bolted upright.
David is cheating. For real.
I dialed Leo. It went straight to voicemail. Before I could leave a message, another text from him came through.
Can’t talk, giving tour. Talk tonight.
I replied without hesitation.
XOXOXOX I love you, see you soon, it will be ok.
I swung my feet off the edge of the bed, feeling sick for Leo and furious at David. This was Leo’s longest relationship, and he was in love. He had been cheated on twice before, and I knew if it happened again, it would crush him. Or worse, he would doubt his judgement so much, he’d never give love a chance again.
I would not let him down. I planned to pull myself together and take a break from the endless worry-loop playing in my mind.
I sat on the edge of my bed thinking that I really knew very little about Dylan Street and his family. Why didn’t I just stop wondering about him and do a little healthy and totally normal online stalking?
I had time before dinner. Leo couldn’t talk until then, anyway. Better to know if you are addicted to the devil now, I thought. Knowledge was power and I needed more intel on this man.
I googled Dylan and James Street and found headline after headline, with photos of the Street family at charity galas, auctions, fundraisers, and ringing the bell on Wall Street. The most recent photo was from a fundraiser at the Plaza Hotel in New York City.
The Street brothers all wore black tuxedos, Dylan and James on one side, and their older brother, Damien, on the other. Between James and Damien stood their mother, Ophelia Street. Stunning with shoulder-length, silver hair, she wore a long strapless black-and-white striped dress that sparkled and complimented her gorgeous sons.
Dylan and James, of course, were identical, but I could now spot the difference in their expressions. James did not smile in person or in photos, and Dylan often gave the hint of a half-smile like he was thinking dirty thoughts. Probably was. I sighed.
Damien was tall like his brothers. His hair was closer to a sandy brown and his eyes looked like his mother’s. He definitely took after her more. I wondered if Dylan and James looked more like their father, who wasn’t in the picture.
I got my answer in another article from five years before. The story featured a photo of Dylan, James, and Damien, staring intently at the camera, standing in front a large, black desk.
They were casual in this photo, wearing button-down shirts and dark blue jeans. Beside them was a picture of their father, Anton Street. He looked so much like James and Dylan. They shared his strong jaw and steely gaze. The headline stopped me. Their father was dead.
Street Entertainment re-organizes following death of CEO, Anton Street
(New York) Street Entertainment has re-organized, following the unexpected death of longtime CEO, Anton Street. The elder Street died in a helicopter crash just outside of Paris, France in February of this year.
Instead of appointing a single leader to take the helm of this family-run corporation, Street left instructions to divide up the Entertainment portfolio across three sectors, appointing his surviving sons, Damien, James, and Dylan Street Executive Vice Presidents (EVPs).
Each EVP has accountability for profits and losses and capital budgets well over one hundred million dollars. The move surprised market analysts, who expected James Street to take over as the CEO across all sectors. James Street has been called the mercenary of Wall Street, with a track record of making difficult decisions that benefit the bottom line.
I pausedto wonder if James’s record of difficult decisions would benefit my family’s bottom line. The mercenary of Wall Street sounded infamous.
James Street leads Hospitality, which has seen an upward trajectory with profits steadily increasing over the last three fiscal years.
The consistent focus on expanding the Street portfolio of luxury hotels and restaurants with a focus on acquisitions and mergers has helped Street Entertainment retain its Wall Street status, while other brands have suffered in recent years.
Damien Street will continue to work in Portfolio Management, and as EVP, will focus on accounting and financials, leveraging automation and powering data-driven, executive-level decision-making.
The Creative Development sector has struggled the most recently due to the consolidation of streaming music and video services and the increased cost of acquiring and making content.
Dylan Street only recently took on a leadership role at Street Entertainment. Industry analysts view his lack of experience as a risk to this sector. A recent dip in the stock value was attributed to concerns that the Creative Development sector might benefit from different executive leadership.
So,the press thought Dylan lacked an entertainment background, which seemed hilarious to me. Why in the hell didn’t he reveal he was a musician?
I googled Strand and held my breath. Photos of Strand wearing his signature gold-and-black mask populated the screen. There was a list of his most popular songs, but he hadn’t released anything new in five years. I went to Wikipedia, which was not as dense as I expected.
Strand (date of birth unknown) An American singer-songwriter/guitarist. He has sold over five million records and has ten billion streams. Strand is considered a virtuoso who has mastered performing on acoustic, electric, and steel guitar. His fans are loyal and band together in their respect for his music and his request for anonymity.
Strand’s true identity remains unknown, as he always wore a mask when he performed. His last live performance was in New York City, Central Park. Strand retired suddenly after that show with a published statement in the New York Times. The musician has not been seen or heard from since.
There was a screenshot of a newspaper insert. The page was entirely black with a few sentences in a large white font.
To my fans,
It’s been the ride of my life.
After much consideration, I’ve retired from music, effective immediately.
Thank you all for giving me a reason to play for so many years.
Strand.
I put down my phone and lay back down on my bed. Searching for information on Dylan and Strand made me feel a little dirty, and not in a good way. I felt like a spy reading a private diary, which was ridiculous, because all this information was in the public domain. Besides, doing some online digging on a person who had seen me naked was simply being smart.
So, Strand retired and Dylan took a job working at Street Entertainment, a job that industry analysts were not convinced he could do. I wondered if that would change if they knew he had a background in the music business. Why did he still keep his identity secret and why had he told me?
I was surprised there wasn’t more gossip online about any of the Street brothers’ dating lives. I remembered James’ comment about having a good relationship with the press. I wondered what kind of stories the Street family kept quiet.
The reservation at Affe di Bacco was in thirty minutes. I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower.
As the spray from the shower hit my body, the melody of Dylan’s music replayed in my mind. The rise and fall of the notes reminded me of falling rain and the undulating waves of the Venetian lagoon. Why did he ever stop playing?
And why did a man as beautiful as Dylan Street hide his face behind a mask? I soaped up my body and turned in slow circles under the water. The mask barely dampened Dylan’s sexual energy; in fact, the mystery it introduced injected a secrecy and hotness that drove all his fans wild.
I lowered the temperature of the shower and lifted my face into the spray. Seeing the pictures of Strand performing in front of thousands of fans, I wondered if I was the only person on the planet who wasn’t following every turn of his career.
Life in Venice was slower, even isolating at times. Thinking about Strand and his world tours, I wondered what it would be like to live outside the boundaries of my unique city.
Strand, played at stadiums on every continent. I traveled across Europe, sourcing ingredients for my chocolates, but no farther. I had never lived outside the city where I was born.
I turned off the water and dried myself with a towel. Slipping on my robe, I walked to my window to assess the temperature in the campo. I had slept all afternoon and into the evening.
Between late nights with Dylan and stressful run-ins with Roberto, James, and my father, a few hours of sleep gave me a much-needed energy boost. Outside, the campo was alive and buzzing with people all wearing scarves and hats. The night sky was cloudless, the air bracing and cold. I planned to bundle up.
If I didn’t want to be late, I needed to hurry. I put on black leather pants, a tight black sweater, a bit of mascara, and a dab of lip gloss. I left my hair down long and grabbed my red merino wool wrap.
The waning moon bathed the campo in a beautiful blue light. Auntie Aurora’s predication ran through my mind. The cards foretold my destiny to fall in love with a man bathed in moonlight. His name started with the letter D. Auntie Aurora never wavered; she believed Dylan and I were fated for each other.
If Dylan was my destiny, where was he now? And was it possible to have a happily-ever-after when we both lied to each other the night we met? The truth was, Dylan would leave Venice someday. He never lied about that.