Texting My Mafia Savior (Text Me You Love Me #11)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

ARRIANA

“ T hese are wonderful,” Aunt Lucy says, sitting in my computer chair and scrolling through my photographs. “Lots of gorgeous sunsets, clearly on the West Coast.”

Aunt Lucy is a stylish woman about the same age as her husband. When I was a kid, she encouraged my photography even more than Mom and Dad and bought me my first camera. The more she compliments me, the worse I feel for all those feelings I had earlier. But at least I didn’t say or do anything.

I have to pretend those emotions never existed.

“Thanks,” I tell her.

She spins in the chair, smiling up at me. “Try not to worry, okay? Nico is going to make sure nothing happens to you. Just please do what he asks.”

“He said I might have to apologize,” I grumble.

“They’re just words, Arria. That’s all. Just say the right words and then forget all about it. You can travel the world. Go on with your life.”

We hug before she leaves. After all those thoughts, I feel like I’m not worthy of embracing her. Once she’s gone, I lie down and pick up a book, but my mind feels too messy to read. The guilt is real.

My phone buzzes. It’s him.

Nico: I’ve met with our friend. He’s out of town for a couple of days, but he’s agreed to a meeting with you. You’re going to have to swallow your pride on this one, Arria.

Me: I still don’t like the idea, I text back.

Nico: Like it or not, you’re going to do it.

Me: Is that an order?

Why does a weird tingle dance over my body when I ask this? It’s like I’m imagining him giving me different orders. Steamy ones. In the bedroom. With the door locked. No, no, no.

Nico: If I need to make it an order from ‘The Savior’ for you to listen, then yes, it’s an order. But I don’t want to argue about this. It’s just a few minutes of discomfort, and then you can go on with your life.

Me: What was he like at the meeting? I ask.

Nico: Egotistical. Said your friend was leading him on. He’s an ass. I won’t lie. But that benefits us here.

Me: How’d you figure that?

Nico: Because it means we stroke his ego, and that’ll be the end. If he had any actual principles, or were more humble, we’d need to find another way to dance around his case.

Me: He doesn’t have a case!!!! I type quickly, getting breathless.

Nico: Easy on the exclamation marks, sassy. I’m just telling you how it is.

Sassy… I stare at the word. I even mutter it under my breath. If anybody else called me sassy, I’d probably find it offensive. There goes that tingling sensation again, the warmth spreading through my body.

Me: I’ll get myself mentally prepared to stroke the douchebag’s ego, then.

Nico: This is important . You need to make the apology believable when we’re at the meeting. Don’t go in there like a kid forced to say, ‘I’m sorry.’ You need to make him think you genuinely regret what you did. You need to make him believe you take all the blame for it.

Me: I’m not a KID. I’m twenty-one.

Nico: I know, Arria. It was just a figure of speech. You need to chill.

Me: How can I chill when I have to apologize to a man who doesn’t deserve it?

Nico: Because if you don’t, your life will get far, far more difficult. Just trust me.

Me: I am grateful, Nico. I know you don’t have to do this. It just leaves a nasty taste in my mouth.

Nico: Learn to swallow it. And make it believable. That’s your only choice. What are your plans for the evening?

I almost gasp. Probably—okay, definitely—an overreaction. But why is he asking about my plans? I can’t think of a way that would have anything to do with my problem.

Me: I’m going to try to do some reading.

Nico: Try?

Me: My head’s all over the place right now.

Nico: That’s understandable . What are you reading? Fiction? Non-fiction?

He’s taking a minor interest, probably like any uncle would with his niece. Yet, I feel that warm glow again, the way I felt when his eyes first focused on me. It’s like I matter to him. It’s like I—I need to chill, like he said. Stop letting my thoughts run away.

Me: It’s fiction, a novel about a girl who learns her parents’ marriage became loveless years ago, but they kept up the charade for her. It’s pretty dark and depressing, but the writing is beautiful.

Nico: Yeah, that sounds dark. But those things happen, so it’s valid for the author to explore the issue.

Me: It’s heartbreaking . They feel like they have to remain trapped in the relationship, in the lie, for her sake. But when she finds out, she tells them she wishes they’d ended it years ago. They’ve made her life miserable by staying together and hating each other. Like I said—dark, depressing.

Nico: Marriage is a tricky thing . It sounds like an interesting read .

I chew on my lip, looking at the line about marriage. I want to ask if his marriage is ever tricky. The guilt gnawing at me. It’s not my place to ask—or even think—anything about his relationship with my aunt .

Me: Are you reading anything right now? I ask instead, playing it safe and appropriate.

Nico: I’m reading something fascinating called ‘Commercial Lease Agreement and Tenant Improvement Addendum.’ The prose is quite dry, but the pace… well, that’s slow too. And the characters? Well, they all have uncreative names like Party and Tenant.

I laugh.

Me: It sounds riveting. I added a laughing emoji, and I clicked send.

He doesn’t reply for a minute, then two, then three. I tell myself it’s no big deal. And really, it shouldn’t be. Let’s face it. He’s my uncle. His delayed texts shouldn’t bother me, even if it takes years. I shouldn’t be sitting here, waiting, pining . I never had a boyfriend; I never needed one. Success, I figured, would be when I could finally consider romance.

After ten minutes, rejection sinks in. I have no right to feel that way, which makes it even more frustrating.

He doesn’t reply for the rest of the night. Or the following morning. I spend the time staring at the pages of my book, trying to make the words sink in, with my thoughts away from Nico. My uncle. I seriously need to take his advice. I need to chill.

“I’m sorry about getting us into that mess,” Lilly says.

We’re sitting in the yard of my family’s townhouse, a big Welcome Home sign hanging above the small party. Dad has bought a big firepit. That, combined with the heat coming from the grill, provides just about enough warmth for us all to sit, drink, and chat in our coats.

“It’s fine,” I tell Lilly.

“I shouldn’t have drunk so much. He hasn’t come by your house, has he?”

“He doesn’t have my address. You?”

She shakes her head. “He was probably just trying to freak us out, act tough, right?”

Her voice wavers when she says right . I place my hand on hers, smiling tightly. “Yeah, I bet you’re right. I don’t think we should even worry about it anymore. He’s out of our lives, and that’s that.”

I haven’t told her about his threats of legal action or the apology I have to give him. It would just make her feel even worse. It’s not her fault some weirdo targeted her and made our night miserable. He contacted me through Dad, probably finding him on his company’s website. A simple email with “Legal Action” as the subject is all it took.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lilly asks.

“Why?”

“You just seem quiet.”

I force a smile. The last thing I need is to mope because Nico never texted me back. What was he even supposed to say? He made a joke. I sent laughing emojis. Did I expect a love poem in response?

My aunt, Lucy, is here for the party. She stands across the firepit with her business partner, Giancarlo. Gian has high cheekbones and wears thick-framed hipster glasses, reflecting in the firelight. Lucy laughs at everything he says as she sips her glass of wine. Lucy’s here, but not her husband. No Nico. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t .

I busy myself snapping candid shots at the party. I aim to capture people at their most genuine, unposed moments. I get some heartwarming ones of Mom and Dad holding each other near the fire. Then, a funny one of Mom giving Dad cooking advice at the grill, which he clearly doesn’t think he needs. I move through the crowds, saying hello to old acquaintances. When I head inside to snap some more, my screen shows a low battery sign, so I head upstairs to change the batteries.

“Gian…”

Is that Aunt Lucy’s voice? I stop in the hallway, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. People say that, don’t they? But I don’t think I’ve ever actually had it happen to me. Lucy sounds like she’s enjoying whatever’s happening.

“We shouldn’t,” she goes on with a moan. “Not here…”

I creep along the hallway. This is wrong. I should turn back, pretend I heard nothing. If Lucy’s cheating on Nico, it’s none of my business. But I keep going. I can’t understand how anybody would cheat on him—he’s just a handsome man, and I really don’t know him all that well. I only know him from a quick meeting in a cafe and a few texts.

The door to the guestroom is half open. I hold my breath, peering around the edge of the door. Giancarlo has his arms wrapped around Lucy. They’re kissing. Both of them have their eyes closed.

I move away, feeling cold, sick, and dirty. I shouldn’t have done that. Now what? Should I tell him? Is that my place?

Quickly going to my bedroom, I replace the camera’s battery and rejoin the party. I’m glad I’m on this side of the camera. I don’t think I’d be able to force a smile after what I just saw.