Julian #3
A hardcover book is open on the table and Cecilia writes on a page with a silver pen.
She’s engrossed in her task, taking no notice of the busy setting as her free hand plays with a section of her long hair.
She’s probably dressed for her office job, all covered up in a dress that’s somewhere between red and pink beneath a buttoned white sweater.
Her legs, crossed at the ankle beneath the table, are hidden under tights that match her dress color.
Pinching my fingers on the screen, I zoom in to study her more closely.
No matter how many layers she wears, Cecilia’s got a body that doesn’t fucking quit.
Her full breasts stretch that dainty sweater out of shape and I can see enough to imagine there’s a lot more fun concealed under all that fabric.
These days I’m so deprived that my cock doesn’t need much inspiration to jerk awake.
When I look at this girl, I can imagine running my thumb over her full lower lip.
I’d pierce her concentration by pushing her primly locked knees apart.
Those tights would get ripped to strings before I hike that dress up over her hips.
I’d destroy every little pearl-shaped sweater button and take everything I want.
But the longer I stare, the more I realize my reaction to Cecilia isn’t merely physical.
Of course I’d love to fuck her. Who wouldn’t?
This image of her sitting there alone, scribbling in a book with an untouched croissant sitting on the table stirs my emotions in a weird way.
All around her, the tables are full. She’s oblivious to everyone, including the photographer secretly snapping her photo.
I’d give a lot to know whether she’s lonely, if she’s content to shut out the world or if she’s secretly wishing for some excitement.
Whatever happens next, Junior Mancini sure as shit isn’t getting within a thousand miles of this girl. The very idea of his grubby fat fingers defiling Cecilia’s body makes my blood turn hot and my fists tighten.
Tye bumps my shoulder and hovers. He gives Cecilia’s photo a grunt of admiration.
“Absolutely fucking would,” he declares and then returns to shoveling food into his greedy mouth.
Getty bangs on the table. “You’re hogging the view. Hand it over, Jul.”
Like hell I will. He can wait. I’m not finished with my appraisal.
But now that the dining room rules are out the window for today, my little brother has decided to push his luck. Getty lunges across the table, trying to snatch the phone out of my hand.
All he succeeds in doing is knocking over a water pitcher. He is always the last of my brothers to learn he’ll never get the better of me.
Chaos erupts. Fort isn’t too pleased about the cascade of ice water that just landed in his lap. In a rare flash of temper, he responds by knocking Getty’s chair over. Getty, sprawled on the ground, kicks Fort in the shin with the heel of his boot.
“Fucker,” Fort growls and dumps the bowl of grated cheese on Getty’s head.
Getty’s face reddens with rage. He looks like he got caught in a snowstorm. He’ll smell like cheese for a fucking week. Wait till Mel sees what’s become of the pricey shit she has to order from New York.
Meanwhile, my father’s expression constricts with disgust, expecting me to monitor the pack while Tye cackles like a demented carnival clown.
“Asshole.” Getty gives Fort another kick.
Fort grimaces and stomps on Getty’s knee.
“What the FUCK?” Getty seethes. “Did you wake up this morning with a death wish?”
The guard who was in here dropping off food earlier pokes his head into the room, blinks, and instantly retreats. Good thinking.
“HEY!” I smack the table before blood is drawn. “Knock it off. Save the fight for the rest of the world. It’s over. Sit down, both of you.”
Fort settles down first and accepts the extra napkin I toss at him to mop up the water on his pants.
Tye quits laughing and reaches for the platter of sausage and peppers. “I’ll just do everyone a favor and finish this off.”
Getty finds dignity tough to come by while there’s tiny flecks of cheese sprinkled in his hair. He plunks down in his chair and continues to look homicidal.
I send him a peace offering by handing the phone over. He glares, grumpy as a rabid dog, but he still takes a look.
“Damn.” He releases a low whistle and holds the screen closer to his face. “The skinny little Grimaldi girl had some kind of fucking glow up.”
Fort gets curious enough to risk his life by leaning into Getty’s space so he can see Cecilia Grimaldi for himself. Lucky for him, Getty is too preoccupied to notice.
A slow grin spreads across Fort’s face. “If she needs a place to sleep, I can sacrifice some room in my bed.”
Now that my brothers are all drooling over Cecilia, jealousy squeezes my chest. You’d think no one but me has the right to have dirty thoughts about some girl I haven’t seen in twelve years.
I’m still stewing over this inner drama when I notice that my father is watching me.
His anger over the dining room scuffle has already faded.
Now he’s simply thoughtful. I wonder if he’ll notice that I’ve already air dropped Cecilia’s photo to my phone, just in case I need to refer back to it again later.
“Mancini is waiting on my answer,” he says. “Care to weigh in?”
“The answer is a hard no,” I say. “I’ve got a much better idea how to solve the Grimaldis’ problem.”
My father, without a trace of surprise, nods. “I thought you might.”