Chapter 13
Willow
Moody, dark shades swirl on the canvas. It’s not as structured as a Mark Rothko piece, but melancholy is undeniably present in the hues. Long gone are the reds, oranges, and yellows. My mood, and my art, contrast with the bright blue sky I’m told I should take advantage of outside.
A rapping on the wall snags my attention. A young man with shaggy, loose, dark curls and a paint-splattered smock stands in the doorway.
“Sorry to disturb you. I work a couple of rooms down. Thought I’d stop by and introduce myself. I’m Geoff.”
I’m in the co-op space, in the small room Leo rented. I’ve been working here for almost two weeks but have yet to meet anyone. Most tenants work with their doors closed, or perhaps the others use their space at odd hours.
“Oh, hi. I’m Willow. You’re an artist in the co-op, too?” Saying the word too thrills, because yes, I am an artist. It would be better if I were an artist earning an income, but baby steps.
“Landscapes.”
“Why are you inside on a day like today?”
“I was out this morning. The light changed. I’ll spend the afternoon working from the studio. What do you paint? Can I see?”
I hesitate, only because it’s a work in progress and, if I’m honest, it’s a reflection of my state of mind as opposed to a piece with strategic direction.
“It’s okay,” he says, sensing my hesitation. “I get not wanting to show a piece in progress.” His timid smile sets me at ease, and I take in the youthful man with angular cheekbones and long, bony fingers. His aesthetic strikes me as more French than British, but his accent is unmistakably British. “I was going to go grab lunch. Would you care to join me?”
A shortened acoustic version of “Strawberry Fields Forever” by the Beatles blares, and I scan the floor for my mobile. It’s my ringtone for Scarlet.
When I find the mobile, I tap it quickly and answer, “Hey, hold on a minute.”
“Another time?” Geoff asks, backing away like I’ve already turned him down. I wouldn’t have, as I’d love to get to know others in the London area, especially artists.
But he’s gone before my brain kicks in with a counter response to keep him here. When I look back to my mobile, my gaze snags on my fingers. Ringless fingers.
When I come across Geoff again, I’ll make it clear I’m married but welcome the friendship. I don’t know what the syndicate is like, but I know no woman in the Grigi family would dare cheat on her husband. Retribution could be painful for both the wife and her extracurricular.
“Hey, I’m here,” I answer, stepping up to the window to peer over the green quad.
“Is Leo back?”
“No.” Scarlet’s aware I haven’t heard from Leo since departing Rome. We’ve had countless conversations debating what that means. Should I expect to live a solitary life from here on out? Does he not live in London? Did he place me in one of his properties to keep me safe with no intention of more? What rules should I live by? What are his expectations?
Yes, we have an arrangement, but most of the unions in our world are arrangements. What rules am I bound by? He disappeared without any discussion, or at least, after scolding me for my attire. For all I know, he could have a different lover in his bed every night. Just because Orlando never saw him with anyone doesn’t mean he’s celibate. He may choose discretion.
“Willow. I wish I could reach through this phone line and give you a hug. You sound sad, but you barely know the man. You should be grateful. The men in our world would’ve demanded sex.”
“I am grateful.” My high-pitched response earns a well-deserved annoyed groan from Scarlet. Is it wrong I’m disappointed? Is it weird I keep asking myself what’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t he want to have sex with me? He’s beyond distant. He’s not here.
“I, for one, am relieved for you. The fact he’s not coming around means he’s sleeping with someone else somewhere. Give thanks to the heavens.”
I try not to think about him with someone else. But she’s truthful. I don’t like the queasy feeling in my belly when I think about it. It’s completely illogical. I suppose I’m too traditional or…confused. It’s an arrangement. He’s helping me out. That’s all.
“Willow?”
“I’m fine,” I snap.
“It could be so much worse.” She’s speaking from experience. The pad of my thumb roves over a clump of dried paint on my smock. There’s no good response to Scarlet. “You can’t trust the men in our world,” she says in Italian.
“I know,” I respond in Italian.
“Tell me something good,” I say in English, forcing a brightness in my tone I don’t feel. “What’s going on at home?”
“Leandro came to visit.”
“You?” He can’t possibly want to marry Scarlet. If my leaving saddled Scarlet with that— “You’re a widow. He can’t?—”
“He wasn’t here for me.” She snorts. “Trust me. He’s too much of a coward.”
Scarlet killed her husband in self-defense. Rumors abound she killed him by divesting him of his manly body parts and letting him bleed out. It’s one reason no one has asked for Scarlet’s hand, and, according to Mamma, they never shall. She’ll be the Scarlet Widow of the Lupi Grigi for the rest of her life.
“If he didn’t visit with an interest in you, then why? What did he want?” I don’t particularly want to hear her answer.
“He asked about you.”
“Me?” My stomach twists and my hand falls over my unsettled tummy.
“Wanted to know how you were getting on in London and if I had any plans to visit you.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you are happy and in love. I repeated everything Aunt Ludie spouts to anyone who will listen.”
“Why would he ask you?”
“I’ve no idea. But that’s the reason I called. Be careful, Willow. The man gives me the creeps by simply being, but his questions…I get the feeling he doesn’t know where you live. He’s trying to find you.”
“Why?” My twisty stomach sinks. “He wouldn’t go up against the syndicate.”
“A sane man wouldn’t. A narcissistic, egotistical monster might.”
“And Leandro checks all the boxes.”
“Do you have security?”
“Yes,” I say automatically.
“Do you?” There’s an insistence to her tone that makes her sound like a mother.
“John doesn’t accompany me to the studio. I technically haven’t left the grounds. Our building is in a complex, and I stay within the perimeter. What are the chances Leandro could…” Why would he want to find me is the question I want to ask, but Scarlet’s right. Asking why assumes rational thought. “What else? Tell me something good.”
I don’t want to hear about the capo’s psycho brother. I left that world behind.
“How’s Orlando? Have you seen him?”
“Have I ever. I’m his newfound best friend since you’ve been gone.”
“He doesn’t call me.”
“Does he call anyone?”
“Probably not. Maybe I should learn how to play one of those games he plays.”
She snorts. “Good luck with that. I suspect he has a bit of a crush?—”
“On who?”
“One of his classmates. I saw him walking with her along the beach.”
“Not alone?” Orlando’s on the young side for a marriage, but there are plenty of families within the Grigi who would love to marry into Titan Shipping. “He’s got to be careful.”
“I don’t think she’s one of ours.”
“Oh.” Sadness falls over me. That’s not any better. He’s probably too young to fall in love, but someone Father doesn’t approve of will never be an option for Orlando. Not if he wants to run Titan Shipping one day, which he does.
“Don’t worry. He’s probably just ogling her tits.”
“Ah, she’s endowed?”
“She might be a grade or two older. She’s got a set.”
“Oh, Orlando.”
“You don’t need to worry about your little brother. He’s got a bright future as a heartbreaker.”
“Until he’s forced to marry.”
“Please. You think he’ll be any different from the others?”
“Papa doesn’t cheat on Mamma.”
A pointed silence falls across the line.
“Scarlet. Stop it. He doesn’t.”
“Don’t be a fool, Willow. Of course, he does.”
She’s wrong. My father adores my mother. They have one of the good marriages. They are the reason I thought Papa would never force me to marry for any reason other than love.
“I need to run,” I say to Scarlet. It’s been a short call, but I don’t want to talk to her anymore.
“Where are you off to?”
“Lunch. The chef made a salad that’s on its last day.”
“You’re eating at home?”
“That’s what I’ve been doing. I don’t like asking John to follow me around.”
“John is your bodyguard?”
“Yes. Well, he’s employed by Leo. I’ve been instructed to have him with me if I leave the premise.” John’s the only security I’ve met, and he works a full day, so I guess Leo assumes I won’t leave the flat at night.
“You need to get used to having security around. You’re not in Italy. It’s important.”
“I will.” I love Scarlet, but I hate that she sometimes acts like my mother. She’s not that much older. “I’ll call you later. I’m meeting with a man who is going to examine my art. He might be willing to be my agent.”
“That’s awesome, Willow!”
I grin. It really is. Leo honored his word and is helping me to get my feet on the ground as an income-earning artist.
I head down the hall and out onto the quad. The paved path to the apartment building turns onto Olympic Park.
Geoff rambles down the street in the opposite direction, and I smile and wave. He holds a white paper bag smeared with grease.
“What’d you get?” I ask when he reaches me.
“Sandwich and chips.”
“I’m going home for lunch today, but I’d love to grab lunch one of these days.”
“Really?”
His upbeat response has me grinning. It’s obviously early days, but my gut says we’ll be friends. He falls into step beside me.
“You live near here?” he asks.
“I do. You must also live near here? You work in the co-op.” It’s one of the benefits of Manhattan Loft Gardens. Based on the real estate literature I saw, it’s a highly sought-after East London residence.
“Ah, no. I don’t live here. A friend got me access. So, you live in one of the loft apartments?”
I nod.
“Quite posh,” he says.
“It is.” I can’t deny it. The real estate value of Leo’s apartment must be north of twenty million pounds, at least based on some of the postings at the realty. “Where do you live?”
“Putney. You’ve probably never been there, have you?”
“Can’t say that I have. But I’m new to London. I mean, I’ve been here before as a tourist, but I’m a new resident.”
“Well, why didn’t you say? I’ll have to show you about. I’ve lived here my whole life. Resident expert at your service.”
There’s a man standing outside the lobby entrance, and I zero in on the shadowy figure as we approach. He’s tall, with short, dark hair, a blazer over a white Oxford, and weathered tan boots. It’s the heeled boots that kick my heart into pitter patter overdrive. It’s Leo. He’s back.