7. No, I don’t want to fall in love
That man really respects nothing.
I wake up with the curtains open again and the lock on the door undone. He’s not even pretending not to enter my sacred space anymore. I wish I’d feel violated but that would be a big fucking lie, and unfortunately, I hate lying.
Andrea might think I gather information and secrets on everyone by lying and playing actress, but the truth is that I’m genuinely interested in what people have to say. Gathering secrets is a thrill like none other and the idea of it makes me giddy and open, ready to receive what people are desperate to spill. You’d be surprised what people tell you when they think you’re an air-head who’s just really nice to them.
I slept fitfully. Restfully. Not waking up once.
I hold myself in my room all morning, ashamed and confused, trying to get the new curtains up by standing on the club seat and foregoing coffee. Anything to avoid seeing him.
A knock comes on my door and Nico’s voice fleets from behind.
“Come in.”
“What are you doing?” he asks, frowning.
“What does it look like?” I sigh, exasperated that I can’t manage to hang the curtains by myself. A ladder would be fucking useful, but I don’t want to see someone’s face. Is it childish to hide? Yes. Do I care? No.
Nico sighs and leaves.
I swear, that man only talks in onomatopoeia and his favourite is the loud sigh of annoyance. In two days, I’ve grown to like that he doesn’t fill the silence with silly chatter, but he also hasn’t given me anything on Andrea or their family. He’s a vault.
“There.”
I almost jump out of my skin when I find Nico holding a ladder. I didn’t hear him enter the room and I’m freaking out that he can move so silently. He must be Andrea’s enforcer, because anyone would kill to have that skill and it can come in handy when you deal with enemies.
“Thanks,” I say awkwardly and continue on my mission.
One window down, two to go. This room finally resembles something I can feel comfortable in, somewhere I could belong. It’s not home, but I need to make it so if I don’t want to go insane in the next five years. I dial the person I miss the most and she answers on the first ring.
“Are you okay, G?”
Lana’s voice is like a soothing balm. Even if I miss the salted air of Kalliste and the view of the sea from the cliffs, so different from the lush green forest outside my window, I can always count on her to cheer me up.
“I’m fine, babe. I haven’t murdered anyone yet.”
“Need help with that?”
“Not yet, but I’ll let you know. Could you have someone send me all my clothes, my shoe collection and make sure the house is taken care of while I’m gone?”
We talk for what feels like five minutes, but is probably closer to an hour when another knock comes on my open door.
“I’ll call you back, babe,” I tell Lana before hanging up.
“Love what you did with the place, guerrieritta. Looks like… you.”
Andrea’s favoured mode of communication is snarky, so his stunned tone catches me off-guard. When I turn around to take him in, he leans against the door frame and my mouth goes dry. The fitted black dress shirt looks pristine on his olive skin, except at his forearms, where it’s drawn up to reveal a myriad of tattoos dusted with brown hair. I can’t make out all of them but The Creation of Adam takes his entire inner left forearm and I want to know what else he hides under his clothes. He looks exactly like the sort of bad decision I could make with slacks that reveal thick thighs to complete an all black outfit that fits him like a glove.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Can I do something for you?”
“Of course, wife, always.” His words settle on me like sin. He enters my space, taking all the oxygen with him and replacing it with the heady smell of his cologne, and shows me his phone. The news about us is spreading like wildfire.
Is the West Hill’s most eligible bachelor taken?
Giulia Moretti and Andrea Capaldi, a convenient love-story on the cusp of the Council Elections
Who’s the mysterious woman on the arm of West Hill’s most eligible bachelor
I snort at the cheesy taglines and raise an eyebrow at Andrea. “West Hill’s most eligible bachelor?”
“You got yourself a catch, sweetheart.”
“Doubtful. But it’s what we needed. Shall we do it again tonight?”
If he’s surprised I’m the one to offer, he doesn’t show. No matter what happens, I’ll have to spend the evening with him. For my sanity, I’d rather we do it outside, with other people watching rather than just the two of us here, in his home that smells like him and feels like him. If he cooks me yet another meal, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.
His smile widens, his straight white teeth giving him a wolfish quality.
The forty-five minute car ride feels like an eternity as we listen to Chris Isaak’s crooning voice and sexy lyrics. The irony isn’t lost on me, because it is strange what desire will make foolish people do. Thank God, our relationship is fake. No risk to do anything stupid like lose my heart.
We park at another restaurant in an up-and-coming area of West Hill. This one’s cosier than yesterday, with a French cafe style, and I know we’ll have better and less pretentious food. Chequered tiles on the floor and woven chairs remind me of Paris brasseries. The dimly lit space and the small round table we sit at invites hushed conversations and an intimacy I’m not sure I’m ready for.
“I’d like you to start your research on my opponent, Parker Addams,” Andrea asks without preamble.
“The name sounds familiar, but I don’t remember you mentioning it before.”
“You met him,” he clips, jaw tight. “At the entrance of Kiki De Montparnasse’s store.”
“Oh. I see.”
“He’s not who he seems to be, I just know it.”
“What do you have on him?”
“Nothing.”
I frown. Andrea Capaldi, cyber genius and mafia leader, has nothing on his political opponent. That’s both funny and terrifying because no one can be so clean. I tell him as much and Andrea confirms that despite his thorough research, nothing seems to have touched Addams, not even a parking ticket.
We spend the rest of the evening talking about who’s who in the Council. Andrea mentions Lewis, the current Mayor, as one of his major sponsors. The names mix with each other, so I take notes on my phone. I’ll need to start my files tomorrow and gather all I can to prepare for the fundraiser, know who to talk to and how to insert myself into conversations.
Our evening of strategizing feels like a truce, and that terrifies me as much as it exhilarates me. Andrea’s passion and need to win is like looking into a mirror and I like what I see. We’re in the car home when the conversation deviates to something more personal, more dangerous.
“Tell me about you, Giulia. And about us.” I don’t like my name on his lips. He usually uses the stupid endearments and I prefer them to his business-like tone. “If anyone asks, I want to be able to answer any questions they have.”
“Let me guess, everyone’s going to be interested in knowing the woman who tamed the man-whore Andrea Capaldi?”
My words are harsher than I intend and I don’t miss the very subtle grimace at the corner of his mouth. I’m a bitch, but I’m not cruel. Guilt settles in my belly like lead.
“Yes, Giulia. I wouldn’t settle for just anyone.” He waits for me to tell him my story like he’s earned it.
“Let me be clear, Capaldi. I don’t trust you, so I’ll tell you what you need to know to fool people who don’t know me. Rest assured that I won’t give you an inch.”
He chuckles at that, giving me whiplash and I curse myself for using dirty words carelessly like that. Of course he’d notice. He stays silent, his usual smirk back in place.
Where it belongs. Shut up, brain.
“Alright, tell me how we met.”
“We met by chance in London four years ago while I was studying, had a whirlwind romance, but I was expected in Kalliste. You never got over me and continued pursuing me, though I refused, until our cousins decided to get married, bringing us close once more. After four years of presents and letters and declarations, I finally accepted to give you a chance.”
“Because you were secretly in love with me, or else you wouldn’t have jumped into a marriage with someone you just wanted to give a chance to.”
I sigh loudly at his retort. Unfortunately, he makes sense. “Fine, but I’ll be sure to remind every single person in attendance that you pursued me and not the other way around. Make sure to play the part.”
“That won’t be hard, guerrieritta.”
I’m not sure what he means by that.
I ignore it as best as I can and continue with surface-level information. “My favourite colour is…”
I don’t have time to finish before he cuts me off. “Dark blue, though you prefer it when it’s mixed with dashes of dark forest green and yellow, and you fool everyone into believing it’s pink.”
I’m rarely shocked into silence, but I just stare at him, a strange warm feeling spreading in my chest.
“How do you know?”
“The new decor gave you away, guerrieritta.”
I get out of the car and walk inside the house without looking back. “Great. I doubt that will be useful information at a fundraiser but you should know I prefer Glock over Beretta.”
I can’t see him smile, but I feel it all the same.