13. Orgasms mean nothing, he is still the devil
After the almost kiss, I run to my room to hide from the turmoil that threatens to shatter me. I don’t even bother closing my room with the lock anymore. I’m too tired to try to keep Andrea out. Physically at least.
Emotionally? No way I’ll let him in.
I understood from a very young age that anyone trying to get close to me wants something from me and will pull at any heartstrings I have to get it so it’s better if I pretend I have none.
I’m so tired of fighting for everything I have and building something with Andrea would be a constant battle.
When he touched me at the fundraiser, I wanted to give in. To stop pretending I hate him and I’m not falling for him. He’s magnetic, and it would be a lie to say I’m not attracted to him, to the smell of him, the feel of his body, his ruthlessness and even his cockiness. He fucking cooks, for Christ’s sake. He’s a fucking red flag, clearly disrespecting the rules I’ve put in place to protect myself, and I’m not sure I don’t want to let him. It’s like I could almost believe I’d be able to tame him, but that’s not fucking happening. I might have let him pleasure me, but the walls between us remain.
Every morning when I wake up, the throw pillow on the club chair still bears the imprint of his strong body, and I can smell the faintness of bitter oranges in the air. I groan and fall back into the plushness of the mattress most mornings.
If only he’d just stopped at making me come, but the asshole had to put his full lips on mine and give me a taste. I shake my head. That kiss was just a glitch, a consequence of the bloodlust we both fell into.
The almost kiss in his office was a consequence of his protectiveness, his primal brain taking the driver’s seat.
I do the only sane thing. I call my person.
“Hey G, everything…”
I don’t let her finish and just jump right into it.
“We kissed! Okay, okay, we more than kissed, but that’s irrelevant because he’s the devil.”
“Cugina, calm down. You’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm,” Lana laughs on the other side of the line, her words already soothing my frantic mind. “Come back to the beginning. You kissed and more than kissed?”
“It’s a disaster, babe. We were at a fundraiser last week and he touched my leg, and I got all hot and bothered. I needed to escape, you know? So I went to the bathroom, but he followed me and then he finger-fucked me right there, and it was glorious. I came in seconds. Gosh, his fingers are so thick.”
“You know what they say,” she scoffs.
“Yeah, babe, I do know, and I don’t want to know.”
“Okay, okay. No sex. I remember your rule. What happened after the super orgasm?”
“He beat up a man who insulted me and then he kissed me.”
“You can take the man out of the mafia, but not the mafia out of the man, apparently. Isn’t that dangerous for his career?”
“Oh no, I threatened the man not to talk,” I say flippantly, my lips curving up at the reminder of our little altercation with Carmichael. We probably looked like two angels of retribution.
“Madre di Dio, you guys are a match made in heaven.”
“Or Hell,” I retort.
“What’s the problem, then? Tell me the truth. He beat up a guy who insulted you, gave you an orgasm, what an awful man. What are you so scared of?”
“He’s a made man, babe. You know how they are. He’ll use me, then discard me.”
“I do know how they are. Are you saying Julian, our best friend, is a manipulative asshole? Are you saying my husband is?”
“No, but…”
“G, I get that you’re scared but not everyone is like your ex, or your father. I don’t know Andrea and you know I’ll jump on the first plane to come murder him if he hurts you, but for better or worse, for the next five years, he’s your husband. With what you’re telling me, he’s not that bad.”
“That’s exactly the problem, babe.”
For the next half hour, my best friend calms me down with the rationality of the general that she is. She suggests I find something to do outside of being the wife of a prominent politician on the rise, to keep myself occupied.
For the past three weeks, my days have been filled with Andrea, and helping his career, and now I need to add looking for Xan’s murderer to the list of things I do for Andrea. I need something that’s just for me.
I get out of my room and sit down at the kitchen counter next to Nico, who’s working from the cottage today. Being in Andrea’s office, surrounded by his scent, is too much for me right now. I’m just the accessory he needs to achieve his goals and as much as I want to help him with uncovering who the true Parker Addams is, the seeds I planted at the fundraiser aren’t gonna grow in a day.
We have to be patient and wait for my new friends to come to me with the gossip.
There isn’t anything I could find about Xan’s potential killer. We saw each other only a handful of times when I lived in London, but they didn”t deserve to die like this.
Andrea, West Hill Police and I all have the same information. They were strangled in the early morning five days ago, the night of the fundraiser, probably at their house in London then moved here in West Hill, two hours away.
Who would go to such length?
I need to find new avenues of information.
After our studies, when Lana was in Mallorca and I lived on Kalliste with my family, I started buying spaces to build private clubs. They’ve always been amazing places to gather intel on anyone who mattered on Kalliste.
Without meaning to, my fingers search for properties for sale out in West Hill. I’m surprised the Capaldis don’t have a finger in the night entertainment industry. West Hill is a booming city with no real opportunities for nightlife. It’s a huge miss in the market.
“Nico?”
He grunts. His own kind of response.
“Would you take me downtown this afternoon?”
“Sure.”
I’m surprised he doesn’t ask questions, but considering he never does, I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s just a strange feeling not to have to fight to have things done around here. A girl could get used to this.
A phone call and a name drop later, Nico and I stand in the parking lot of a property that’s been on the market for more than two months. Located in a booming neighbourhood with easy connections to the financial district and the suburbs, it’s prime real estate.
An agent shows us the space, and my mind immediately conjures up the potential. The first floor is about 10,000 square feet and could easily house a dancefloor, a decent bar and multiple podiums for dancers, as well as private booths. The second floor is about two thirds of that space with a balcony overlooking the ground floor, and I already imagine people peering under them at dancers while hosting private games of whatever strikes their fancy.
“It needs some work,” the agent hesitates.
“It’s perfect.”
“For what?” Nico asks.
“Don’t you worry your pretty head with that, cugnatu.”
My mind is filled with possibilities. I don’t know a single thing about permits here, but I know who does. Jane Lewis. The woman is about ten years older than me and delightful.
West Hill doesn’t have a house of sin. If I play my cards right, anyone who’s important in the city will come here to indulge, and hopefully spill their secrets. Even Addams might fall right into my trap.
“I’ll make an offer,” I say, smiling.
Three days later, the broker and I sign the contract and the building is mine. My first step is to register it as a nightclub at the council, Jane helping me with the paperwork, giving us the perfect opportunity to grow closer.
This place might be for me, but killing two birds with one stone sounds like exactly what I’d do.
It takes weeks to fill in all the administrative forms, but within a month, renovation work will start.
I’m no architect but I have a good idea of what I want to accomplish and so I draw my ideal plans. Rouge will be born soon. All types of rumours and information circulate at clubs like this. Dancers are the ears I need on the ground, just like I did on Kalliste. The elections are in seven months, but I’m sure I can open within four or five. Hopefully by then, Addams will be too curious and give me all I need to uncover his shady dealings.
* * *
I’m deep into colour coordination and timeline planning, a warm wool sweater swallowing me to chase off the late October chill, when Andrea finds me cross-legged on the floor of my bedroom.
It’s been almost three weeks since the fundraiser and our heated kiss and the hottest orgasm I’ve ever had, and up until this very moment, I could have almost forgotten he existed. Almost being the key word because he’s formidable in his dark jeans and the white tee that stretches across his chest, black and white tattoos of an angel and a demon in a sensual embrace, laurel leaves and snakes and skulls on display on his arms. It’s a V-neck today, a few chest hair visible under the medaillon he never removes, and it’s not fucking fair how my eyes trace the plane of his body until they get ensnared by the hazel colour that burns with an intensity I don’t want to examine too quickly.
I know he’s been avoiding me, just entering my space when I’m asleep, leaving early and coming home late. I’ve had girl dinners for weeks and I can’t live on bread sticks, cheese and coffee any longer.
I frown, realising I miss my husband’s home-cooked meals.
He licks his lips and I’m thrown back to that evening when he kissed me with a dominance that left me weak at the knees.
“Can I help you?” I sass.
“Just admiring my wife.”
“We’re alone, Capaldi. You don’t need to pretend here.” I avert my gaze because I’m not sure what is worse, the confirmation it’s just all pretend or that it’s not.
“Who says I’m pretending, guerrieritta?”
Fuck.
“Cut the shit and leave me alone, I’m busy.”
“I see that. What are you planning?”
He comes to sit down next to me and there’s something so vulnerable in a strong man sitting on the floor without a care in the world. I swallow hard, set my shoulders back and lay out my plan for Rouge.
“It’s a brilliant idea, Giulia,” he says my name so rarely, the word melting on his tongue like a delicacy. “Do you have cashflow predictions?”
“Not yet, but that’s next. Maybe for tomorrow, my eyes are watering from looking at my screen all day.”
“Mmm. And estimate for the renovations?”
“I don’t fucking know, Andrea, I bought the place two weeks ago. I can’t do everything all at once.”
I don’t know why I yell. It’s not like it’s unreasonable for him to ask. I did spend a quarter million pounds of his money after all. I just know I’ll need to justify my decisions, like I’ve always had.
“Sweetheart, I’m asking just to know how much you need me to retrieve from our accounts. Nothing more,” he says with an even voice.
“Oh.”
“Yes ‘oh’.” The corner of his lips lifts to reveal an amused grin I’m starting to be slightly obsessed with. I look around me, at the sheets of paper strewn around without care. It would be normal that he would have questions, but he’s just letting me do what I want.
“How are you going to call it?” he asks, his tone curious.
“Rouge.”
“Rouge.” His smiles widen. “I like it.”
“It’s on brand for me.”
He tilts his head to the side, the question clear on his handsome face. I offer him a little piece of me.
“Lana and I own a fashion brand called ‘Rouge’. It only sells white clothes splashed with red, to resemble blood and invoke the idea of murder.” I snicker. “It makes us a shit ton of legal cash, and covers for all the actual blood-stained jackets, pants and dresses Lana ends up with. No one ever knows if she’s wearing our brand, or actual blood.”
Andrea’s booming laughs could rattle the house and it certainly does something to the organ in my chest, my own cheeks hurting from smiling as I contemplate licking the column of his throat. I shake my head out of the thought.
“You two are a menace.”
“That we are,” I say but my tone turns sad. I start to put the papers together in a neat pile and I’m about to get up and get ready for bed when Andrea lays a hand on my knee. “Do you miss her?”
“Yes. I miss her.” I miss home stays lodged in my throat, refusing to come out because it’d be a lie and I don’t lie.
Clouds settle behind the whiskey colour of his eyes. Without another word, he gets up and kisses my brow before walking out and closing the door behind him. I watch, frozen.
That night, my husband doesn’t come to watch me sleep. I know because I wait for him until the early hours of the morning.