Chapter 8 Romeo
ROMEO
I make pasta with spicy tomato sauce, and we eat on the couch in the living room, a Roy Orbison album playing in the background.
I’ve never cooked a meal for a woman before.
My mom taught me to cook; she said that it wasn’t a woman’s work, and that if I wanted to eat, I ought to know how to make decent food instead of living out of packets and frozen meals.
I never thanked my mom before. But the sheer joy of watching Sara eat is all down to her, and I make a mental note to buy her flowers next time I see her.
“What did your boss mean, you had your head in the clouds all day?” I ask.
Sara swallows a mouthful of pasta and washes it down with white wine. “I couldn’t concentrate. I was worried about you.” She winces as if she didn’t want me to hear this.
“You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“I know… but…”
“Hey.” I set my bowl aside and pull her into my lap.
It’s my favorite place for Sara to sit. Maybe I’m needy, but everything feels right when we’re touching; I only wish that I didn’t have to be apart from her when I’m working.
“It’s just a job, Sara. I know what I’m doing, and I trust the guys I work with to have my back. ”
She nuzzles my neck. “Do you trust Elio?”
“Sure, I do. He would protect me with his life.”
“I thought it was your job to protect him.”
“It is.” I kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter. “But it works both ways. Your boss is looking out for you too.”
“I’m a nail technician. It’s different.”
I want to tell her that it’s no different, but Sara doesn’t put herself in dangerous situations in her line of work.
Maybe I can’t stop her from worrying about me, but I can make her feel better about herself.
She seems to have gotten stuck with the idea that she’d have been more worthy of love if she’d gone to college and qualified as an accountant, and I need her to know that I’ve never met anyone more worthy in my life.
“Paint my nails.”
She extricates herself from my arms and studies me with furrowed brow. “You’re not serious.”
“I am. I want to see you at work, Sara. I want to know how your clients feel when you do their nails.”
She shakes her head, smiling. “Why?”
“Because I want to know every part of you.” I’m not good at this, I never seem to know the right thing to say, but she ponders it for a few beats, her eyes searching deep into my soul.
“What about if you get called to a job?”
I shrug. “Then I’ll have to go.”
“With pink nails?”
“No one will notice.”
She strokes my hand, rubbing her fingertips across my blunt nails. “How would you feel if they did?”
Honestly, I don’t know, but there’s only one way to find out. “They might tease me about it, but I’m still bigger than everyone else.”
Sara laughs, and it’s a sound that I could never tire of hearing. “Well, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
I don’t understand the issue. People can wear whatever the hell they want; it’s nobody’s business but their own. The color of a person’s fingernails and whether they choose to paint them, bite them down to nothing, or turn them into deadly talons, isn’t a reflection of who they are on the inside.
Sara fetches her purse from the hallway where she dropped it when we came in and kneels in front of me. She produces nail clippers, a travel-sized bottle of lotion, a thin file, and a bottle of nail polish. Pink. Baby pink which I guess is less noticeable than the Swedish Fish version of the color.
“If you’re having second thoughts,” she says, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”
I chuckle. “It almost sounds like you don’t want to touch my hands.” I slide one inside her pants; she’s still wet. “We could always do this instead.”
Her lips part. Her breathing becomes shallow, and she spreads her legs to let me in. Then, she remembers the point of the exercise. “Later, big boy. First, I’m going to give you the prettiest nails you’ve ever had, so sit back and enjoy the ride.”
Sara clips my nails first and then files them to make sure they’re even.
She pushes back the cuticles—I didn’t even realize this was a thing—and snips away the excess.
Then she massages my hands with oil that smells of coconuts and kiwi, paying attention to every individual finger as if she is making love to them.
“It’s therapeutic.” I lean back against the couch. It’s also a massive fucking turn-on the way she strokes my hands, and the bulge in my pants is the proof.
Sara chuckles. “That’s what you call it now, huh?” She strokes my erection through my pants.
“You’re making it really hard to ignore.”
“Sorry.” She removes her hand and unscrews the lid of the nail polish. She’s Sara the nail technician again. “In the salon, we would stick your hand underneath the lamp to speed up the drying process, so you won’t be able to touch me until they’re dry.”
“Is that my official warning?”
“Yes, because I don’t trust you to keep your hands to yourself.”
“It isn’t my fault that I find you irresistible.” I’m not even joking now. She must hear the emotion and desire in my voice because she licks her lips and swallows hard.
“I’ll start with your thumb.”
She splays my fingers across my knee and takes my right thumb into her palm, gently massaging the cuticle.
Then, she presses the excess polish from the brush against the rim of the bottle and paints a pink line down the center of my nail.
The polish feels surprisingly cold, her touch kitten-soft, and my erection continues to swell.
“How does it feel?” she asks, without raising her eyes.
“Sexy.”
“It’s the first time anyone has ever said that.”
“To your face.” I smile. “You’re even more beautiful when you’re focused.”
“I seem to recall you said the same thing when you fucked me with your tongue.”
I groan out loud. “Stop, Sara, or I’ll end up smudging polish all over your panties.”
She sits back on her heels, still holding my hand, and slants her eyes at me. “Defeated by a bottle of nail polish and a hand massage. If I’d known it would be that easy, I’d have offered to paint your nails months ago.”
“I’m not sure Gia would’ve appreciated watching me take her place.”
“She’d get over it.” Sara finishes painting my pinkie and gestures for me to swap hands. “From what I recall, Gia Rossi was always open-minded.”
Sara barely finishes my second thumb when my phone starts ringing on the coffee table.
She freezes, the brush poised midair.
My shoulders slump. I’d almost forgotten that I’m employed by the Rossis, at their beck and call, twenty-four-seven.
I’ve never begrudged their demands on my time before.
They’re great bosses, and I enjoy my job, but right now, I would swap it for a nine-to-five just for the privilege of spending the night with Sara with no distractions.
“You should get that.” She dips the brush back into the bottle and screws the lid tight.
I reach for my phone, careful not to smudge the polish, and hold it to my ear.
“Romeo, how soon can you get here?” It’s Elio. Of course it is.
I don’t look at Sara when I say, “I’ll be there in ten.”
Gia is waiting for me in the Rossis’ sleek kitchen when I arrive, sipping black coffee, her silver nails tapping the side of her mug.
“Elio won’t be long,” she says. “I’m glad I’ve got you all to myself for a minute. How’s it going with Sara?”
“Good.”
I’m in work mode. I’m not here to talk about Sara, especially when I know that she will be in my bed waiting for me to get home. I force myself not to think about how different this evening would have been had I not received a call from Elio.
“Good?” Her eyebrows almost vanish beneath her bangs. “Is that the best you can come up with?”
I smile, relenting a little. If it wasn’t for Gia, I might never have asked Sara out in the first place. “I got a tattoo.”
Gia’s eyes widen. “Dare I ask where it is?”
“Right here.” I pat my chest where my heart is. “Sara got one too.”
“Wow, fuck, Romeo, you sly fox. Please don’t tell me that they’re matching tattoos though.”
“No. Would that be a bad thing?”
“A bit tacky.” Gia tilts her head to one side, watching me closely. “You got it bad, huh?”
I nod. “I’m going to ask her to marry me.” I don’t even know where this came from, but I do know with all my heart that it’s what I want.
“Whoa.” She sets her cup down on the counter and raises both hands, palms facing outward. “Let’s back up to the part where you just said you’re going to ask Sara Mancini to marry you.”
“I don’t want to wait.” I don’t add that in this line of work, you have to make each day count. Gia Rossi is an intelligent woman; she can figure it out for herself.
“Okay.” She massages her left temple as if the thought process is hard to follow. “But at least be sure that she’ll say yes before you buy a ring and pop the question.”
“She will.”
“You’re sure about that?” Gia’s gaze is intense, but I can’t look away.
I’m more certain than I’ve ever been about anything. “Yes.”
“Sure about what?” Elio enters the kitchen.
He’s wearing his signature black suit with a gray marl sweater underneath, shoes so shiny, I could see my reflection in them if I got close enough. He’s armed. Ready to head out to whatever job he needs me to carry out with him.
“Romeo is going to propose to Sara Mancini,” Gia updates her brother before I can speak. I can’t tell if she’s amused by the whole thing or happy for me.
Elio’s gaze hops between me and his sister, but I can tell by his vacant expression that he has no idea who Sara is. Maybe that’s a good thing. Elio has the kind of looks that would turn heads in a blacked-out bunker.
“Nail technician,” Gia fills in the blanks. “We went to the same high school.”
But Elio is staring at my right hand. Or rather he is staring at the pink polish on my fingernails, and his eyes are like bullets. “What the actual fuck, Romeo? Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“What are you talking about, Elio?” Gia says. “I think it’s sweet. You make a cute couple, Romeo. I’m rooting for you all the way.”
“Not that.” Elio strides across the kitchen and raises my hand for his sister to see. “This.”
Frown lines crease Gia’s forehead momentarily, and then she smiles to reveal perfect white teeth. “You let her paint your nails?”
I’ve got it wrong again. Elio is angry with me, and Gia thinks I’m a fucking idiot. All I wanted to do was make Sara feel good about herself and understand why her clients come back to her to get their nails done. Is that such a terrible thing to do for the woman you love?
My fists clench. Not to hide my painted nails, but because I don’t want to do something that I’ll regret. I need this job. It pays well, and I need it to give Sara the life she deserves.
“Romeo, that is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” Gia’s voice slices through my spiraling thoughts and catches me before I reach the point of no return.
“It isn’t cute.” Elio shakes his head. “He’s a hitman for fuck’s sake.”
“I wish I could find a man who would do that for me.” Gia rolls out her bottom lip. “Sara’s a lucky, gal, Romeo. I’ll tell her myself the next time I see her.”
“Cut the bullshit, Gia.” Anger is still simmering beneath the surface of Elio’s sophisticated facade. “How can I take him on a job with pink fucking nails?”
Gia turns cold eyes on her brother. “The exact same way you would any other time.”
“Ha!” he scoffs. “Who’s going to take him seriously?”
“Who’s going to notice his nails when he’s coming at them like a fucking brick wall?” Gia retaliates.
I could let them argue it out, but no one criticizes how I feel about Sara and gets away with it. Even if that person is my boss, Elio Rossi.
Buoyed by Gia’s support, I raise my voice and cut through the sibling rivalry.
“I let her paint my nails because I want to know everything there is to know about her. If you don’t like it, boss, I’ll walk out of here now, and you’ll never hear from me again.
But if you’ll let me prove to you that this doesn’t change anything—” I raise my hand and waggle my fingers at him “—you have my word that it won’t happen again. ”
It’s the first time I’ve ever spoken back to Elio Rossi. My chest aches with the thought that I might’ve blown it. If he fires me now, I won’t be able to afford the diamond ring that I want to get for Sara. Not that the size of a diamond is important. But the thought is.
His expression is unreadable. Finally, he says, “If tonight goes to plan, Romeo, I’ll help you plan the wedding myself.”
He turns around and walks out, leaving me alone with Gia.
“Don’t mind my brother, Romeo,” Gia says. “He’s jealous because you’ve found the one.” She winks at me. “Now, go and remind him why he employed you.”