Chapter 17 Daisy #2
I tear my eyes away from him and glance out at the horizon, at all of the reds and golds and oranges that bleed over the sky as twilight takes hold of the world and starts the transition of day into night.
It takes several minutes for me to answer.
By the time I do, the waiter has come and gone with fresh drinks and the promise that our food will be out soon.
A part of me doesn’t want to share the awful memories.
They’re dark and ugly. Still, Giulio sits there and quietly waits for me to finish.
He doesn’t rush me or demand answers. He waits, patiently.
With everything he’s probably done in his life, he’s less likely to turn away from the dark parts of me, right?
I release a breath and set my drink down as I start again.
“Her name was Ginny,” I hear myself say. “She was one of the girls I shared a room with at a group home when I was fifteen.”
More silence. I reach for a glass and swallow a mouthful of liquid. I don’t know if it’s water or alcohol. I can’t taste it.
“She was stupid,” I admit, sounding annoyed by that fact.
I am. “But she was nice enough. She didn’t steal my stuff, or lie, or spread rumors about me at school.
She was an easy roommate and kept her side relatively clean—for a teenager anyway.
I was a bit different then, more protective of myself, I guess.
” My lips twitch at the memories. “She never seemed to mind.”
“Why was she stupid, Daisy?” His question raises the hairs on the back of my neck, and my smile drops away.
“Because she was too nice to be a foster girl.” I look up at him. “Your family mentioned that you were adopted. Does that mean you were in the system once, too, or…”
Giulio nods. “Yes, I was in the system at one point.”
“Then you know what it’s like. Moving from place to place, house to house—sometimes you get to stay somewhere long enough to make friends, to feel like you belong, but then something happens and you’re carted off to the next place, the next family that isn’t really your family.
” Giulio doesn’t talk as I do. He watches me, and it feels like I’m excising an old wound I never let heal, but it’s okay because at least I’m not doing it alone.
Even Michelle doesn’t know all of what I went through.
I was always too scared to tell her, but with him… I’m just not.
I close my eyes, shutting out the image of the sinking sun.
A cold breeze floats over me and pebbles my flesh.
“She was in love with one of the jocks from our high school,” I say.
“I knew he only wanted one thing from her.” I feel myself smile, though I know it’s not from fond memories.
“Most of us foster kids lost our virginities young, but not Ginny. She held on to it and thought that whoever she gave it to would marry her.” I reopen my eyes but don’t even recognize the darkness encroaching above us as the sun dips the last bit of itself beyond the skyline.
“I don’t know how long they were messing around, and I don’t know which guy it was.
I think she knew I was a bit more protective of her than I should’ve been, considering our distant friendship.
I just…” I look at him. “You don’t see many good people in the system, and she was good. I didn’t want her to lose that.”
“He didn’t marry her, I take it?”
“She killed herself.” Each word is like a bullet to the chest. “I found the pregnancy test a few days later. Pretty sure she told the guy, and he told her to get rid of it.” My fingers curl into my palms, nails digging deep until it hurts. “I wish she’d given me a name,” I say. “I would’ve…”
“Killed him?” Giulio asks when I let the sentence trail off.
I don’t need to think about it. “Yeah,” I finally admit, sighing. “Yeah, I think I would have.” I glance at him. “That makes me fucked in the head, don’t you think?”
Giulio laughs, and I jump at the abrupt sound. It’s a reserved kind of laugh, but one that makes me think of dark chocolate and satin sheets, and I can’t help but stare at his mouth as he chuckles. After several seconds, Giulio shakes his head, his smile still in place though he’s stopped laughing.
“Everyone’s fucked in the head,” he says. “You’re not special.”
I stiffen and give him an affronted look. “Excuse you?” I snap. “I am so special. I’m the special-est.”
He snorts. “You’re a barely contained little psychopath,” he tells me.
Maybe he’s right, but that doesn’t make me not special.
I pout back at him. His eyes immediately lower to my jutting lip, and that electric feeling from earlier invades the space between us once more.
Sitting back in his seat, Giulio looks me over from the top of my windswept hair to where the lower half of my body disappears beneath the table.
Instead of continuing on the realization that I might just have a few screws loose, he completely switches topics.
“You don’t like this place, do you?” he asks, gesturing around the rooftop bar.
And because I yam who I yam—don’t you roll your eyes at me, Mean Daisy—I tell him the truth. Rubbing my hands up and down my bare arms beneath the lace-capped sleeves at my shoulders, I say, “I don’t feel like I belong in a place like this.”
Giulio tilts his head and reaches for the glass in front of him.
It’s a short crystal thing with amber liquid that sloshes around as he puts it to his lips.
His strong throat bobs and works his Adam’s apple as he swallows.
My mouth goes dry. Why is that so attractive?
I’ve never found a guy just… taking a drink so hot before.
Giulio, though, looks like he’s modeling for a whiskey brand right now.
All hard muscles and shadowed jawline and deep, penetrating blue eyes. Eyes that are on mine.
Heat creeps up my spine and around to my cheeks. Pressing one hand to my face, I distract him by asking the question that’s been on my mind since I got his note. “Why did you bring me here?”
“We’re on a date,” he tells me.
“A date?” I repeat.
When was the last time I went on a date?
One that didn’t involve fast food and at least a mack-down make-out session in the back seat of some dude’s car?
I count down the months silently. A year?
Has it been a year? Okay, so… since I moved to New York, then.
I look around the rooftop with new eyes. So, this is New York dating.
“We need to talk, though, before we go on with our date,” Giulio says, and from his tone, I know I’m not going to enjoy what we talk about. Fuck. I thought guys didn’t do the whole talking thing?
Straightening in my seat and adjusting my skirt with a nervous flip, I raise my eyes back to his. “Talk about what?” I ask, reaching for my drink.
“Your friend.”
My stomach contracts. “She won’t say anything,” I tell him. “It’s not like she can now.” Not when she’s involved in another murder and is, technically, an accomplice.
Giulio’s expression darkens. “That’s the only reason why she’s been allowed to return to her life,” he states. “She’s been warned about what might happen should she decide to talk about what happened or about me and the Family.”
Cold fury drives up through my chest, not unlike the rage that filled me in the face of a conniving would-be killer.
Placing both hands flat on the table, I lean forward and let the emotions from that day refill me.
“Don’t threaten my best friend,” I growl.
“Do whatever you want with me, fine. Marry me. Threaten me. Steal me from my life. Kill me. I don’t care.
But if you dare harm her, I will slit your throat while you’re sleeping, and you’ll never see me coming. ”
No one ever would. I look just like any average girl. I laugh louder than most. Smile like I’m supposed to. I know that I don’t look like the type to kill. But to protect those close to me, I absolutely will.
Giulio’s ice-blue eyes sharpen, but not in fury.
Underneath the table, his leg bumps against mine.
Awareness floods out the anger and turns it into something else, something that has the place between my thighs softening.
Fuck me. Can he tell? “Are you threatening me?” He doesn’t sound particularly worried by my statement as he asks the question.
I sit back and lift my drink to my lips. “Nope. Not at all.” Threatening a mafia man is a bad idea. I’m just giving him some insight into the future should anything untoward happen to my best friend. I cast my eyes down to my cuticles. They’re in rough shape. Damn.
The low chuckle that comes across the table has my gaze shooting back up. Giulio sits back and smiles at me. “I think you and I are cut from the same cloth, Daisy Turner.”
“Isn’t it La Rosa now?” The question pops out of my mouth before I realize what I’ve said.
For a moment, Giulio’s smile slackens, but then it takes on a new tone. “Yes,” he murmurs, stroking a hand down his jaw. “It is. Daisy La Rosa.”
I swallow roughly and move to open my mouth.
Just as I do, though, the waiter reappears and delivers our appetizers.
My stomach rumbles with hunger, and the second the waiter disappears back into the shadows, I dive into the platter of stuffed potato wedges.
Greasy, cheesy, bacony, starchy goodness hits my tongue, and a moan leaves my lips.
“Oddio.” Giulio’s low, accented voice hits my ears, and I lift my head, eyes locking back on his.
His lips are parted, and his gaze is slightly glassy, but they’re not fixed on mine.
Instead, Giulio’s attention is fully trained on my mouth.
Nervousness has me swallowing the bite. My tongue comes out and swipes across my lower lip, hoping I don’t have something clinging to my face.
Giulio’s eyes melt into a firestorm of wicked blue.
Slowly—infinitely slowly—his focus rises, inch by inch, until our eyes clash.