Chapter 1 #5
We spin. Dance like psychos to music that's only in my head. I scratch her chin. She purrs like I gave her the world. If she was human?
She'd be my best fucking friend. No question.
I set her down gently, cut the water, step in, and immediately regret it. Cold.
So cold my dick goes into hiding. I pause mid-submersion. Let it adjust. Mental pep talk.
Okay. I slide down, and my back hits the marble. My head falls against the edge.
Ohhh, yeah. This is life. This is the top of the pyramid.
No emails. No people.
Only the doorbell. My head snaps up. No. Absolutely fucking not. I'm not doing this.
Whoever it is, if they really love me, they'll come back later. If not? Natural selection, baby.
I lean back again.
Close my eyes. Let peace take me. Doorbell again.
And again.
And again.
Yup. That's my mom. I'd bet my soul on it.
I put on some clean clothes and walk to the entrance. Oh, look. My mother stands there. And she's dressed too perfectly for just a casual visit. Her eyes are on me like she's scanning for flaws. "Mom," I say flatly.
"Giovanni," she replies. "Have you been eating well? You look thinner. You're not working too hard, are you?" She steps in without waiting for an invitation.
Her eyes drift over my place like she's tallying up everything she disapproves of. I let out a slow breath, tilting my head back against the doorframe.
"Can we skip this part?"
"What part, son?" My whole mood flips.
"The part where you act like you care about my life. You didn't come here to check on me, so whatever it is, just get to it." She looks bothered. Like I hurt her feelings or some shit.
She's been here not even two minutes and the mask's already slipping. Good.
I'm too tired for the act today. Even though I used to care about that look. There was a time I really tried.
Like, really fucking tried. Wanted us to be normal.
Family dinners.
Family moments.
Vacation together.
Reassurance. Anything.
But nah. She didn't want that. So I left. Packed up and dipped to Spain. Because I was broken.
Cracked in every fucking direction after my dad died.
She didn't get it. Didn't even try to get it. That was the real shock for her. Not that I was grieving, not that I was alone, just that I had the audacity to leave.
To choose something other than the life she mapped out for me. But I couldn't stay.
I swear the house felt like a tomb after dad was gone. Every room was heavy with what used to be there, with what would never be again.
And her? She didn't fall apart. She kept moving, kept running the company, kept making sure everything looked fine from the outside.
Like his absence was just an inconvenience to be managed. So yeah. I moved to Spain, to my dad's brothers, to something that felt... I don't know.
Different. At least I had people who listened. Who gave a shit. They built me up. She tore me down. And now she's here, standing in my doorway, playing the role of the concerned mother like we're not years past the point of fixing this. So yeah. She can skip the script.
I'm not fucking buying it.
I throw myself onto the couch, landing in the most careless position possible. One leg over the armrest, an elbow digging into the cushions, head tilted back.
My mother's eyes flick over me. I know that look. She hates this. The way I sit, the way I exist.
I can practically hear the judgment grinding in her head. I'm sure her brain is screaming right now.
I smirk. "Does it bother you? The way I'm lying down?"
Her lips purse.
"It would be nice if you had some manners, Giovanni. For your own sake."
That makes me laugh. "Right, because my biggest problem in life is my posture." I stretch even further, just to piss her off. She exhales sharply, then finally gets to the point.
"It's about the Weston family."
Oh, fuck me. I bite the inside of my cheek, knowing this can't be good.
"What about them?"
She exhales. "I want you to start spending time with Rava." Rava.
God, even the meetings sound more exciting than this.
I laugh. Loud. "Excuse me? What do you want us to do exactly? Go sit in a library together and read poetry? Or do you think Rava's the type to show up at a fucking street race?"
"I don't care, Giovanni. Figure it out. You find solutions for dumber shit all the time. Figure this one out too."
I sit back, arms crossed tight over my chest.
"You've got some fucking nerve."
"Gio—"
"No," I cut her off. "Give me one good reason, just one, why I should waste my time playing besties with that uptight little plant. That walking Charles 2.0. The son of the man who worked my dad into the ground like he was some corporate slave. Like he wasn't even human."
Her jaw tenses. She knew this was coming.
"You remember that, right?" I go on, raising my voice.
"You remember the late nights? The way he'd come home dead behind the eyes? Because of Charles."
"I do," she says quietly. "I remember everything."
"And now you want me to do what? Grab a drink with his golden boy and pretend that never happened?"
"Gio, listen to me," she says. "Charles made a lot of mistakes. He probably still does. I won't defend him. He was cruel to your father, to you. I'm not pretending that didn't happen."
"Then why the hell are you asking me to do this?"
"Because the deal we closed with their family is good. Genuinely good. For the business. For us."
I laugh, humorless. "And what? You think I'm going to hold hands with his son just to keep the peace?"
"Oh, please, Giovanni. Rava isn't Charles and you know that," she says.
"He's not responsible for what his father did. Plus, you're already friends with his siblings. Why not him too? Why's he the only one you freeze out? He's a good boy. He's polite. He's kind. Honestly? If anyone should have an attitude in this equation, it's him, not you."
Well. Shit. She's not wrong. If I were him, I wouldn't talk to me either.
I sigh, rub my jaw. "So let's say I say okay. Let's pretend I'm down. What makes you think he wants me around?"
She smirks. "Make him want you. Be nice to him for once. Please."
I don't respond.
"He's only here for the summer," she says carefully. "By September, he'll be back in Canada. This is temporary. You can do temporary."
I look away, clenching my jaw. "Why do I always have to be the one to pretend nothing happened?"
"Because people are watching," she says softly. "Because if we act like there's bad blood, this deal collapses, and we go down with it. We don't have the luxury of grudges, Gio. Not anymore." Of course. The image. That fucking image.
"You really think pretending fixes anything?"
"I think it buys us time."
I shake my head. "You care too much about what they see." She meets my eyes. "And you care too much about what they don't."
We stare at each other for a long second.
Finally, I exhale, long and pissed off. "Fine. I'll try to take him out. Tonight. I will even send proof."
11:00 PM.
I'm staring at Rava through the window like a creep.
He's reading a book while lying on his back.
Who the fuck reads books while lying on their back. He is still so random. I'll admit it, I did a double take when I saw him at the meeting. He's changed. A lot. He used to be easy to mock. The posture, the shirts, the wide-eyed puppy vibe.
A walking stereotype of "good boy raised by Charles."
But now? Can't even clown him anymore, at least not for the way he looks.
The asshole had the nerve to grow up decent-looking. I had to come up with new material.
His hair's different now.
Lighter color, longer on top, messier.
He has new glasses, too. Not those tragic blue ones he used to wear. These are cleaner. Silver.
And his build? Yeah. He's not that soft cute little thing he used to be. He's got shoulders now.
An ass, too. A fat one. I swear on my bike, he did NOT have that back then. I would've remembered. I would've bullied him differently. Hell, maybe I'd have bullied myself.
And he doesn't even look shy anymore. Doesn't look like he needs saving, or like he's searching for the nearest exit.
He looks steady. Annoyed, even.
Like I'm the one throwing him off. Like I'm the chaos in the room now. The wide-eyed flinches? Gone. The nervous half-smiles? Replaced.
Now he just crosses his arms and stares me down like he's already over it. That gets under my skin a little.
'Cause I'm used to making people flinch. Not lean in. And he looks like he wants me dead. And the worst part?
I kinda like it.
Little change of pace never hurt anybody. God knows I've been bored stiff with everyone else lately. All doing whatever I want, laughing at whatever I say. It's predictable. It's easy. Maybe I was a little dramatic earlier. Maybe I overreacted.
It's not like I have to marry the guy.
Just a few months. Then he'll disappear back to Canada or wherever they've been keeping him frozen all these years.
I can survive that. And holy shit, if I'm stuck with him, I might as well make the most of it.
At least now I've got someone to mess with again.
5) Hey, Ravioli
Rava
I'm lying on my back, holding my book up, not bothering anyone. Peace and quiet.
Then the door creaks open behind me. I don't even look.
"Jin, if that's you again, I swear to God, get a life, man. Or a hobby. Preferably far away from me."
BAM. Two hands land hard on my shoulders.
I flinch so badly the book flies out of my hands and smacks me right in the face. I sit up, furious.
No, no, no. Not in my room too.
"Hey, Ravioli."
I swear to God. I'm going to murder him. I'm going to jail today.
I hate being scared out of nowhere. Hate it. It makes my skin crawl. Especially when it's by people I barely tolerate.
He's sitting near the door now. He doesn't look anything like he did this morning at the meeting.
Now? Now he looks like he just walked out of some back-alley fight club. Black baggy pants. Tight black tank top glued to his chest. Of course.
God forbid we step outside without showing off the arms and the tattoos. That would be unthinkable. A crime, really.