Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty Four
Roberto
From where I stand, I can see the sweep of the mezzanine, the long line of the orchestra, the double doors that swallow and release guests in little waves. People arrive in every mood. Some laughing, some shy and hesitant, some loud.
I give Luca a nod when he glances over; he’s in conversation with a councilwoman, and Elena is elegant in red at his side. I let my eyes wander to the rest of the family. Giovanni and Bianca are talking to a couple.
Or rather, Bianca is leading the conversation while Giovanni stands next to her. Antonio’s date is a woman whom I vaguely recognize as someone he’s brought to events before. He’s telling a story that makes everybody around him burst into raucous laughter.
Vito hasn’t shown up yet, and I suspect Luca is going to have a word with him about appearances later. Nico has a date as well, by demand of Caterina. She’s a pretty thing but quiet, which I suppose suits Nico just fine.
Through all this, I’m watching the door.
I tell myself it’s to keep count, to keep track of the guests, to see who has yet to show up. It isn’t. It’s because she hasn’t walked in yet, and some part of me can’t settle until she does.
When she finally does, the floor tilts under my feet.
The dress is the one she was wearing when I held her, and the shop played that slow song; the one where we could pretend we were different people for a minute.
Midnight silk that makes her skin look warm and the line of her shoulders look delicious.
The neckline curves softly over her generous breasts but manages not to be crude.
The back dips low enough that my mouth waters with the thought of running my lips over every inch.
The skirt swirls around her long legs like water.
Her hair is down, spilling in soft waves down her back and over her shoulders.
Her makeup is simple, lining her eyes in a way that makes the blue pop. She wears no jewelry aside from a single pair of drop earrings and a clasp that sparkles around her wrist.
For a second, I hate the room we’re in and the people between us.
Then I remember that I built it. I put them all between us.
I see her eyes jump from point to point, and I can see she isn’t ready to relax yet. Not until she makes sure everything is going exactly as planned.
I should go greet donors, sponsors, and the people who sign checks. Instead, I stand there and burn quietly.
The music swells. Catering glides in in well-timed arcs.
Photographers do their restrained dance.
I move around the room because I have to.
I offer my arm to a board member’s wife—a long-time friend of the Family.
I keep time, rotate, and return her to her husband with thanks.
A business partner appears at my elbow with a laugh and pulls me into another dance.
I lead her in the practiced rhythm I know so well.
I move from dance to dance, laying on the charm for business partners, politicians, business owners, and locals alike. I’m everywhere, but my mind is only on one person.
The one person I can’t dance with.
Dancing with her would put eyes on her. I can’t do that.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
A dance with Olivia would be more than a dance. A headline. A rumor that doesn’t go away. It would draw attention from the kind of mouths I don’t want saying her name. I’d rather be frustrated than careless.
I see Caterina stop Olivia at the edge of the floor, press a kiss to her cheek, whisper something that pulls a laugh. I don’t hear it, but I know it. Her laugh is warm and contagious.
She glances up once, scanning, and our eyes almost meet before she’s claimed by a pair of small-business owners who want to thank her for helping them with hotel blocks.
She tilts her head, listens like she isn’t keeping eight other things straight. They leave smiling, certain their place mattered tonight. That’s her gift.
The woman I’m dancing with—a rich woman at least twenty years older who’s very generous with her donations—has said something and laughs at herself. I’m only listening with half an ear, but enough to know when to laugh along.
Across the floor, Olivia accepts a glass of water from a server and leaves it half-finished on a ledge because another guest has a question.
I permit myself a longer glance.
I want to take her delicate hand and put it on my chest. I want to take those lips with mine, hear her breathy moan. I want the room to disappear and let me do that one simple thing.
No matter what I tell myself, I want what I can’t have.
A group of men finds me, and I switch on my friendly face and laugh at things that aren’t funny.
After the group of men finally moves along, I look for Olivia again but don’t see her. My eyes search the room, but she’s nowhere to be found.
Maybe she had to check on something. The ball is supposed to be as much for the staff to enjoy as the guests, but Olivia isn’t the type of person to just sit back and relax.
I figure she has something to check. I don’t ask what. I don’t follow. I stay and do my job.
“Zio,” Caterina says at my elbow. She’s smiling for the room, but her eyes are business. “Can I borrow you?”
“Always,” I say. “What do you need?”
“A favor,” she says, moving us two steps out of earshot. “Suite 2704. The guest asked if you could bring up a bottle of wine and say hello. They’d really like to meet you.” She taps the small folio in her hand. “I told them I’d ask.”
“Why aren’t they down here enjoying the ball?” I ask.
“Not their scene? I don’t know,” Caterina says. “Can you do it, please?”
I want to say no, but I don’t. Caterina has been all over the place tonight—this whole weekend, in fact. It’s the least I can do.
“What bottle?” I ask.
“I have it waiting at the door for you,” she says. “Thank you, Zio.”
“Anything for you, stellina.”
I walk across the room, skillfully avoiding lengthy conversation. At the door, I find a server waiting with a chilled Saint-Julien, already open and breathing.
I take the service corridor, not wanting to be stopped by anyone on the way up.
The doors open to the suites’ floor. The carpet gives softly under my shoes. I knock once and set my face to a pleasant expression.
The lock clicks. The door opens. The greeting I’ve prepared dies in my mouth.
Olivia.
For half a heartbeat, she looks confused, like she expected a stranger. Then it clears. Her mouth lifts.
Behind her is a room-service cart sitting next to a small table with wine glasses, tableware, and a lit candle in the middle. There are more candles lit throughout the room, and soft music playing.
“Roberto,” she says.
“Olivia.”
“I thought I was meeting… guests,” she says. “Caterina sent me up with dinner.”
I lift the bottle. “Caterina sent me with wine.”
Her eyes flick to the cart, back to me. The corner of her mouth curves. “Caterina thinks she’s clever.”
“She is,” I say, stepping inside. “But I’m not sure I appreciate being handled.”
“Same,” she says, but her eyes warm.
I shut the door. The latch catches with a neat little click that feels like relief once the door is between us and… everything else. No ballrooms. No eyes. Just a room with a view and a table for two. If Cat wants credit, she has it.
The suite is one of the mid-level ones with a good view and a generous layout.
“Hungry?” Olivia asks, walking back to the table.
“Yes,” I say. I set the wine on the console, shrug out of my jacket, and place it over the chair arm. “Stay,” I add, because she moves like she’ll start serving. “Let me.”
She stills. I can feel her eyes on my hands while I pour the wine, then hand her a glass.
We don’t clink. We taste.
“Good?” I ask.
She nods. “Really good.”
The first cloche lifts to reveal a platter of hors d’oeuvres: warm arancini the size of walnuts with a truffle-parm center; tiny potato rounds crowned with crème fra?che and a spoon of paddlefish caviar; crab salad in crisp phyllo cups; prosciutto-wrapped figs.
On the side was a small bowl of variety olives; burrata with roasted tomatoes, asparagus roasted with chili flakes.
There was a small plate of charcuterie with a variety of meats and cheeses, nuts and jams.
On top of all that, there were still entrees. Pasta with clams, steam curling up, parsley and saffron. The second is steak sliced over greens with charred lemon.
Dessert sits on ice to the side: chocolate budino with sea salt; lemon sorbet in tiny glasses; and a dish of berries with fresh cream.
I’m not sure who set up the whole thing, Bianca or Caterina, but I have a feeling it was a joint effort because it’s definitely overkill.
“Wow,” Olivia says, echoing my thoughts. “How much did she think we were going to eat?”
“I suspect Bianca had something to do with this as well,” I say. “She loves to feed people.”
“Well, I love to eat.” Olivia laughs.
I pull her chair out and breathe in the smell of her subtle perfume when I push her chair in. I take the seat across from her.
The music is soft, and the flickering candlelight is soothing. I can’t hear a thing going on downstairs. My nerves settle for the first time all night.
“To the person who planned this,” she says, lifting her glass.
“To her terrible influence,” I answer, clink, and we drink.
We start small. An arancino each, too hot at first, so we blow on them like children and try not to laugh. The center goes molten and perfect, truffle soft and salty. She closes her eyes for one second, the way she does when something is exactly right. I file it away.
We plate without a fuss and eat like people who missed dinner. Because we did.
“Better than shaking a hundred hands,” I say.
“By a landslide,” she answers, a little smile on her face. Her shoulders have dropped; the line of her mouth is soft. She sets her glass down and looks at me over the rim in a way that feels private. “I didn’t think we’d get this tonight.”
“Neither did I.” I break a piece of bread and offer half across the table. Our fingers brush. “Cat strong-armed us both.”
“I’m glad,” Olivia says.
“Me too.” I pour a touch more wine, then fork a slice of steak over to her plate unasked. “Eat. You’ve been running on fumes and willpower.”
She snorts once, grateful, and takes a bite. She puts some of the pasta on my plate as well. For a while, we let the food do the talking—small sounds of approval, a shared look when I hold out my fork with a bite of clam for her.
Downstairs, the party goes on. People dance and laugh and drink. The chips are flowing, the slots are blinking.
But I’m perfectly content up here, just the two of us.