Chapter 1 - Portia
CHAPTER 1 - PORTIA
“I wish you could stay forever.”
Jayla frowns at my words, then reaches across the table to grab my hand. The two of us are at Vesper & Ivy in Logan Circle, enjoying one last night on the town before she flies out tomorrow. We’re seated in a corner table as the rest of the trendy lounge socializes against the backdrop of mood lighting and slow jazz.
We came for their parmesan truffle fries and stayed for their Vesper Bloom, the establishment’s signature drink—a chilled lavender gin cocktail rimmed with edible gold.
I brought Jayla here the first night she flew into DC, and it’s been her favorite ever since. Now, as we polish off our third Vesper Bloom of the night each, I pour my heart out in tipsy fashion.
“I’m so alone,” I sigh. “All the people here are whack, Jay.”
“Sissy, have you even tried to put yourself out there?”
“Define put myself out there.”
“Network! Go to events!” Jayla says, grabbing her cocktail glass and draining the last of it. “Remember all those charity dinners and galas you used go to? You were so good at that in Newport!”
I scoff, half slumping in my chair. “What’s the point? It’s not the same.”
“Okay, Miss Woe-is-me,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Have you forgotten you’re the one who chose to quit your life in Newport and move to DC for a job offer?”
“You should’ve stopped me… somehow…”
“What was I supposed to do? Keep you chained up in our apartment? Sissy, now you know I’m way too irresponsible— and lazy—for all that. You’re the one who reminds me to eat, remember? Do you really want me in charge of the grocery shopping?”
The glum, pouty expression on my face slips away for the laugh that I let out.
Jayla has a point.
I was usually the one who kept our apartment up to speed. She’s the flightier, more carefree sister while I’m the overly analytical, organized one who keeps lists for my lists. I thrive on keeping things neat and orderly while she tends to feed off chaos.
It’s part of what has always made us such a good duo. Cousins by birth, sisters by adoption and best friends by choice, we perfectly balance each other out.
Up until a couple months ago, we had lived together in Newport City. Jayla was getting her salon off the ground while I was excelling as an evening field reporter for Metro News.
And then Rafael Calderone happened.
I went against every stubborn instinct that screamed at me to avoid him. He had already played me in Sicily over two years ago. Was I really about to let him do it to me again?
Unfortunately, the infamous saying turned out to be true.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…
I’ll never forget the morning I woke after what had been an amazing night together. It was full of tenderness, passion and what I thought was commitment. He had claimed he would support whatever decision I made regarding the job offer I’d received.
Turns out, he had a preference. He was sick of playing the role of attentive and caring boyfriend and saw it as an excuse to break up.
I remember word for word what the letter he wrote and left by the bedside table said:
Dolcezza,
You know I told you I would never lie to you, and I won’t start now. That’s what makes this the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write.
You’re a smart, talented, beautiful woman. You deserve everything you’ve worked for and more. Which is why I can’t in good conscience let you give up opportunities for me and our relationship.
What happened recently made one thing painfully clear: being close to me puts you in danger. Something I can’t allow. So as much as it tears me apart, I need to let you go.
Take the job. Chase your dream. Let the world see what I’ve always seen in you.
I’ll be watching from afar, always proud and always grateful for the time we had. And no matter what happens, know this: our time together was never a mistake. I will always care deeply for you.
-R
I had laughed the first time I read it, thinking it was a joke. Then I surveyed the empty bedroom and realized he’d written it and left it on the nightstand specifically for me to read when I woke up. He got out of bed, got dressed and then left for the day.
In other words, his way of establishing it was no joke.
Every word was serious.
Rafael wanted me to take the job in DC—and he wanted to break up in order to ensure I would.
My face burned like I’d been slapped across the cheek. I was speechless for a long time as I read, then reread the letter. His maid Mara finally wandered into the room, shocked to still find me in bed. She had stammered an apology in Italian while she rushed back out to give me more privacy.
I didn’t know what to do.
I was more confused and thrown off than the first time Rafael had made me look like a fool.
At least last time I was in the privacy of the loft I stayed in with Jayla.
This time, I was in his home. I had to awkwardly get up, collect my things and do a walk of shame. I had to really think about what he’d written in the letter, considering if I could stand staying at Metro News. The same media company he now owned.
It was funny, because when Rafael stood me up in Sicily, I always thought I wanted a reason. I wanted to know why he never showed that night.
But this time, as he gave me very specific reasons for the break up, it was more torturous. More of a mind fuck that left me questioning everything…
“Sissy,” Jayla says, forcing me back to the present. “Do you want another Vesper Bloom?”
I blink and realize our server has returned to our table. I pick up my cocktail glass with a few more swallows left of the lavender drink and down it in one go. “Sure,” I answer. “You can bring us both another.”
Jayla laughs. “I know exactly who you were just thinking about. You know that, right?”
Fast forward another hour later, we’re leaving Vesper & Ivy arm in arm. We’re both a little tipsy after so many cocktails, giggling over silly childhood memories like the time we snuck out with Dad’s car only to curb check on a turn and pop the front right tire.
“It’s not my fault the curb was in the way!” Jayla exclaims.
I snort back a laugh. “You mean the curb that was there since the road was literally paved? Definitely not your fault!”
“Shut up, sissy! Remember the time you went to that party and your fast little behind drank all that beer, then you puked on the front doorstep?”
“It was my first time drinking! I had no idea I’d get that drunk off two beers!”
Our back and forth continues until the Uber drops us off in front of my apartment building.
When we finally make it up to my place, Jayla slurs something about hopping in the shower so she can actually get some beauty rest.
“You know how much I hate travel days,” she mumbles. “I need my sleep if I’m going to have to be dealing with TSA.”
The bathroom door snaps shut and I’m left alone in the living room, a harsh reality crashing over me. Tonight really is Jayla’s last night in DC. Tomorrow, she’ll board a plane back to Newport, and everything I’ve been avoiding for the past week and a half since she’s come to visit will be waiting for me.
All the loneliness. All the dissatisfaction at work.
All the heartbreak I’ve refused to deal with since my break up with Rafael.
I’ve tried so hard to hold it together these past few months, but as time goes by, it becomes damn near impossible.
Jayla visiting was a reprieve. A breath of fresh air at a time I’ve started to question if I made a huge mistake.
I retreat into my bedroom to the distant sounds of the shower.
When I first moved into my new place, I went all in decorating. I painted the walls a lavender gray and furnished each room with a feminine minimalist vibe. Sleek and narrow furniture. Tasteful mix of patterns and textures. Occasional pops of color.
But once I was done measuring every photo frame and rearranging the bookshelf in the living room to my satisfaction, I realized it was just a distraction.
I would actually have to form a new life here in DC. Truly start over after Newport.
It sounded easier than it actually was. Instead, all I’ve done for the past few months is work, work and more work.
And then come straight home to keep myself company.
I plop down on the side of my bed and draw my nightstand drawer open. Inside are things like my sleep mask, some lip balm, a dream journal and a folded up piece of paper.
The piece of paper that Rafael had left for me that morning.
I’m not even sure why I haven’t ripped it up and tossed it out. What good has keeping it done, except make it impossible to move on?
But every time I have tried to crumple it up or throw it away, I’ve stopped myself. I’ve folded it back up and put it away, like it’s some memento to hang onto to.
“What’s wrong with me?” I mumble under my breath.
My fingers skip over the folded paper and move onto one of the other things I keep in the drawer.
The vibrator buzzes to life as I glance at the door to make sure it’s closed, then lay back on my bed. It’s been a long night of cocktails and I need to find release somehow. My eyes snap shut as I slide the vibrator into my panties and press it up against my clit.
Pleasure immediately echoes through me.
I grind back against the vibrator and let my imagination run wild. The four walls of my bedroom fall away for a different bedroom altogether. Though almost as familiar.
Suddenly, I’m lying in the middle of a large king-sized bed. Moans fall freely from my lips. The man in between my thighs strokes deeper into me and then silences me with a kiss. His hands canvas my body, his wide palms sliding over my breast and stomach and hips.
His touch feels so good. His dick even better.
I’m lost to the pleasure he inflicts on me. Every roll of his hips is designed to unravel me. Bring me to new heights as my orgasm rises like a tidal wave.
His dark eyes gleam watching me fall apart.
“ Sei così bella quando vieni sul mio cazzo .”
I can barely see straight, eyes on the ceiling. The orgasm washes over me and Rafael’s strokes only pick up speed?—
And then the fantasy is over and I’m left listening to the buzz of the vibrator and the sounds of the shower in the next room.
I blink dazedly, switching off the vibrator and sitting up on the bed. The buzzing continues, drawing my brows together until I realize it’s my phone. The screen has lit up to notify me I’ve received a text message.
Face still flushed from self-pleasure, I set aside the little purple toy and reach for my phone. The text is from an unknown number, which would normally mean spam, but then I read what it says and there’s an instant pull inside my stomach.
you’re the only one i can send this to
no one else cares about his death
they’ll get away with it like they get away with everything
Frowning, I quickly reply to the message.
Who’s death?
A second goes by where the person on the other end hesitates, then three dots appear as they type a slow response.
Benjamin Sigler