40. Tomas
40
TOMAS
C asanova? I don’t give a shit about Casanova. I didn’t come over to Ali’s apartment because of our date—with everything going on, I’d completely forgotten all about it until she opened her door.
No, I came over to give her my abuela’s engagement ring.
My grandparents were married for almost seventy years, and they were in love with each other to the end. I have fond memories of listening to my grandmother reminisce about meeting my grandfather for the first time. “Sebastian was such a good-looking man.”
My sister Carlota, who had always been a romantic, would ask, “Did you fall in love with him right away, Tita?”
“No, mija,” my abuela would reply with a laugh. “I didn’t like him very much. He was polite but too reserved for me. Then, one day, we got into a fight—I don’t remember what about—and I screamed at him at the top of my lungs. Then he kissed me, and that’s when I fell in love.”
Ana Isabel died the year before I left Valencia. In her will, she left my sister her wedding dress and me her engagement ring. I could have used her ring when I asked Estela to marry me, but I didn’t. It was too old-fashioned, I reasoned, and Estela was the kind of woman who would prefer a large diamond.
But maybe, in my heart, I knew she wasn’t the one.
And Ali is?
Carlota got married eighteen months after I left Valencia. She wore my abuela’s wedding dress and looked radiant. I didn’t attend the wedding. She has a son now, Adan, who is almost three years old. I’ve never met him in person. Valencia is a two-hour direct flight away from Venice, and I’ve never made it back home.
Until now.
The last time I asked a woman to marry me, things went spectacularly wrong. This isn’t the same situation. This isn’t a real proposal; Ali and I are just pretending to be engaged to thwart her father’s plan to marry her off to Damir Malinov. And more importantly, Ali would never be as vicious as Estela. She might bristle with rage and bite my head off, my tempestuous dolcezza, but she’s incapable of cruelty.
Still, I was nervous when I knocked on Ali’s door. I made a joke about her dildo, and she wasn’t amused. Worse, she was angry. And then, like an idiot, I mentioned Casanova.
Her words play in a non-stop loop in my mind. It’s casual, this thing between us. We’re not dating; it’s just about sex.
Just about sex.
Casual.
She even flinched when I slid my grandmother’s wedding ring on her finger.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. Ali’s been honest all along. She’s made it clear from the first time we met that she wants me out of her gym. She even fought in Ciro del Barba’s underground tournament so she could make enough money to buy me out. Neither of us can deny the chemistry between us, but she doesn’t want me in her life.
And I don’t belong there. My world is bloody and dangerous. I just killed two men without the slightest bit of remorse. I’m no good for Ali.
She disappears into her bathroom to get dressed. Fifteen minutes later, she emerges wearing a sleeveless black dress that clings to her curves. Her lips are red and full, and her hair hangs down her back in soft waves. “I’m ready to go,” she announces.
She looks beautiful, and I want to tear that dress off her body. I’m about to tell her that when a disquieting thought strikes me. “You don’t have to come to the club if you don’t want to,” I say gruffly. “You’re under no obligation to me. I promised to help you with this situation, and that’s what I’m going to do. My support isn’t conditional on whether or not we fuck.”
She gives me a very peculiar look. “I know that, Tomas. If I thought you were going to blackmail me into sleeping with you, I wouldn’t want your help.” She tilts her head to the side, an impish smile on her lips. “Maybe I’m just looking for a repeat of this morning, or maybe I want to know what you fantasize about.”
“Isn’t that obvious?” She’s a drug in my veins, and I’m craving another dose. “ You. I fantasize about you. Always.” I offer her my hand. “Let’s go.”
Her stomach rumbles loudly as we make our way down the stairs. “Haven’t you eaten yet?” I demand with a frown.
“No,” she admits. “I drank some tea earlier and got a smoothie downstairs for lunch, but?—”
It sounds like she hasn’t eaten all day. And this morning, instead of offering her breakfast, I fell on her like a starving animal. “In that case, we should stop for dinner first. What would you like to eat?”
“Anything except pizza,” she replies with a wry twist of her lips. “After last night, I think it’s going to be awhile before I crave it again.”
I don’t laugh. Her words are a reminder that I almost lost her last night. “I know the perfect place.”
I take her to a small tapas restaurant near the university. It’s one I frequent fairly often. The decor is simple, but the food is Spanish and extremely good. The proprietor, Monica, greets me warmly. “Buenas noches, Tomas. ?Qué tal?” Not waiting for an answer, she bustles away to get us water.
Ali looks at me curiously. “You come here often?”
“At least once a week.”
Monica re-appears with a bottle of water and two glasses. She smiles at Ali. “You want to order from the menu or be surprised?”
“I don’t know?” She looks at me for guidance.
“I always ask to be surprised.”
“Then I’ll do the same thing, thank you.”
The proprietor nods in approval. “I’ll be right back with some bread,” she says and disappears into the kitchen again.
When she’s out of sight, Ali smirks at me. “I would have thought you were too much of a control freak to allow yourself to get surprised.”
“You're about to find out how much of a control freak I can be at Casanova.”
If I’m expecting Ali to back down, I should really know better. Her eyes sparkle with anticipation. “I’m looking forward to it.”
The conversation over dinner stays light. As always, the food is delicious. Ali particularly likes the tortilla de patatas. “This is delicious,” she says. “Does the food here remind you of your mother’s cooking? Is that why you come here so often?”
“Not my mom. My sister is the chef in the family. When Carlota was nine, she threw a tantrum, refusing to eat what my parents cooked and announcing that she could make a better meal. She’s been handling kitchen duties ever since. My parents kept worrying that they were exploiting her, but Carlota loves feeding people.”
She tilts her head to the side. “This might be the first time you’ve talked about your family. What was your childhood like?”
“Normal. Happy.” I don’t want to talk about my family right now. “Did you like being tied up this morning?”
She blinks at the sudden change in subject and glances around to see if Monica is within earshot before she replies. “Yes,” she murmurs, her voice low. “I did. But you already knew that.”
That’s interesting—Ali is shy. And because I’m an evil bastard, I intend to have a lot of fun with that.
“What someone enjoys in the moment and how they feel about it afterward aren’t always the same. No reservations?”
“None.” She wets her lower lip with her tongue. “Are you going to tie me up at Casanova?”
I’m going to tie her up and so much more. Anticipation dances through my veins. Her plate is empty, and so are the dishes in front of us. “Are you done?” I ask gruffly, signaling Monica for the check. “Let’s continue this discussion at the club.”