Chapter 6
LEILANI
The party grows louder outside the house when I enter my walk-in closet and pick a sheer, long, flowing dress, fitted at the waist and over my chest, the cleavage revealing my round, full breasts, and the neckline stopping short of my nipples.
Whirlpools of dark brown hair move over my shoulders and long sleeves balloon before morphing into bejeweled cuffs around my wrists.
A tight belt with a matching studded buckle sits around my waist.
If my mother were alive, she’d have a nervous breakdown.
It wouldn’t be because my dress is enticingly revealing, despite being a long-sleeved, floor–length evening gown.
The fabric covers my entire body, yet the skirt opens up in the front, exposing my legs, and the cleavage almost reaches my belt with only a few inches of separation left.
The shape of my body is on display for the pleasure of the occasional onlooker. I’m thinking about wearing pasties to cover my nipples, although I may go without them just for the heck of it.
High-waisted white satin shorts hug my hips, setting off my bum, while shades of white and coral mix in an abstract pattern throughout the layers of my dress.
Sicily's sun is still locked onto my skin, highlighting my bright smile and sparkling eyes.
She’d have a nervous breakdown because I’ve never looked better.
It’s like my celibacy and being isolated in this house have worked wonders on me.
She’s always seen me as her competition––even when there was no reason for that. Although there were reasons for it later.
That aside, she was an attention whore and wouldn’t take it lightly that I look the way I look if she were here tonight.
I spray a cloud of perfume over my wrists, my inner thighs, the spot between my breasts, and the root of my neck, thinking about him and relishing the growing tension in my core.
I should just sleep with someone and be done with it, remove the restlessness between my legs.
I’d do it in a breath, but I know myself.
I’d hate myself if I had a stranger on top of me.
I might do it, though, only because I have no choice.
I’m so turned on at the thought of him, and having my silky shorts rub against my sensitive parts only makes me want to linger a little more to masturbate again.
But it’s too late, and whoever was supposed to be here is here already, so I might just go out there and join the party.
Forget about him.
I walk to the windows and glance outside.
The space is filled with people. An ocean of elegant evening gowns, sharp suit pants, and starched dress shirts.
The guests mingle, enjoying the delicious food and aged wine.
Live music plays by the pool, while the oleanders, strings of lights, blooming flowers, and lit candles make the place look like a dream.
Wrapped in sweet perfume, I spin around and head straight to the exit.
The house is packed as I step out the door and start walking and talking to the people.
My guests.
Meeting and greeting them helps me brush up on my socializing skills, preparing me for the bigger meetups tonight.
My grandparents. Some of my cousins, perhaps. My aunt, if she shows up––I forgot to ask Nona about her.
“Leilani, sweetheart,” Sylvia calls in the dining room.
The breeze glides in, unsettling the flowers on the tables and making tall candles flicker in their silver candleholders.
Sylvia is a vibrant woman at her age. She’s sixty-one and had my mother at twenty-two.
She looks sharp in a form-fitting strapless lame dress–she’s always had a knack for drama like my mother and me, of course.
Long chandelier earrings brush the top of her bronzed shoulders while her dyed silver hair––so it matches her luxurious gown––frames her lively eyes and powerful smile.
Plastering a grin across my face, I walk to her like a royal, the heiress of the empire.
Our feelings toward each other are still very much mixed, which comes as no surprise, since all Gallo women have had a streak of madness.
It manifested dramatically in my mother’s existence, and it threatens to take over my world.
Sylvia has managed to keep her demons under control, releasing dribs of craziness in inconsequential spurts.
I’ve never seen her lose control.
I’ve never seen her genuinely warming up to anybody, either. It’s only logical that some of the narcissistic traits of my mother were inherited from her mother.
Unlike Bianca, she doesn’t have a problem with a beautiful woman. She’s not jealous or petty.
What she cares most about is preserving her power and keeping an eye on Giorgio.
Five years older than my grandmother, he’s a silver fox, as Rory would say.
Everybody in my small circle is saying that, as they’ve all been charmed by his infectious smile, tanned forearms, and flawless shirts, sleeves rolled up to show off his sinewy physique, always encased in custom-fitted clothes.
Giorgio is still very much a catch, good-looking and contemplation worthy, with his dark eyes, trimmed beard, and black and silver hair, but he is also one of the most ruthless men I know, right there with my late mother’s last husband.
My grandfather has been protective toward his family, but the rest of the people fear him, as they should, or he wouldn’t survive at the top.
His businesses bring in more than a small country’s gross national income, so it comes as no surprise that Giorgio Gallo is an expert in seizing business opportunities, brokering agreements, and blackmailing people in the right direction.
At any rate, I am my grandfather’s weakness, or so I like to think.
“Oh… Look at you,” Sylvia says, moving her eyes over my attire. “Twirl for me, please. Where did you get this?”
She flicks her eyes up.
“Paris?” she suggests.
“Milano.”
“Nice,” she says, touching the sheer fabric, which is silky and delicate like the wings of a butterfly.
She rakes her gaze over my face.
“You look good. Healthy.”
That’s a weird comment. As opposed to what? Did she expect me to wither and die?
“So do you. How’s New York?”
“Great as always,” she says, picking up a flute of bubbling champagne from a server’s tray. You should come visit us sometime. Maybe in the fall. We have two foals now,” she adds with a smile as I give her a cold look.
We both know that it takes more than a half-assed effort to bring me back.
And why would I go back now?
I got used to this place, and I’m fine.
I don’t need to travel to New York to learn what I already know. I won’t find Callum there as much as I can’t see him here.
She slides her hand into her vintage jeweled clutch and fishes out her phone to show the foals’ pictures.
She knows I love horses and horseback riding, something I’m not doing here in Sicily.
Sicily is my exile, a beautiful place with olive trees, rolling hills, rich vineyards, fertile plains, lemon trees, white sand beaches, and rocky coves.
Here I live away from my family and the man I dream about.
I admire the foals before handing her phone back.
“They look great. Sure, I’ll come.”
Lies always work best.
That’s how you make people leave you alone.
“Sounds great. Just let us know when.”
“I will. How do you find everything?” I ask, gesturing around the room.
“Everything is perfect. Just make sure you keep Nona happy. She’s a great housekeeper.”
“I sure will. Any plans for tonight?” I ask, peeling my eyes away from her, and glancing around the room, looking for anyone slightly interesting.
“Plans?”
Her eyes follow the direction of my gaze.
“No plans,” she says. “Who are you looking for?”
I shift my eyes back to her.
I haven’t found anyone appealing and don’t want to tip her off on who I’m actually looking for.
“No one in particular. I was just curious.”
Our eyes connect.
“I thought you were planning to have dinner with the Sandoval brothers,” I toss at her.
“Oh, that.”
Smiling, she takes a sip of champagne.
“Nona must’ve told you about that,” she comments with a pinch of malice in her voice.
“That’s the other thing Nona is good at.
You should join us in the dining room,” she goes on, shifting the topic swiftly.
“They’re discussing business and a few other things that might be of interest to you.
You’re a woman now. It’s time for you to meet some new men.
Men who are good for you and can take good care of you. ”
She drinks champagne again, which is what she does when she’s nervous.
“Hmm… The Sandoval Brothers. Aren’t they too old for me?” I push out to derail her long-winded intro.
I can spot an invitation to a meat market from a mile. She’s not even that good at selling me the idea.
Do I need someone to take care of me? Has she looked around lately? I live like a princess.
And I’ll always live like a princess, no matter what.
Has she noticed that I don’t need anyone around me, let alone someone to take good care of me?
Meeting new men?
Huh?
I met new men before they thought I was eligible for their stupid arranged marriages.
Is this something new?
No.
Am I surprised they’re thinking of using me to secure some deal they make with whomever to gain whatever?
No.
In their mind, I need to be sent away or not be sent away but marry a man of their choosing––these are my two options––so why not start early?
And why not iron out a deal as soon as possible?
It’s not like they’re making a secret out of it?
“They are too old?”
She cackles.
The same worn-out cackle she used to have when I said I wanted to have a lock put on my bedroom door and my mother committed to a psychiatric ward.
She filed my request under dark humor, although I’d meant every word.
I have the vivid memory of that Sunday afternoon in my head when we were all around the table, and the sweet smell of the trees in bloom crept into the house from the backyard.
Freshly made cannoli sat on the table.
Creamy espresso awaited in small porcelain cups.
Giorgio, Bianca, Sylvia, and I occupied seats around the table.
Even my aunt Flavia was there, nibbling on her dessert.
My mother laughed the hardest at my request, and then her mother joined her.