Chapter 14
LELANI
The room is less crowded when I walk inside.
The Sandoval brothers are gone, and so are a few other people.
I guess I wasn’t the highlight of the evening after all.
Callum is still at the table with a drink in front of him.
The older men are still at the table. They’re old to me, even though they’re in their prime for everybody else.
No one looks at me when I claim my seat, slide my dessert closer to me, and start eating.
Sylvia follows me like a shadow and slides into her seat as well.
The silence becomes oppressive at our side of the table before I hear her talking.
“Where is Vittoria?” she asks across the table, and my eyes furtively climb off the table and float over the face of the man in front of me.
He shifts his focus to my grandmother, ignoring me.
With his drink frozen midair, he seems to ponder an answer.
Why is it so hard to respond?
“Weren’t you supposed to attend a different party in town later?” Sylvia asks as his answer fails to arrive.
“There was a change of plans,” he says after taking a sip and setting his drink down, elusive and hard to grasp as always.
Only liars give generic answers like this.
Tapping into a deep well of wisdom, Sylvia quickly drops the topic.
It’s safer that way.
She focuses on her food, while I watch him, chewing slowly.
His eyes barely move over my head, like an aircraft flying too low, in danger of crashing.
It never happens, though.
He knows I’m watching him with a famished look on my face. I don’t care who’s watching me. I can’t touch this man even if I wanted to.
And then, as I run a napkin over my lips and swallow the mix of cake, Chantilly cream, and blueberry, a miracle happens.
Painted in stark disinterest, his stare moves from the group of people conversing at the head of the table and slants toward me.
Our eyes connect, and something changes in his gaze.
A faint light blooms in the depths of his eyes as if he’s finally found the only interesting thing in the room.
Completely floored at the level of attention I receive, I stay frozen in my seat, impressed yet shattered to pieces.
I have wanted him to look at me like that for so long, and now that he does, my world crumbles before his very eyes.
He must be fully aware of the pilfering of my soul happening right now.
There’s nothing I can do to stop it.
That look on his face as he has his gaze fixed on me tells me everything I need to know.
He sees me.
For the first time in my life, someone truly sees me.
That thought alone rebuilds my confidence, fuels my naughtiest dreams, and nourishes my optimism.
Maybe not all is lost.
Maybe I won’t be the victim in this story.
Maybe a year from now, I won’t be living in a golden cage, my life oscillating between forced silence, cruel punishments, and a performative existence.
Or maybe he is as bad as the rest of them.
I won’t know that unless I try to learn more about him.
He rips his eyes away from me, with no conclusive expression on his face.
It’s hard to impress this man, and no amount of effort, money spent on my looks, silly grinning, or bedroom eyes can sway him the other way.
He always seems unimpressed with women, and I’m not the exception to the rule.
Just by looking at him, I can’t tell whether he’s a good man or a bad man. In all fairness, I’ve never gotten closer to a good man, so I lack a point of reference.
He must be bad. Worse than many. How else can he survive in this world?
I wish I knew what made him tick. What had attracted him to that woman? Vittoria Pietro was it, wasn’t it?
If he is, in fact, attracted to her, why did he send her away? And did he?
Or is she waiting for him to finish his dinner?
He must’ve asked her to wait for him.
I’m familiar with how these men operate.
With nothing better to do, I strike up a conversation with Sylvia about nothing in particular, hoping to make him shift his attention back to me.
I flick my hair over my shoulder and steal a glance at him when she’s not looking.
Nothing works. The man is as cold as a polar cap.
So what was that then? That look that had permeated every layer of my soul?
I’ve never seen him look like that at anyone.
I hope Sylvia didn’t catch that expression on his face.
His eyes locked onto mine, searching for something.
Is there anything under that shell of ice? A shred of emotion? A pang of sympathy?
Who knows?
Unable to make him look at me again, I wrap up my conversation with my grandmother and use the first opportunity to sneak out.
Her phone rings, and she excuses herself and heads out the door as well.
I pace myself so I don’t walk out with her––I’ve had enough of her presence this evening––and soon after, I move as quickly as I can down a corridor to avoid other people.
Moments later, I enter a bathroom, exit it just as fast through a second door, make a right, reach a different door, and I’m out of the house.
Finally.
A sigh of relief trickles out of my chest as the night envelopes me with the stimulating scent of the blooming shrubs and freshly cut grass.
The night smells like freedom, and for the first time tonight, it dawns on me that no matter what will happen in my life, I need to fight hard for this.
The right to be free, to fill my lungs with fresh air in peace, and not be indebted and accountable to anyone.
Have no one expect anything from me when I wake up in the morning.
I don’t know what it will take to accomplish that, but I’m willing to sacrifice everything to get to the point where I’m my own person and call the shots.
And for once in my life, I don’t want to look over my shoulder and have my head on a swivel.
LELANI
Distracted, I push my gaze over the crowd and look for Rory.
My beautiful friend, Rory.
What will happen to her if I’m gone?
Will we be able to keep in touch?
Or will they confiscate my phone?
They’ve threatened to do this to me before.
Although I’m hardly ever on my phone. When I am, I’m mostly talking to her.
I can’t find her.
She must be inside or on the other side of the house.
The guests are gathered around the tables, at the bar, or by the pool.
I bet they have no idea who they’re celebrating.
Having the sour taste of disappointment in my mouth, I reach for a tray of drinks and pick up a glass of wine.
Scowling at it, I put it down, signal to a server, and ask him to bring me a shot of hard liquor.
The effect of my first drink this evening has long worn off. I need something strong to warm my soul and make me forget.
My drink arrives quickly.
Checking the people nearby, I furtively empty my glass.
I can’t have Sylvia’s hand on me again, stopping me from drinking at my own party.
“Oh, there you are,” a masculine voice says behind me, and I almost choke on my drink.
A strong male hand moves down my shoulder.
I turn to Paxton, grinning.
Hmm.
We can still have a little fun tonight, can’t we?
“ Mmm… Hi. Sorry for bailing out on you like that. Pressing family matters have kept me away from you,” I explain, flirtatious, slightly ironically, a tad amused. “Are you having fun?” I ask, grinning from ear to ear.
Paxton is quite a charming man, probably not my type––I don’t have a type––simply because I’m smitten with someone else.
His dark blond hair, gray-blue eyes, masculine jaw, and broad shoulders could make any woman drop their panties in a flash.
If I’m being honest and eager to peer beyond the wall of dread I have surrounded myself with, several good-looking men have caught my eye this evening.
I didn’t say they were moral men. Good men. Men you could entrust your life and heart with.
I meant good-looking men.
Men whose looks have been forged in the danger threaded through their lives, the recklessness with which they live, and their ability to hurt and pleasure someone else.
But none of them can make me forget him.
“I have fun now,” he says, flashing a teasing smirk, while bringing his drink to his lips.
I watch him swallow his hard liquor, my eyes fixed on his lips.
“Are we having the same drink?” I murmur, grinning.
“It seems so.”
He laughs.
“We both needed something strong,” I say as our eyes connect.
He’s flirting. I’m flirting. The alcohol eases us into a carefree world.
“Would you like to dance?” he asks with a naughty look on his face.
His gaze dips to my cleavage and then lingers on my lips. If we weren’t surrounded by people, we’d be kissing just about now, I think.
The thought that I’d be doing something so unexpected and weirdly aligned with my initial plan to challenge Callum and drive him mad makes me smile.
The hard liquor helps with shaping my view of things.
What would the world say if I pressed my lips to the mouth of a stranger?
Sylvia would pop a vessel. Giorgio would roll his eyes into eternity, and Callum?
Hmm… Callum.
My smile widens.
Callum would need to get used to it.
He can’t have it both ways.
Piercing me with his stare, almost bringing me to the point of having an orgasm, and then looking away like I didn’t even exist.
With that frivolous thought in mind, I take the man’s hand.
“Let’s dance. It’s my birthday, after all, and I need to have some fun.”
Laughing, I totter away, my hand locked with his.
The thing with wanting to forget is that it comes at a price––a deep sorrow, a horrible hangover, things that are irremediably destroyed––but I’m more than willing to give it a try.
A man like Paxton can ease my angst, if only for a second.
Both tipsy and stirred up, we move to the small area where people dance, and before long, his arms wrap around my body, and I feel the hard planes of his frame pressed into my softness.
Oh, man.
Just like that, my deprived body starts humming and churning out heat, and I’m instantly aware that I’m headed for a disaster.