Chapter 11 Aurelia #2
“How do you normally handle this? You know . . . when the time comes to go your separate ways.”
He continued his hard stare, eyes flicking back and forth slightly, like I’d said something he didn’t quite understand.
“I imagine they don’t always take it so well.
” I knew there was no chance that I’d have something more with Constantine.
Not because he’d made that clear, but come on, a man like him never settled down.
You just had to be grateful for the dick and let him go give it to someone else.
Just appreciate the moment rather than mourn the loss .
. . or wonder what could have been if he’d felt differently.
Maybe I wouldn’t have taken this so well if I hadn’t just gotten my heart crushed, if I hadn’t just gotten out of a relationship and lost all desirability to be in another.
I didn’t think of him that way at all, but I supposed he was a rebound.
His strong silence continued for a while. “I make my intentions clear up front. Tell them exactly what will go down before anything happens. Never had a problem.”
“Oh.” My mind searched through the receipts I stored in my head, never recalling a time when he’d said anything to me of that nature.
Never established what this was. Never confirmed that this would end when our vacations were over.
“Well, you’re lucky you haven’t had any problems, because you aren’t as clear as you think you are,” I said with a laugh, wanting to sound playful rather than confrontational.
“But don’t worry, we’re on the same page. ”
His eyes narrowed slightly at what I said, like he continued not to understand. The more time I spent with him, the more I witnessed his intelligence and his wit, and this was the first time it felt like we were actually on very different pages.
“You haven’t said any of that to me,” I explained.
His signature stare was visible, white hot and searing, branding my flesh like cattle.
He almost looked angry, given the degree of intensity with which he stared at me, like I was his enemy rather than his lover.
My words weren’t meant to be offensive or perverse, but he appeared to have taken them that way. “I know I haven’t.”
I waited for more. Waited for him to realize his error, clarify what he meant, but as the silence continued, I realized nothing was coming.
And then the understanding hit me like a bolt of lightning from the heavens.
First, it was shock, and then the flames ignited from the collision and burned my flesh.
I swallowed, and my own saliva felt like a bowling ball.
“I’ve never done this before. Never spent a week with a woman here in Taormina. Never invited a woman to pack up her things and share a hotel room with me. Back at home, my hookups are brief and transactional. I also don’t go around fucking women bareback either.”
I was so stunned I could barely feel my face. Barely feel my chest rise with the breath I needed to take. The shock hardened all my limbs and made it impossible to move. Temporary paralysis.
“I want you—and I’ve been very clear about that.”
I swallowed, trapped in the power of his stare, losing all feeling in my body.
“I don’t play games. And I don’t want a woman who plays games.” He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t deepen his tone either. But the way he spoke . . . it was unlike him. Unlike the man who was quick to flash a smile and bring sunshine to my clouds. “Do you play games, Aurelia?”
This wasn’t the Constantine I knew. When we were at dinner at Osteria RossoDiVino, I saw a brief figment of this version, of the subtly lethal, subtly sinister man who existed beneath the surface. “No.”
“Then tell me what you want from me.”
I was backed into a corner by this man, the conversation turning from lighthearted to suffocating. Everyone else around us was having a good time at their tables with their drinks and apps, oblivious to the fire burning at our table.
I didn’t know what answer I should give. I didn’t know if I should be honest . . . or too honest . . . or right on the cusp. “How about you go first—”
“Don’t play games.”
“I’m not playing games—”
“Then tell me what you want from me. Is this really just a meaningless fuck-cation you’re prepared to forget?
Or is it something more?” He watched me with his unblinking stare, observing me, analyzing me like his eyes were fucking microscopes.
“Because I’m tired of you saying this is temporary when you feel pretty fucking permanent. ”
Jesus.
He moved into the table, arms on the surface, bringing his lens even closer.
“I—I just assumed this was casual—”
“Answer the question.”
“I would, but you keep interrupting me.”
He remained serious, but a slow smirk moved over his lips.
“I assumed this was casual. I assumed something beyond tomorrow was off the table.”
“Why?”
“Have you seen you?” I asked incredulously. “Men like you don’t stick around.”
“Men like me?” He cocked his head, furrowing his eyebrows. “What’s that mean?”
“Ridiculously hot. Wealthy. Smart. You wait until the very last minute to settle down with a girl, usually in your forties, and then you’ll marry a twenty-five-year-old. I assumed we wouldn’t see each other after the holiday was over. Seems presumptuous to assume anything else.”
That smirk deepened. “This is the part where you tell me what you want. Or do I have to ask again?”
“Of course I want you, Constantine.” Of course I wanted this to continue, but this man could rip my heart out of my chest and kill me instantly—physically and emotionally.
“But truth is, I just got out of a relationship, and I should probably heal first. What I’ve been doing this week is just . . . pretending the pain isn’t there.”
He watched me with those hard eyes.
“But yes, I still want to keep seeing you.”
That seemed to be the answer he wanted, because he sat back in his chair. “You can stay with me when we return to Rome.”
“What do you mean, stay with you?”
“You have to move out of your old apartment, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Stay with me until you find your new place.”
This man was too good to be true. I had to be missing something. Something that was right in front of my fucking face. “What aren’t you telling me?”
His eyes narrowed at the question. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”
“They say if something is too good to be true, then it probably is. Knowing this was going to end made it easy not to think about anything too hard, but now I have to question everything. Because you can’t be this perfect. It can’t be this easy.” It just can’t. “So, what am I missing?”
He considered the question for a long time before he found an answer. “You’re a smart woman. I can tell you’ve pieced things together.”
I knew he was talking about his job.
“I’m in a dangerous and violent line of business. The most dangerous business you could possibly be in. I would never let anything happen to you, but I won’t lie to you. Being associated with me puts you at risk. That’s the catch.”
It was my opportunity to ask the questions that sat heavily in my mind, but my tongue wouldn’t move. I suspected his criminal affairs, but I wasn’t sure how to confront them.
“I understand if I’m not worth that risk.” He grabbed his glass and took a drink, like he didn’t just dump a mountain of stress on my shoulders.
“Are—are you in Cosa Nostra?”
“No. But I’m well acquainted.” He said it unapologetically, not sheathing parts of the truth or mincing words. “Take your time. Think it over.”
“Have you had other relationships while . . . in this line of business?”
“No.”
“Because they were too afraid?”
His eyes flicked back and forth between mine. “Because I’ve never wanted anyone more than a night. The last nine years of my life have been filled with one-night stands, hookups, casual situationships, and prostitutes.”
“Prostitutes.” I repeated the word because I couldn’t believe he’d said it.
“Yes,” he said like he was answering a question.
“What does a man like you need a prostitute for?”
He gave a shrug. “Sometimes it’s just easier. Just say what you want. Get off the way you want. Transaction complete.”
I couldn’t believe he’d said that to me—point blank.
“You look disappointed.”
“I—I just wasn’t expecting that.”
“I don’t like to sugarcoat things. I’d rather get straight to the point. If you have a problem with it, then it’s better I tell you now before we go any further down this road. Walk away if you want. I’ll never lie to make a woman stay.”
I was taken aback by his honesty. So much so that I didn’t know what to say. “You just didn’t need to tell me that. I didn’t ask if you slept with prostitutes. So you wouldn’t have lied.”
“Not directly, but by omission,” he said. “I don’t do that either.”
I was still a bit flustered by all this.
“Would you rather be with a man who gives it to you straight? Or be with a man who lies, drags out the truth, wastes your time? I thought I knew the answer to that, but maybe I don’t.”
“I’m sorry, you just caught me off guard. Offered to let me stay with you and then told me you were a criminal who fucks prostitutes. It’s a lot to absorb in the span of a few minutes.”
He smirked. “I wouldn’t call myself a criminal.”
“You kill people, don’t you?” We probably shouldn’t be having this conversation on the outdoor terrace of a small bar, but once it started, it just rolled.
“I kill men who hurt people like you.”
“People like me?”
“Innocent people. There are men out there who don’t discriminate between good and bad when they’re chasing their bottom line.
Who will shoot a woman in the head for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Who will put a kid to work for cheap labor.
Who will put drugs in the hands of the most vulnerable just to turn them into lifelong customers.
Who will put guns in the hands of terrorists who just want to burn our world to the ground. That’s what I do.”