Chapter 22 Bambalina
Bambalina
The red satin laps at my heels like soft waves with each step I take.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” Allegra says, her eyes glistening with tears. “I still can’t believe you’ve turned eighteen. My baby niece. Eighteen.” She dabs at her eyes. “I feel so old.”
Papa is standing at the top of the stairs, ready to walk me down to the friends and family gathered below.
There’s nothing grand about our entrance hall and it only fits around ten people at a push, so most of our family is scattered around the living room, kitchen and library.
I’ve always preferred to be behind the camera as opposed to in front, so it’s a relief I don’t have to greet everyone at once.
He shakes his head as I approach and I’m shocked to see tears in his eyes too.
“Papa,” I laugh. “What’s the matter?”
“My baby girl,” he says in a slightly croaky voice. “Not my baby anymore. Look at you, so grown up.”
I pull a face. “It didn’t happen overnight.”
“I know, I know.” He takes my arm but looks into my eyes before he turns toward the stairs. “But it does happen a lot faster than you’d expect.”
He looks genuinely anguished so I pause and pat his arm. “You know I’ll always be your little girl, Papa. I love you so much.”
He plants a brief kiss on my cheek. “I love you too, my Bambalina. And you know…”
The pause lingers until I look at him. Properly look at him.
“Your mama would be so proud of you.”
I smile weakly. I know she would. I wish she could have been here to tell me herself.
Papa shakes out his shoulders. “Are you ready?”
I take a steadying breath. “I am.”
We walk down the stairs to a collection of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ and I smile timidly as relatives I haven’t seen for a while come up and congratulate me on making it through another year.
I receive them all politely, feeling relieved when I lay eyes on my sisters.
They’re standing in the library with Cristiano, Benito and Andreas.
My heart skips a beat as I search for Nicolò.
I don’t want to make it too obvious but my gaze skates about from room to room, corner to corner, and my breath sticks tight to my throat.
When his form doesn’t come into view, my heart sinks.
He hasn’t been back to the house since the night I found him in the kitchen, drunk.
It’s possible he feels guilty about smashing the glass that cut my foot, or embarrassed that something happened between us that night.
It wasn’t something tangible, but it was something.
But regardless of all that, he promised he would come.
Someone pushes a flute of champagne into my hand.
I don’t usually drink. I’m underage anyway—not that my family cares too much.
They’re European like that, and don’t tend to follow the letter of the law either.
Still, I feel like if a drink can give me a momentary pick-me-up right now, I may as well give it a try.
As soon as I’m able to escape the cooing and gossiping of distant relatives, I slink to the library to be with my sisters.
I greeted them all earlier in the afternoon, but they haven’t yet seen the dress, so their jaws drop as I approach, drawing a blush from my cheeks almost as deep a rouge as the color of my dress.
“You look sensational, sis,” Tess says, wrapping her arms around my neck. “This was definitely the right choice. Versace?”
I nod. “How did you guess?”
“Because the last time I saw a belly slash like that it was on Jennifer Lopez and she broke Google.”
I laugh. “I don’t think there’ll be any breaking of Google tonight, but I do love this dress.”
Sera kisses me on the cheek. “It’s perfect. You look gorgeous. Are your friends here?”
She means Clara and Annalise. “In the kitchen. Probably terrified to move in case they get shot,” I deadpan.
“Wow,” Tess frowns. “Is that the reputation we have at your school?”
I shrug. “Pretty much.”
“That’s awful!” Trilby looks personally affronted before enveloping me in a huge hug. “I’m going to go and find them right away and make them see how lovely we all are.”
She goes to walk away then turns to look over her shoulder. “Cristiano. Come with me.”
His frown coasts over the top of his whisky. “Why?”
“Because you’re the one they’re probably most afraid of. Let’s go and show them what a big, gentle giant you are.”
He arches a resigned brow as he passes. “You owe me, wife.”
I chuckle as they head off to the kitchen, then my gaze catches on a shadow by the door.
Nicolò is standing with his back leaned against the wood paneled wall, his legs crossed and one hand in the pocket of his slacks, bunching the fabric of his jacket.
He’s holding a phone to his ear but he doesn’t appear to be paying any attention to the person on the other line. Because, beneath the hooded brow and thick, black lashes, is a gaze focused entirely on me.
Tess is saying something close to my temple but I can’t hear the words through the ringing in my ears.
“Excuse me for a sec,” I say, my gaze not leaving his. Then I walk through the gathered family members, barely acknowledging the birthday wishes and compliments, toward him. He straightens and smooths a hand down his tie, his gaze burning into me as I approach.
“I have to go,” he says when I’m standing in front of him. Then he snaps his phone shut and slides it into his jacket pocket. His voice is low and discreet. It’s clearly his ‘work’ voice, but when he uses it right in front of me it mainlines heat straight between my legs.
His gaze falls over my outfit, dimming as it reaches my pierced navel, then smolders as it returns to my heavily painted eyes. I suddenly feel self-conscious. He’s probably never seen me so dressed up and I’ve certainly never worn anything so sexy before.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, timidly.
He clears his throat and tips his head back slightly so he’s looking at me through half-lidded eyes. “I said I would.”
I glance at the pocket he just slid his phone into. “Are you working?”
His response doesn’t miss a beat. “Never stop.”
I arch a brow. “The others do.”
Nicolò flicks his gaze beyond me to where Benito and Andreas are standing with my sisters and a smile pulls at his mouth. “Nah. They’re just better at hiding it.”
“Have you got a gun on you?” I can’t believe I just asked him that. I don’t like violence and murder, but there’s something about the image of Nicolò holding a gun that really turns me on. And hey, it is my birthday.
His chin drops and his voice lowers. “Do you want me to have a gun on me?”
My chest floods with excitement but I dare not form the words, so instead, I give one, slow nod of my head.
His eyes blaze and he leans forward a little so that no one can hear him but me.
“Come closer,” he whispers in my ear.
I swallow and take a nervous step into the warmth of his body, then his gaze dips, directing mine to the opening of his jacket.
Very slowly, he draws his right hand from his pocket and pulls the edge of his jacket back slightly.
Just enough that I see a small corner of solid metal glinting from inside his waistband.
Before I can stop myself, I pull in a shocked, audible breath.
Nicolò lets his jacket fall back into place, then leans into me so close I can almost taste the thick whisky on his tongue. “Do you like that, little fawn?”
I feel obscenely aroused just knowing what he has in his—
Wait… what?
My lids snap up and I stare into his ashen eyes.
“What did you just call me?”
I swear a flash of something passes across his face but it’s gone so fast I could have imagined it. “What?”
“What did you just call me?” I repeat, slowly.
“Little fawn.” His gaze darts about the room as he wipes a knuckle across his top lip.
Nausea starts to creep up my throat. “Why did you call me that?”
“I’ve called you by that name before.” His reply is tight and he doesn’t look at me when he delivers it.
“No you haven’t. You’ve never called me that.”
His gaze drifts back to mine and suddenly feels like a challenge. “How do you know I’ve never called you that before?”
I step back and shake my head. “What does that even mean? You have never called me ‘little fawn’ before. Why now?”
He pushes a firm hand up his forehead and into his hair. There’s a faintly anguished look to his face now. “Why are you so bothered by it?”
My heart is ramming against my chest and I can’t help but raise my voice. “Damn it, Nicolò. Stop evading me. Answer the question.”
I feel a few heads turn in our direction but I don’t draw my gaze from Nicolò. The pet name ‘little fawn’ is a product of my own making and it has only ever surfaced in one place: my journal.
A film of sweat across his brow shimmers beneath the soft lighting. I silently plead with him to tell me the truth, even if it’s the worst thing he could ever confess to. I would rather know and be mortified, than never know and always be wondering.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says quietly, but there’s a note of defeat on his tongue.
I take another step back. “You did, didn’t you?” I whisper. “You read my journal.”
My heart drops so rapidly I feel faint.
He opens his mouth to say something then closes it again. He isn’t denying it.
He finally looks away and scrubs a hand down his face. His lips move in a silent, “Fuck.”
A breath escapes me.
My heart skips a beat.
Then I spin on my heel, and run.
A light sheen of raindrops touches my scorching skin when I hit the fresh, dark air. Small fairy lights decorate the borders, illuminating a pathway to my sacred space—the treehouse.
I kick off my heels, leaving them on the path, and run barefoot over the wet grass.
When I reach the foot of the ladder, I tear the cord from its power source, cutting off the twinkling bulbs, shrouding the garden in darkness.
It doesn’t matter that I can no longer see much. I could find my way here blindfolded.