19. Lucia
19
LUCIA
I already regret agreeing to go with Saverio to Tate’s. I think my head was bubbly from the glass of wine before dinner—it clouded my judgment. Now that the Moscato has become a headache pulsing behind my eyes, I contemplate telling Saverio I won’t make it. If I drive home first, he can’t force me to return, can he? He might be upset, but he’ll be forty-five minutes away, too far to change my mind. The distance would be a shield, protecting me from my own impulsive decisions.
Despite wanting to turn back and drive home, the evening air is uncharacteristically warm as I step out of my car and spot Saverio leaning casually against the brick wall of Tate’s. His dark eyes lock onto me, and a hint of a smile plays on his lips. As I approach, I feel the familiar mix of excitement and unease that accompanies being near him.
“You wore that to have dinner with your brother?” He asks with a grin as I cross the street.
A blush spreads across my cheeks at the insinuation. “No,” I roll my eyes. “I still have some stuff at Dante’s. Not that any of it really fits anymore.” My breasts have grown since the last time I wore this in college, and I feel like I’m one bounce away from a wardrobe malfunction. I adjust the dripping neckline of the black dress and feel even more exposed than before. The fabric clings to my curves in a way it never did years ago, accentuating every line and contour. I catch Saverio’s gaze lingering, and a shiver runs down my spine despite the warmth of the evening air. Self-consciously, I tug at the hem.
“Did you tell Luc or Dante hi for me? I know they miss me.”
I’d rather die than tell my brothers about going to Tate’s with Saverio; I’d never hear the end of it from them. Even though one day they’ll have to attend my wedding to this man, they refuse to believe I want anything to do with him willingly. I’ll admit, that’s a response I’ve cultivated with my words and actions, but I don’t think they’d have it any other way. There’s a widely understood rivalry between the Castigliones and Terlizzis, and I don’t know how they will ever get past it.
“Darn. I wish you’d have said something earlier. I only told them what a tool my fiancé was being because I heard he was going to flirt with underage girls at the bars. Awkward,” I cluck my tongue. “If only I’d known sooner.”
He pushes off the wall with fluid motion, closing the distance between us with an effortless grace that takes my breath away. As Saverio reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering for a moment too long, I’m overtaken by the intoxicating scent of his cologne—a heady mix of sandalwood and citrus. His touch is light, almost reverent, and his intense dark eyes bore into my soul as if trying to uncover every secret I’ve ever kept. Everything he does, from the gentle curve of his lips to the way he tilts his head, is carefully designed to put me at ease and make me feel like I’m the only woman in his world—and in truth, I am. The realization sends a shiver down my spine, equal parts thrilling and terrifying. “If only,” he says with a grin before his lips crush against mine in a breath-stealing kiss.
It only lasts for a moment, long enough to make my stomach clench and cause desire to swirl in places I’d rather it not be. “Ready to see what I’ve invested in?” He asks a second later, pulling away.
I hadn’t realized I had closed my eyes until I’m forced to open them. I look at his face, so close and still so far away, and I curse myself for always falling into this trap with him. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, clearing my throat.
Saverio grabs my hand and leads me to the entrance while I shake off the dizzying effect he has on me. Tate’s is already bustling with activity, the low hum of conversation mingling with laughter and the steady beat of music. The interior is all dark paint and strobe lights, appealing to the college students from Rosedale who find themselves in Manhattan for the night. Neon signs flicker on the walls, casting an otherworldly glow on the faces of patrons crowded around high-top tables and leaning against the sleek bar. The air is thick with the scent of spilled beer and perfume, a heady mixture that seems to fuel the energy of the room. Bodies sway on the dance floor, silhouettes moving in time with the pulsing rhythm that reverberates through the floorboards.
“That’s Kristopher,” Saverio nods toward his brother behind the bar.
I’ve heard about Saverio’s half-siblings. He doesn’t talk about them much, but on the few occasions he’s shared, he’s told me about Lilly and Kristopher. They’re the only ones he has a solid relationship with. I know there are others, but I can’t remember their names. Or maybe Saverio never told them to me.
Kristopher’s attention is laser-focused on his customers, his eyes darting from one to the next with practiced precision. He pours drinks with a fluid grace that speaks of years behind the bar, each motion smooth and efficient. The clink of ice in glasses and the splash of liquor provide a rhythmic backdrop to his work. He laughs easily with college kids and men in their forties nursing midlife crises, somehow bridging the generational gap and relating to all of them effortlessly. Something about the way he moves, confident and easygoing, reminds me of Saverio. But where Saverio’s confidence comes with a dangerous edge, like a predator ready to pounce, Kristopher’s seems more… restrained. It’s as if he’s holding back, keeping a part of himself in check even as he charms the patrons. His smile is genuine but guarded; his jokes land perfectly but never reveal too much. It’s a delicate balance, and Kristopher walks it like a tightrope artist.
As we approach the bar, he glances up, his expression shifting into a warm smile when he sees Saverio. “Hey, Sav,” he calls out, finishing a drink and sliding it to the customer before wiping his hands on a towel and stepping around the bar. “Glad you could make it.”
I sense irritation in Saverio’s grip. If I remember correctly, even though he and Kristopher have a relationship, they aren’t close. But Saverio clasps his brother’s hand in a firm shake and returns the greeting. “Hey, Kristopher. This is Lucia,” he says as he slips an arm around my waist in a possessive gesture. His fingers press firmly into my side, drawing me closer to him. The warmth of his body against mine is both comforting and slightly unsettling, a reminder of the complex dynamic between us. “Lucia, this is Kristopher, one of my younger brothers.”
Kristopher’s gaze shifts to me, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that’s almost palpable. When our eyes meet, a strange, unsettling sensation washes over me, creeping up my spine and settling in the pit of my stomach. It’s like a ghost of a memory; something buried deep in the recesses of my mind that I can’t quite reach. I shiver involuntarily, goosebumps rising on my skin despite the warmth of the crowded room. Quickly, I try to shake off the feeling, pushing it aside and forcing my features into a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Lucia. Saverio’s told me so much about you.”
I nod, unease prickling at the back of my mind. “All good things, I hope.”
Before the tension can build, Saverio excuses himself. “I’ll be back. I’m going to use the restroom.” He leans in, his warm lips brushing against my ear as he whispers, “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Use the bathroom in the manager’s office,” Kristopher recommends.
Saverio tips an imaginary hat at his brother before shooting me a playful wink, his eyes twinkling with mischief. I watch him saunter away, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable as I’m left alone with Kristopher at the bar.
The weight of unfamiliarity settles over me like a heavy cloak. Kristopher, however, seems to sense my discomfort because he offers a warm, friendly smile that reaches his eyes, instantly putting me a bit more at ease. He gestures gracefully to the nearby bar stools.
“Have a seat,” he suggests, his voice smooth and reassuring. “I’d love to hear more about how you and my brother met. What do you want to drink?”
I agree, sliding onto a stool. “Anything with vodka is fine.”
He chuckles softly and returns to his place behind the bar. He grabs a bottle of Belvedere and waves it at me. “Saverio said it was your favorite,” he says as he fills a glass with ice and pours a shot. “He also mentioned you’re a teacher. That must be rewarding work.” He fills the remainder of the cup with cranberry juice.
“It is,” I reply, relaxing just a fraction. “It’s challenging, but I love it.”
Kristopher slides the drink across the polished bartop, his eyes studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. The glass leaves a faint trail of condensation as it comes to rest before me. His gaze, a mix of curiosity and something I can’t quite place, lingers for a moment longer than feels comfortable. “Whitson Elementary, right? I hear it’s a good school.”
I freeze, the glass halfway to my lips, the cool surface suddenly feeling slippery in my grasp. How does he know where I work? My heart skips a beat, then begins to race as the unease from earlier flares up again.
Would Saverio have told his brother what school I teach at? It wouldn’t make sense to tell Kristopher since I don’t work in Manhattan. I struggle to keep my expression neutral, not wanting to give away the alarm bells ringing in my head. I force myself to take a sip of the drink, trying to mask the sudden rush of anxiety. “Yes, it is,” I say slowly, my voice steady despite my racing heart. “Did Saverio tell you that?”
Kristopher’s smile never falters, but there’s something behind it now, something darker. He shrugs casually, his shoulders rising and falling in a smooth, practiced motion before replying, his voice maintaining that same deceptively friendly tone, “Sure was. I can’t imagine who else would have told me.”
I nod, but my mind is spinning, grasping for answers that seem just out of reach. I guess he could have looked me up online—it wouldn’t be difficult to find information about a public school teacher in Topeka. But it just seems weird, almost unsettling, that he brought it up so casually in conversation.
A sense of familiarity washes over me again, stronger this time, like a wave crashing against the shore of my consciousness. I realize with a jolt that it’s not just the way he looks at me—it’s his voice, his presence, the very air around him. It’s like I’ve felt him before, experienced this exact moment in time, but where? When? The déjà vu is so intense it’s almost dizzying, leaving me struggling to maintain my composure as I search my memory for any clue that might explain this eerie sensation.
Before I can dwell on it for too long, Saverio returns, and his presence grounds me as he sits beside me. “The office bathroom was much quieter. Thanks,” he says to Kristopher. “Everything good here?”
His brother’s smile widens but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course. I was just getting to know Lucia better.”
Saverio nods, but I can feel the tension rise as he reaches across the bar to grab my hand. “Good. She’s my future wife, after all,” he says in a warning tone. “Want to grab a table, Dandelion?”
I nod and slide off the barstool, leaving my drink behind as Saverio leads me across the room.
I can’t shake the unsettling feeling that something about Kristopher and the familiarity of his presence seems off, like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. I steal a furtive glance back at the bar, and for a brief, charged moment, our eyes meet again. The intensity in Kristopher’s gaze turns my blood to ice. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I’m certain now—there’s something about Kristopher I’ve encountered before, a ghost of a memory dancing just out of reach. His face, his mannerisms, they all tug at the edges of my consciousness, as if I should recognize him from somewhere.