Chapter 10
Elowen
I choose a beige-brown wool jumpsuit for the party. I pair it with my dark brown boots and a fur coat.
Surprisingly, my depression isn’t all over the place despite it being the time of day when my pitch-black mood is usually impossible to shake. I’ll talk to Amber about it tomorrow, she’ll have an explanation, I’m sure.
I run the comb through my hair one last time.
Today, my salon lady came by for full-body laser hair removal and brow shaping.
I asked her to cut it to shoulder length.
Short hair is easier to manage, I’ve wanted to do it for a long time, but I was reluctant to part with my long hair. Salvario never would have allowed it.
A faint smile tugs at my lips. He loved my hair.
I can imagine his sulky face if he saw me with short hair.
Another face surfaces in my mind instantly, and my smile falters.
These days, his face keeps overlapping with Salvario’s.
The differences between them are stark enough to make them two different men, yet at the same time, not enough.
Maybe I don’t need to talk to Amber, I already know what’s behind this shift in my mood. I don’t appreciate it. It feels like cheating on Salvario, even if the reason this man is in my thoughts is his resemblance to him.
I push the thoughts down and grab my phone and bag. The phone buzzes in my hand. It’s Avi—video calling.
I answer and put in my earphones.
“Holy shit, girl. What did you do to your hair?”
I shake my head, making my short hair bounce. “New haircut.”
“Let me see.” Lyn snatches the phone from Avi with obvious excitement. “You look…” Her gaze soften. “Good.”
I know she’s talking about my mood more than my haircut.
I smile. It comes out naturally, small but real, and that makes her face brighten even more. She switches the video call to light projector mode. Now both of them are in front of me.
Avi grins. “Where are you going all dressed up?”
“To a housewarming party.”
She raises a brow. “So you do attend parties, just not ours.”
I chuckle as I walk down the stairs.
Lyn and Avi exchange a look. They don’t let me see more of their silent exchange before Avi launches in, her tone buoyant.
“Did you know I’m going to give birth in three days?”
I laugh. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever met who’s this happy about giving birth instead of crying.”
They both go silent for a moment. Then Avi speaks, animated. “I’m so excited to see my baby. And I know it won’t be such a horrible experience, we have our own doctor, Lyn, in the house, after all.”
I don’t get to see their faces as I focus on the road ahead, but I’m all ears.
“Are you walking to the party instead of driving?” Avi asks.
I nod. “It’s the house next to mine.”
“Ohh.” After a brief pause, she speaks up again. “Switch to the back camera. Take us to the party with you.”
I do as she says.
“Tell us something about the people we’re going to meet.”
I reach the entry gate of their house. “First, you’re about to meet the brothers hosting this party—Hunter and Logan Blackwood.”
“Why do those names sound so American?”
“They’re Canadian.”
I step through the gate, and there stands Logan in khaki pants and a pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the color complementing the blue of his eyes. His curly brown hair is combed casually. He looks every inch the welcoming host.
“Welcome, Elowen. Thank you for gracing this peasant’s house with your presence,” he teases.
I chuckle. “Hello, Logan. Thanks for inviting me.”
“Ahhh, so flirting with a handsome man gets you into the party,” Avi teases.
I walk inside and glance at the phone. I go to jab the screen, ready to give her a piece of my mind, then I see her frowning face. And not just her, Lyn looks worried too.
I look up from the phone and find Hunter standing in front of me, a cigarette in one hand and the other tucked into his pocket.
He isn’t smoking, though, he’s just staring at me, the cigarette paused near his lips.
There’s a strange look on his face, a mix of too many raw emotions I don’t want to pick apart or understand why they’re there in the first place.
Unlike Logan, he doesn’t look even remotely warm as a host in his black pants and black shirt, though it’s not the clothes that make him seem so unapproachable.
He stands like a slammed door with a “do not disturb” sign hanging on it.
His shoulders are set, his spine a rigid line, his entire body reads like a warning.
I’d bet even the air around him is colder.
“Who is he, and why is he looking at you like he wants to devour your soul? And before you say anything, I’m not being dramatic,” Avi says.
I glance at the phone. “He’s Hunter.”
Their gazes are fixed on the screen, I haven’t turned the camera back to my face.
“I’ll talk to you guys later.” I pan the phone around. “Now take a look at the party and get lost.”
After showing them around, I end the call.
The front garden has been decorated for the party.
Warm white fairy lights are strung in zigzags across the open space, looped around the slender trunks of young olive and pine trees.
Lanterns of amber glass hang from wooden posts at the corners, casting a honeyed glow over the garden.
A long table draped in cream linen holds an arrangement of wildflowers in pale pink and white, alongside platters of finger foods and glassware that catch the light. The space feels intimate and welcoming.
The front gardens of all the houses in our area are large enough for a much bigger party, but this is only a small gathering, occupying just a corner.
I don’t look in Hunter’s direction again. I make my way toward the gathered guests instead. They all know me, I was the first to move here, after all.
I make small talk with the guests. Soon after, Logan and Hunter join us. Despite the fifty-plus guests milling around, his gaze is still locked on me. It’s making me uncomfortable, like always. I decide to ignore him and fix my attention on Logan as he begins to speak.
“Thank you all for coming. Let me introduce us. I’m Logan Blackwood, and this is my brother, Hunter Blackwood. We’re from Toronto, Canada, born and raised there. We started a tech company last year and were looking for a place to set up our headquarters, so we ended up here.”
Mr. Esposito, the oldest man in the neighborhood, raises his glass. “We wish you success, young men. Have a great time in Naples while you’re here.”
Everyone follows suit, murmuring well-wishes.
I swallow a mouthful of whatever’s in my glass; it’s bittersweet. I started drinking at small gatherings after moving to Naples, but I’m still not experienced enough to know the names of all the different types of drinks people usually serve at parties.
“Do you think he’s interested in me?” a voice says behind me.
I turn my head to see Amia and Ivana—daughters of Mr. Esposito and Mr. Colombo. Both families are native to Naples. Mr. Esposito was a small-scale businessman here, and Mr. Colombo was chief of police.
I turn forward again. My eyes land on a pair of gray ones, they look almost black in the dim light. He’s standing with Logan and three men their age, yet I manage to make eye contact with him easily after only a few seconds of looking his way, as if he were waiting for me to glance up.
He doesn’t look involved in the conversation, he’s just standing there. He looks away, says something to the men, and then walks off. I don’t watch him go. I look down at my glass instead, someone has refilled it.
“Why don’t you give it a shot?” Amia says, answering Ivana’s earlier question.
“He’s been staring my way all evening,” Ivana says.
Should I tell her she’s mistaken? I don’t think so, it’s not my place to interfere.
“Go talk to him,” Amia urges, her voice bright with encouragement.
Ivana walks past me toward the side of the house, screened from the party by the tall hedges that line the garden. My fingers tighten around the glass. Bitterness festers in my chest.
He isn’t Salvario. They only share a few features. I tell myself that, yet I can’t shake the discomfort. My brain is feeding me the wrong images of Ivana and Salvario, when she only went to Hunter.
I down the alcohol in my glass in one swallow. This time, it burns my throat more. It pulls my attention away from whatever is happening behind the hedges, for a few seconds.
But the sick thoughts creep back in, they don’t even wait for the burn to fade completely.
“He isn’t Salvario,” I mutter. I need to talk to Amber about this.
The waiter passes with a fresh tray. I take another and drain it. The longer the discomfort lasts, the more it keeps my imagination from spiraling.
Someone touches my arm. I turn to see Amia.
“Don’t drink too much Negroni, it gives the worst kind of hangover,” she chuckles.
I smile. “I like the taste.”
“Yeah, they have the good stuff. You know the Blackwood brothers?”
I nod. “I’m doing some business with them.”
I feel the buzz starting in my head. I don’t usually have more than one drink. Tonight, I’ve pushed myself—not in a good way, and not for a good reason.
Just then, Ivana comes back to us. I try to read her face, but my brain has started slowing its processing, I don’t quite get anything valuable from her expression apart from a visible flush.
Amia takes her by the hand and pulls her aside, out of earshot. Good. Perfect.
I make my way toward the food, even though I don’t have an appetite, the knots in my stomach are filling me up just fine. I know I should put something in my stomach if I don’t want to succumb to the full effect of whatever I’ve been drinking.
But I’m already under the effect, because instead of heading for the food, my legs carry me to the place Ivana went. Around the hedges and toward the back—the darker side of the house, away from the party—where a man sits on a wooden bench, his back to me.