9. Cecilia #2
Some songs never go out of style no matter how old they are. Every Breath You Take is one of them. Funny how I never fully appreciated how creepy and stalkerish the lyrics are until now, when I hear the tune coming from him.
Maybe I’m overreacting.
Getty is weird and often a bit sinister but he’s never made a threat. And he did just save me from the humiliating prospect of falling down the stairs.
He likes attention. That’s all. Ignore him and he’ll find something else to do.
The enticing smell of Italian cooking permeates the first floor.
Every meal I’ve eaten here so far has been outstanding.
The Tempestas clearly don’t skimp when it comes to kitchen staff.
The household chef, Enzo, is an erratic, nervous fellow with a streak of white hair.
He’s rarely seen outside of the huge gourmet kitchen at the back of the house.
The soft light of early evening pours in through high windows and adds some cheer to the dark interior. My initial impression of the main house was full of rustic, eerie gloom. After staying here for a few days, I’ve revised my opinion.
The huge house is imposing but it also feels like a real family home. Today a tall vase has been added to the round table in the foyer. The colorful heads of tulips, all of them resembling mouths puckered for a kiss, peek out of the top.
And lo and behold, there’s my cat hunched beneath the table. Louisa’s paws are tucked beneath her and she’s motionless. Just a mound of grey fur with sharp eyes.
I’ve given up trying to keep her with me on the second floor. She doesn’t like it up there and seems much happier with her bed, food and litter box placed in the mud room not far from the kitchen.
Dropping slowly into a crouch, I hold out my hand and call her name in the sweetest tone I can muster.
Louisa doesn’t budge. Her whiskers twitch as she sniffs the air. The shape of her mouth turns down, making it seem like there’s a permanent frown stamped on her face.
With no warning she takes off, zooming past me and disappearing down a dim hallway. I think she might have run into Cass’s study but I don’t plan to wander in there and check.
My bad knee pops as I rise. Yesterday Louisa hopped up into Fort’s lap while he rubbed leather oil on his boots in the sitting room.
He scratched her ears and she purred, just like she did with Getty.
It seems like my cat is going to fall in love with every member of the Tempesta family before she even gives me a chance.
I’m trying not to feel hurt. She’s a cat. I have no idea what goes on inside her grumpy little head but I’ve never felt so unlikeable.
Determined footsteps patter in this direction and I look up to find Mel approaching with a bruschetta tray and a broad smile.
“Don’t you look lovely,” she says. “Dinner’s about to be served. Tonight it’s chicken marsala and Enzo whipped up some blackberry gelato for dessert.”
“Sounds delicious. Can I take that?” I reach for the tray but Mel shakes her head.
“Thanks, sweetie, but I’ve got it.”
She gazes at me expectantly, waiting for me to join her on the walk to the dining room.
And she’s a speed walker. I need to hustle to keep up.
“Mel, why don’t you ever eat in the dining room?” I ask.
“I have a small dining table in my suite,” she says. “Occasionally I’ll eat with the staff. But meals should be private time for the family.” She notices how I’m looking at her with confusion and adds, “It’s my choice.”
This seems to close off the issue to more questions and anyway there’s no time. We’ve arrived at the dining room.
“Look at our beautiful girl,” Mel announces and sweeps her free arm in a voila gesture that ushers me into the room.
Three out of the four Tempesta brothers are already seated at the long table. All of them wear freshly ironed shirts and there’s not a cowboy hat in sight. They immediately rise to their feet upon my entrance and I wrestle with the urge to escape their scrutiny.
A sharp wolf whistle comes from Tye. “Stepping it up a notch, huh?”
Fort gives me a teasing wink. “Not that we’re complaining.”
Julian pulls my chair out and holds my gaze. “You look beautiful, Cecilia.” The heated current in his voice is drenched in sexual tension.
I’m mildly dizzy as I take my seat and allow Julian to push it closer to the table. I can’t explain why. I should be used to being near him by now.
What is it about this man that constantly turns me into an infatuated puddle?
Physical attraction is potent. Of course I’ve felt it before. But never as strongly as I feel it for him. My thoughts melt into hazy clouds when I should be keeping Alice’s good advice in mind.
“Make him jump through a few hoops.”
But how can I do that? I should have asked. My flirtation skills have always been deficient.
Julian declares that since their father isn’t around we don’t need to wait for Getty to show up. I can feel the three of them watching me as I cut up my chicken. And I wish I hadn’t rolled the sleeves of my dress down. Fixing them right now is too conspicuous. I’ll just have to cope.
Between cutting up my food, fretting about my cleavage, and being hyper aware of the fact that Julian is sitting so close that I can feel his body heat, I don’t even notice when Getty walks into the room.
The next time I look up, there he is, sitting across the table as if he’s been there all along.
“What was that?” Fort asks his brother.
Getty pours the pitcher of ice water into his glass. “What was what?”
Fort scowls. “Whatever you stuck under your chair, asshole.”
Getty takes a drink of water and sets the glass down again before responding. “Keep your eyes on your own plate, kid brother. Or you might lose them.”
Fort either decides the argument isn’t worth the trouble or he’s lost interest. He shakes his head and helps himself to a second serving of food.
Meanwhile, Tye has been trying to educate me on the subject of hockey. I’ve yet to see more than thirty seconds of a game so I don’t have much to add but I’m curious about the injury that ended his career.
“You lost some of the vision in your right eye, didn’t you?” I ask.
“Some of it?” he replies, quite cheerfully. “Damn near all of it. Third period of an away game in New York. My first game back after getting sidelined for two weeks thanks to a concussion and I take a fucking stick to the eye.”
Some of Tye’s good humor fades and the shadow of anger that crosses his face is a glimpse into how swiftly his moods can change.
“The shot was a cheap one,” he says in a more solemn voice layered with fury.
“At least I made him pay by cracking his head on the ice. Now neither of us plays the game anymore but he’s got a fentanyl habit and occasionally works at his father’s Long Island car wash.
For now I think his daily life is punishment enough. I might change my mind.”
A glass dessert bowl containing two scoops of purple gelato garnished with fresh blackberries lands in front of me.
A man’s beefy hand withdraws and I look up into the lantern-jawed face of one of the members of what Julian calls ‘the security team’.
He’s probably in his thirties with an ugly scar running the length of his right cheek.
As something of an expert in scars, I’d say his scar isn’t more than a year or two old.
Mostly I’ve seen Enzo’s kitchen assistant, Jory, and Mel serving the meals. But sometimes one of these grim-looking Mafia footmen gets pressed into service.
“Thank you,” I say to the ‘waiter’.
He nods and wastes no time passing out the bowls. Then he nervously glances over his shoulder before fleeing the room.
“How many employees do you have here?” I ask. “I can’t keep track.”
“Neither can I.” Tye takes a heaping spoonful of gelato and deposits it in his mouth. “You should take that question, Jul.”
“Four members of the household staff,” Julian says.
“All under Mel’s direction. As you know, Miguel is the ranch foreman.
He has seven full time men to manage. That number increases in the spring and summer.
For the estate, Sonny is in charge of six permanent members of the security team and more than a dozen associates who come and go as necessary and provide backup for our assets elsewhere. ”
“And you really trust them all?” I ask, carving out some gelato with my spoon.
When he doesn’t answer right away, I turn my head to find an expression I haven’t seen on him before. It’s too uncertain to be anger.
“Occasionally we find out we’ve misjudged someone,” says Fort as he intently watches his oldest brother. “Then we’ve got no choice but to let him go.”
“Effective immediately,” Getty chimes in with a grin that’s inexplicably sunny.
I get the feeling I’m being left out of an important aspect of the conversation. I’m not sure I want to know what that aspect is.
“Hey, Cecilia.” Tye pokes my forearm with a thick elbow.
When he’s got my attention, he places his dessert spoon over his left eye. His right eye squints. “I can hardly see you with just my bad eye. Test me.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?” The answer is zero.
“Four,” he guesses.
“Close, but not quite.”
“Huh. Maybe if you give me something really cool to look at my condition will be cured.”
“What do you consider ‘really cool’?”
“Bet your tits would work,” he says without missing a beat. “Go ahead. It’s for science. I swear no one else will look.”
“Not true,” Fort declares. “I’ll look.”
“Shut up, junior,” Tye says.
“And to think my breasts might have cured you,” I say.