21. Deanna
DEANNA
“This is a cliche, right?” I lean against Prime’s arm as our driver drops us in front of an old school Italian restaurant. “We’re walking into a dim, smokey back room like we’re in some kind of gangster movie.”
“I hate that you’re right.”
“Oh my god, and I bet you’re going to smoke a cigar, right? And drink some bourbon?”
“In my defense, I always drink bourbon.”
“This is crazy. Seriously, how did my life end up like this?”
“Money.” He puts a hand on my thigh, leaning closer. “Power. Erotic pleasure?—“
“Careful, we have a business meeting.”
“Right, we’ll save the erotic pleasure for later.”
Prime gets out and I follow. It’s a warm, muggy evening, and I feel overdressed yet again. He’s in a dark suit and I’m in a less formal dress, diamonds at my throat and on my ears like one of those women from Ricardo’s party.
I know I’m playing a role. I keep reminding myself that this isn’t me. I’m not the kind of girl who wears designer dresses and priceless jewelry to dinner with my husband. I don’t have a private driver and I don’t splurge on expensive shoes.
Except that’s me now. At least while I’m Prime’s wife.
There are benefits to embracing the darkness.
I can almost forget what bought all this fancy stuff.
I take Prime’s arm as we head inside. A young girl in all black greets us warmly like she’s been waiting for us all night and leads us through the room. More than a few heads turn to watch us pass, and it takes a lot of effort not to start giggling.
Prime gives me a warning glare as we’re taken into a smoky back room.
It’s exactly like I pictured. Big round table set with appetizers, a bottle of wine, glasses, a cigar burning away in an ash tray. Though there’s only one man here, not the dozen I had imagined.
Still, pretty damn close.
“Mr. Carbone.” Prime introduces the pair of us. “It’s good to meet you.”
“You as well, Mr. Spadaro.”
“Please call me Prime. Everyone does.”
“Very well. And this must be your lovely wife, Deanna. It’s a pleasure. Sit, let me pour your wine, get something to eat.”
“We appreciate your hospitality, Mr. Carbone.”
He makes humming noises as he bustles around us like waitstaff.
Prime engages him in small talk, asking about the place, and they fall into an easy conversation about the restaurant business.
I didn’t know Prime had ever owned a food service establishment before, but he sounds very familiar with the industry.
I listen and watch Marco Carbone closely.
He’s the total opposite of Ricardo: knife thin with graying hair, light blue eyes, pale skin, and a serious demeanor.
His smiles are pained and his laughter is like straining rocks for oil.
He moves with confidence, but always under complete control.
More than once I catch him returning my scrutiny with a curious angle of his head and I have to resist the urge to show him how uncomfortable it makes me.
“I was surprised when Ricardo mentioned you were interested in doing business, Mr. Carbone.” Prime leans back, swirling his glass of wine.
No bourbon, but close. The exchange lurched away from niceties.
Carbone’s shoulders tense, the only outward sign that he’s paying more attention.
“We’re always looking for new investors. ”
Carbone fiddles with a lighter. He flicks it open, lights the flame, snaps the top shut.
He does this a few times before puffing on his cigar.
“I’ll admit, I haven’t been as aggressive in my business practices as I should be for some time now.
It’s easy, in our line of work, to find a successful vein and to keep mining it forever.
One can get complacent, do you understand what I mean? ”
“Of course. I’ve seen it before.”
“Comfort breeds softness.” Carbone’s watching me as he says it. “And in my trade, softness is a liability. Would you agree with that, Mrs. Spadaro?”
“I’ve found the opposite can be true. Softness is necessary sometimes. Too brittle, too hard, and you can snap or shatter.”
Carbone grunts but clearly doesn’t like my answer. “How long have you two known each other?”
I glance at Prime. He doesn’t seem bothered by the question. “Deanna’s been my personal assistant for a few years.”
“You worked together before getting married? And you still work together now?”
“That’s right,” Prime confirms.
“It’s an interesting arrangement, this marriage of yours. From what I understand—“ He flicks the lighter and taps ash into a tray. “Your lovely wife here was not your first choice.”
Prime drinks his wine. Sweat dribbles down my arms. It’s common knowledge that I was swapped in as Prime’s wife last minute, but I was assured it wouldn’t be an issue. Normal, in his world, is how Prime described it, and I believed him even if that seems bat shit insane.
I don’t like the way Carbone’s bringing it up now though.
“Deanna and I have always had a mutually beneficial relationship. I fully admit I was prepared to marry another woman that day, but my original fiancée backed out and Deanna stepped in to take her place.”
“Not a marriage of love then, I take it.” Carbone’s smile makes me squirm.
“Love can surprise you sometimes.” Prime’s voice is quiet.
He’s looking at me with a strange fondness and my stomach lurches when he touches my hand.
He’s acting, playing a role just like I am, going through the predetermined motions.
This room is a cliche, our words are cliches, everything about what we’re doing is cliche, words banged out on a typewriter by some cheap Hollywood hack.
I do my best to gaze lovingly back at my husband, which is what’s expected of me. While inwardly, I want to scream.
“Is it surprising you, Mrs. Spadaro?”
I know the proper forms. The correct response. But suddenly, for a reason I can’t really understand, I get the feeling that’s not the right play here. Maybe it’s the way Carbone’s watching with that ferret-like intensity, a sharpness to him, ready to slice apart our pretty fiction.
I shake my head happily. “Not in the least.”
Carbone’s eyebrows raise. “What do you mean?”
“If you’re asking if I’m in love with Prime, I’m telling you I’m not.”
Prime’s grip on my hand tightens. “Surely you’re joking, my darling. My heart’s bleeding here.”
“I’m not joking in the slightest, darling.” I bat my eyes at him and smirk. “Why should we pretend? We’re not married because we’re head over heels.”
“Then why are you married?” Carbone’s leaning forward now. He’s interested, I can tell. I bet he expected me to play along and act like the smitten bride, but I’m flipping the scene on its head and going in a new direction.
“Prime’s got money. I have needs.” I gesture in the air like Carbone can figure out the rest.
Carbone’s cigar puffs and smoke rolls into the air. “Is this true, Prime? A marriage of convenience?”
Prime doesn’t even hesitate. “Now you see why I married her.”
“She should have been your first choice.”
“Now that—“ Prime leans over and kisses my cheek chastely. “I can fully agree with.”
Carbone grunts but the waitress comes into the room then. She brings a full meal, family style: several plates of pasta, a large bowl of salad, small cups of soup for everyone. Prime strokes my fingers while she serves, apparently unbothered that I decided to go with something closer to the truth.
And it makes more sense. Everyone knows I was swapped in last second. Why try to pretend like we’re madly in love?
Play it like it is. A convenient arrangement for everyone.
“It’s refreshing, you know, to hear you speak so plainly of your marriage.” Carbone picks at his plate. “So often men in our position take a wife out of family obligation but tries to pretend like she’s the love of his life.”
“It does happen though.” Prime surprises me by pushing back. “I meant it when I said love can show up almost anywhere.”
“True, true, but love isn’t necessary when there’s a contract in place. For example, I don’t love you, Prime Spadaro. If I can continue this trend of plain speak, I find you boorish and difficult, an example of what’s wrong with the freshly moneyed underclass.”
Prime pours himself more wine. “I’ll win you over if you give me a chance.”
“I suppose you will true. You are rather charming. However, I’m not interested in a friend.
I’m interested in a stable, reliable partner.
” Carbone gestures at me with his fork. “Like your wife here. She’s a model we should all follow, isn’t that so?
But like I said, love can be a problem, and I wouldn’t want to see your heart get broken if our business venture didn’t pan out. Do you follow me, Prime?”
The room goes cold. Prime tenses, eyes fixed on Carbone, who acts as though he didn’t just openly threaten me. I can hardly believe it, but I play through his short speech twice in my head, and there’s no other way to interpret what he’s saying. Fuck up and we hurt the girl.
That desire to scream bubbles up and I smother it by taking a long drink.
“I don’t like entering business arrangements with anyone who thinks they are in a position of power over me, Mr. Carbone.
” Prime speaks slowly and carefully, but I can see the rage shining through him.
There’s anger simmering under his surface.
He’s good at hiding it, but I know him well enough by now to see the signs.
The twitch of his nose, the way his fingers curl as if desperate to make a fist.
Carbone pulls on his cigar. “I want to ensure we’re all clear on how this will work. While you’ve managed to convince my peers that you’re coming around to our way of seeing the world—“ He leans back, face wreathed in smoke. “I remain unconvinced and trust that you will endeavor to change my mind.”
“If there’s no business here?—“
“There will be, in time, there will be.” Carbone leans forward and stabs out his cigar.
“Next week is a meeting among peers. It’s a discussion of the coming year’s business.
I plan on taking our proposal to the board of directors.
You and your wife will be welcome to attend, of course.
” His smile is thin and empty. “But only if you understand the consequences.”
Prime seethes. I put my hand on his knee under the table, trying to calm him down. He doesn’t like this, but isn’t it what he wanted? Carbone’s being a bastard, but he’s also offering to draw Prime in deeper to his world. It’s a good thing, but he’s acting like it’s not.
“We’d be happy to attend your meeting,” Prime says finally, not sounding like he’s excited about it at all. “I only hope we will be there as equals.”
“We’ll find out, won’t we?” Carbone lets that linger for a few seconds before clapping his hands. “Come, let’s eat and leave business aside for now. Mrs. Spadaro, what do you think of the wine? It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Very nice,” I murmur, doing my best to mask my total terror as Carbone smiles at me like a snake.