Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Funny Feelings
Raf
I think I’ve contracted some rare medical condition that they don’t yet have a name for.
It’s the only reasonable explanation for why I just made my driver change course, and instead of heading home like I just told the boys, I am now en route to her—even if she has ignored every single one of the ten calls I’ve placed in the last ten minutes.
It would appear the unexplained symptoms of this rare disease are fearing the worst for someone you barely know and caring about someone in a way that makes your bones ache and your skin tingle.
Two years of completely being symptom-free and immune to the swell of affection and waves of emotions that elicit the urge to possess and protect another person.
Then boom! She crashed into me, and slowly but surely the cracks have begun to appear.
The only antidote is the very thing I know I need to avoid at all costs if I’m going to survive. Her.
I know Chiara was with Avery this afternoon, and that she’s now safe at home, but that’s not what’s driving the dread in the pit of my stomach.
It’s the knowledge that despite her almost ruthless demeanor and fierceness at AJ’s earlier today, she didn’t go and meet the girls for cocktails; instead, she spent the afternoon meandering the cemetery in the freezing cold.
She chose the dead over the living, and that speaks volumes to me about the fragility of this take-no-shit woman who walks around like she’s unbreakable, inscrutable, immune to my viper tongue.
I just need to see for myself…what? That she’s okay?
That doesn’t quite cover it though. How is one ever okay with losing both parents in the circumstances she did.
Marco gave me the bare details on her blunt statement of truth, and now I just…
I just want to see for myself that the grief of reliving that experience, of learning the plans she wants for her future are hanging in the balance in the hands of the Godfathers, hasn’t snuffed out her light and allowed the darkness to swallow her whole.
I call five more times, but still nothing.
My driver parks the car, and I take my briefcase and make my way to the door.
Thankful I dressed the part so I can make it past the doorman and all the staff in Arabella’s apartment complex and up to the penthouse.
Grateful that Luca’s connection to Arabella and my notoriety as a lawyer means that there is some recognition of my family name and my identity that offers a lax approach to following the strict security protocols, though I will be having words with Arabella about that.
I press the buzzer of the intercom at the front door and it opens to reveal a middle-aged woman with dark hair dressed in uniform.
“Hello, Sir, how may I help you?”
“I’m here to see Ms. Gigioliotti on an urgent legal matter.”
“No problem, please come in and wait in the sitting area and—"
“No, I don’t want to wait,” I interject, leaving no room for argument. “She’s expecting me. Please escort me to her.”
An almost white lie given that technically I am her legal counsel and that she just emailed me about an urgent matter. Even if the house call part is entirely on me.
The woman stares at me for a beat but decides against challenging me and does as requested.
“This is her room, sir. Perhaps I should—”
“No. I’ll text her to let her know I’m waiting. Thank you. You’re free to go now.” It’s dismissive, and I’m being a complete asshole to this lovely woman who’s just trying to do her job, but I’m impatient to see Chiara.
The woman nods and heads back the way we just came.
When she’s out of sight, I quietly turn the nob of the door and open it a crack.
It’s empty. So I quietly slip inside and look around.
There’s a king-sized four-poster bed, sheer white drapes affixed to each post. It’s made, but there’s a dent from where Chiara must have been lying on it.
Her phone is discarded on her bed, and I can see a trail of her clothes leading to the bathroom, almost like she was in a hurry to discard them.
It’s disarming, because I know she’s naked behind that door, the rain-like tinkle of the shower reminding me of last night when I had a feeling of being watched, only to have it confirmed when she stumbled.
I know she saw me jerk off in the shower to thoughts of her, and the memory shoots a thrill straight to my cock.
Eye for an eye, I think.
This is entirely not appropriate, Raf. You need to make yourself known.
“Chiara,” I call out, weakly, so I can placate the logical part of my brain completely at war with my primal urge to just barge right in there and see for myself that she’s still my perfect little devil.
What the fuck! I shake my head. Where did that come from? Another symptom of this rare disease.
I lean against the frame of her bed in wait.
There’s no way she’ll hear me behind a closed door and the thundering of the shower, but then it goes silent.
I could call out again, but a loud click renders me speechless, and the door opens and Chiara steps through it wearing nothing but a towel, her hair wrapped in another on top of her head.
Barefoot and all traces of makeup scrubbed from her sweet face, she looks tiny.
But as I suspected, the light is gone and she looks so fucking sad I swear my heart cracks a little, rattling the wall I’ve caged it behind.
“Raf. What are you doing here?” Her voice is clear but devoid of all emotion, no surprise at my sudden appearance and no bite, for that matter.
“You didn’t pick up your phone, and I need to talk to you about the email you sent.” I follow her lead. Curt. Factual. To the point. I am the lawyer; she is the client.
“I’d suggest you might like to take a clue,” she says. “If I didn’t pick up any one of your ten calls, safe to say I’m not really in the mood to talk.”
“You didn’t think it could’ve been an emergency?”
Something flickers in her expression, almost like I whipped her and she’s trying not to show it hurt. I push on.
“We don’t really have much time, seeing as you’re leaving two days from now and will be gone for almost three weeks” I say, secretly high-fiving myself. Yes. Stick to the facts, Raf.
“Seemed straightforward from the email they sent you. You just needed to update the dates on the paperwork.”
“Yes, but I need your signature.”
She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at me. “Are you, Raf Princi, partner at one of New York’s top law firms, telling me you’ve never heard of DocuSign?”
She makes a very valid point, and quite frankly the quick-thinking I rely upon to do my actual job as a lawyer abandons me, so I just let the silence fizz, crackle, and pop around us to fill the void.
She’s walking towards me now, almost in the same predatory manner as her cousin hours earlier, like a hunter stalking its prey.
I can see the fine line tattoos on the inside of her bicep and forearms. Words in elegant script writing with flourishes that feel a bit reckless.
A little bit like the woman standing so close now that I can see the droplets of water slowly dripping down her neck, over her collarbone and down her chest towards her full, perky breasts hidden beneath the towel knotted at the valley between the peaks I’d love to find myself between.
“Mr. Princi.”
My eyes snap to hers, dark and alluring like the deep green of the forest.
“I don’t recall us having an appointment; however, I do recall you’re stickler for those.”
She’s so close now, her minty breath fanning my face and her clean-showered skin infused with rose infiltrating my senses. I wet my lips. It’s not lost on me that this is the second time in one day I’ve found myself in dangerous proximity to her.
“Indeed. I’m also a man of my word. And I said that I would get your sponsorship sorted. And to do that at speed as required, getting your signature with no delay is imperative.”
“Save your lawyer speak.” She sighs.
“Okay. Well, truth is…” I can see the flicker of hope in her glassy gaze, and I want to tell her that I wanted to see with my own eyes that she was safe, and that I’m sorry for the way things went down at AJ’s and that I’ll do everything to ensure that the plan to marry her off to Julian Rizzo will never come to fruition.
Instead, I settle on, “I wanted to ensure that you are on board with the plan to be my date—fake date,” I correct myself, “for the Law Gala. You’ll be back by then, right? ”
She scoffs, the disappointment rolling off her. And I want to fix it so badly. I want to grab the knot of the towel and strip it from her body so I can expose all her creamy skin, luscious tits, and magnificent pussy then crush her to me.
“I also wanted to tell you I’m sorry to hear about your parents. I…I didn’t know that hap—”
“I don’t want your fucking pity,” she spits out, her body tensing and rage radiating from it.
My hands twitch at my side. Desperate to touch her, to comfort and help her forget her pain all at once. Seeing her this way is making my chest squeeze and my body thrum with heat. More symptoms of this rare mystery condition that have begun presenting since she showed up.
“I don’t want to be some fucking plan or pet project. I just want to be someone’s first fucking choice because living without me is not an option.” Her chest heaves, and her jaw clenches, but I can’t give her the words she wants to hear, so I let her continue.
“This is the second time you’ve had me in various states of undress and not given me anything to believe that person is you.
If there’s a next time, and that’s a big IF, the only reason I’m going to be naked is because you rip my fucking clothes clean off my body because—” She taps my chest with her red painted nail. “You.” Tap. “Choose.” Tap. “Me.” Tap.
I rub at my chest where her touch has seared into it like she fired bullets at close range.
“You gave me your ultimatum, but those conditions are my fucking gold standards,” she says firmly.
“So until such time, I’d prefer to carry on like we have, me annoying the shit out of you because I know I can give you everything you could ever want, and you giving me dirty looks because my mere presence is an annoyance to your existence. ”
She steps away from me, and I miss her closeness immediately. She’s given me an out and a roadmap—the choice of what adventure I’ll select entirely on me.
“Now let me sign the paperwork so I can climb into bed with my spicy romance book and so you don’t charge me exorbitant fees for working on a Sunday and an after-hours house call.”
I clear my throat that’s blocked with all the words I can’t?—won’t? Am too scared?—to say, and get the tablet from my briefcase, ironically bringing up the DocuSign doc and handing her the tablet and stylus so she can add her signature.
All she does is raise her eyebrows at me and hum. Her pouty, naturally pink lips purse in a Just as I fucking thought way.
She’s still in just that fucking towel, plus the one wrapped around her head, and she looks so damn tempting.
She sticks out her hand. “Thanks for the house call, Mr. Princi. I guess I’ll be seeing you in a few weeks. Let me know the details for the Law Gala when you have them.”
I take her outstretched hand, and before overthinking it, I pull her to me.
She gasps and lifts her face to look at me.
I bring my face to hers and take her lips in a hungry kiss.
Like it’s my first meal and last supper.
Time stops and I swear I feel her melt into me as an inferno rages within.
I know the minute the next words leave my mouth this moment will be just that—a moment frozen in time.
“Don’t ever give up those gold level standards for anyone,” I murmur. “I hope one day you find the person who will choose you. Stay safe, Ms. Gigioliotti.”
Then I release her and leave, the symptoms of this mystery illness now giving me full body aches.