Chapter 5 #2
“My mom wouldn’t let me.” My face heated and I was glad it was dark. That sounded so pathetic, like I was a kid. I didn’t want him to think of me as a kid. I was only a few months younger than him. “She made me work with her so I couldn’t.”
He nodded. “She doesn’t want you hanging out with us.” Then he reached up and pushed a stray strand of hair off my cheek. “She’s right. You’re too sweet for this world.”
I closed my eyes at the touch of his finger on my cheek. And at him agreeing with my mother.
When I opened them, he was staring up at the moon. “It’s like our shadow is eating it. Maybe it is made of cheese.”
I snorted and he looked over at me with a wide smile, deep dimples appearing in his cheeks. His eyes were dark blue and glassy, his smile fading as he picked up my hand in his. He turned my wrist so my palm was face up and began tracing the lines with a feathery touch.
A chill raced through my body. I stared at him, my stomach coiling, heating with his touch.
His brows were pulled together like he was struggling with something. Then he slid his fingers between mine and pressed our palms together. He raised his head and squeezed my hand. “Do you know what I wanted for my birthday more than anything?”
I shook my head slowly.
He lifted his other hand and placed it behind my neck, pulling me closer to him. “A kiss from you.” Holding my gaze, he waited. When I didn’t protest, he leaned forward and pressed his warm lips to mine.
My eyes fluttered closed as a sense of euphoria wiped out everything around me. Everything except him.
He reached up and grabbed my chin, pulling it down so my mouth opened. Then he slipped his tongue inside. The sharp taste of whiskey and heat consumed me. He moaned into my mouth and the vibration of it traveled through me, igniting nerve endings I didn’t know I had.
I don’t know how much time we spent with our tongues tangled, our hands exploring each other. All I know is when he finally pulled away, lips glistening, eyes swirling with emotions neither of us understood, the moon was completely covered by the shadow. And everything had changed.
When I blink and come out of the memory, I glance at Sloane.
She’s pressing a Kleenex under her eyes. “That’s so goddamn romantic,” she snorts. “How can a fifteen-year-old be so goddamn romantic.”
I sigh. “He’s Italian. It’s in his blood.” I lean forward and grab a few M&M’s, pop them in my mouth and crunch them violently between my molars.
“So, then he came back every summer? And the romance continued?” Her eyes are shiny, and she’s leaning toward me on the sofa. Obviously invested in our story.
I nod. I can still feel the anticipation, the excitement that hummed through my body when June would roll around. That first glimpse of him strolling through the doors of the hotel with his family, or down the hall, or out to the pool that made me feel like I was floating in a bubble of happiness.
“So, what happened?” Her voice cracked with emotion.
I shrug. “My mom died. I moved to Chicago to live with my aunt. I never saw him again.” Okay, it was way more complicated than that. But I just didn’t have the strength to go into the whole story tonight.
Sloane’s lips twist in confusion. “But why didn’t you keep in touch?”
I sigh. “It’s a long story. One we’ll need a lot more time and tequila to get into. Raincheck?”
She squeezes my arm supportively. “Of course. I’m assuming by how much anger was radiating off that man, it was your decision not to keep in touch?”
“Yeah.” I had finished my drink and had a nice numb buzz going.
“I saw a lot being around the mafia growing up.” A lot of violence.
A lot of pain. Probably why I chose the field I did.
“It just wasn’t a life I could justify being a part of.
” Another simplification. Another half-truth.
“And now he’s…” I choke on a sudden lump in my throat.
“He’s marrying a mafia princess, which is what happens in their world so I shouldn’t be surprised.
And I’m not. Not really.” Just devastated.
My voice drops to a whisper as I add, “But why her?”
Sloane moans. “Oh, babe. You knew her, too?”
Nausea rolls through my stomach. I nod. “Giada Zerilli. Mean girl meets mafia is no joke. She did everything in her power to keep me away from Sandro, made it clear every chance she got that I wasn’t good enough for him.”
“What a bitch,” Sloane bites out. “If I would’ve known, she would’ve accidentally had a lapful of champagne.”
I snort, knowing she’s serious. “Yeah, that’s why I didn’t tell you. You don’t want Giada Zerilli as an enemy, trust me.”
Sloane is eyeing me with a heavy dose of sympathy. She leans forward and grabs the remote. “All right, time to get your mind off Mr. Hottie Mafia Guy.” Unmuting it, the sexy dance music pumps through my small apartment, and we settle in to watch Channing shake his ass.
***
My resolve is toast. At midnight, I’m pulling boxes out of the spare room closet until I reach the one I haven’t opened in ten years.
The cardboard is soft with age, the packing tape yellowed and already peeling at the edges.
I take a deep breath, ignore my pounding heart and my brain sending a “danger, red alert” signal through my body and rip the tape off the top.
It feels like I’m ripping open an old scab. Which technically I am.
I remove a few wrapped items until I hit the bubble wrap. Slowly lifting it from the box, I fall back on my butt and cradle the heavy object in my lap.
My vision blurs as I unwrap it to reveal the snow globe. Shaking it gently, I watch as the tiny, sparkly flakes swirl around a replica of New York City.
When Sandro gave this to me for my seventeenth birthday, it came with a promise that he would take me to New York one day.
That we would spend a whole day at the Metropolitan Museum, and picnic in Central Park.
That he would teach me how to snow ski. And then when he’d come back for that last summer, it became a catalyst for the conversation we could no longer avoid.
He sat on my couch, holding it up to the light, his tone one of trepidation as he asked, “Would you be willing to move to New York when you turn eighteen in a few months?” He’d turned to me then, showing me the desperation, the fierce emotion in his eyes.
“Go to college there? I would get you an apartment. You wouldn’t have to work. ”
And that’s when I knew my time with him was almost over.