Chapter Nine Violet #2
She smiles, and I continue with my experiences.
“I walked through the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, too. Glamorous, of course. Very, ‘I should not be trusted near designer stores.’ I didn’t buy anything, which I consider a personal victory.”
I pause to take a small sip of water that I don’t need other than to help me clear the jumbled mess that is my brain.
“And I may have gotten lost trying to find La Scala,” I admit, which is totally true. “In my defense, all the streets look like they belong in a perfume commercial.”
“Did you end up finding it?”
I nod, almost a little too enthusiastically. I felt very proud of myself for not having to ask for directions. “I did. Very dramatic, but ten out of ten.”
“I feel like I would get myself lost.” Skye blinks after she speaks, and the look on her face tells me she didn’t mean to say that. As if she doesn’t want to seem vulnerable or incapable.
“If it makes you feel any better, I tried to order coffee in Italian.”
Her icy exterior seems to crack a little at my admission. Not enough that anyone would notice without trying too hard, of course.
“Oh yeah? How did that go?”
“Very… humblingly.” I laugh, and she laughs too. “I’m pretty sure I asked for something that doesn’t legally exist.”
Skye's amusement reaches her eyes, and my grin widens at the accomplishment.
“Have you planned any future adventures? Or are you all business?”
She gives a half-shrug. “Mostly business, but I do want to get out of the hotel at some point. My free time has been mostly spent sleeping or calling people back home.”
“I’m sure your mom is thrilled with your success.” I notice her face drop, and instantly regret assuming she was close to her mom.
She clears her throat. “My um… my mom passed away when I was a kid.”
My heart cracks for her. “I’m so sorry, Skye.”
“You didn’t know. And I had my Aunt Keisha, who helped raise me. She’s a saint.”
“How old were you?”
“Eleven.” She leans back in her chair. “My mom died of pancreatic cancer. My dad was worthless and nowhere to be found.” She ends that sentence in a way that tells me she’s not discussing her father.
My heart breaks and warms simultaneously. I focus on the wholesomeness of a woman whom I’ve never even met. “I think anyone who takes in a child who isn’t their own should get some sort of award.”
“I definitely agree.”
Cupid, the waiter, finally brings out the wine and fills our glasses, but he’s standing a little too close to me, and I feel like I’m leaning toward the opposite side of the table.
“Here for business or pleasure?” he asks, topping off my glass with more wine than I’ve ever seen a server pour.
Aren’t they supposed to be half full?
Half empty?
Whatever the argument is.
Still leaning to the side, I look up to see that I couldn’t even make eye contact with him if I tried. Unless my eyes were on my chest.
Skye gets to her feet and walks toward the server, who is smiling like a dork. His demeanor changes as a cloud of darkness passes from Skye and lands directly on him.
She pastes an eerie smile on her perfect lips and whispers, “If you’d like to keep your teeth in your mouth, you’ll stop looking at my friend like a gravy-covered steak and go find us a new server.”
All the oxygen leaves my lungs as my jaw hits the table. Skye adjusts her jacket and returns to her seat, scooting her chair in and leaning on her elbows like that didn’t just happen.
I drink half of my wine before I realize Skye is staring at me.
“You didn’t deserve that. And what the fuck kind of name is Cupid? He’s just asking to have the shit beaten out of him.”
I almost choke on my wine, finishing off the last drop and putting the empty glass on the table.
Heat rises in my chest at her unexpected protection. Theo never did that for me, and we were together for a long damn time.
Too long.
“So,” Skye clears her throat. “Where were we?”
I flatten my napkin on my lap and right myself, no longer needing to lean to the opposite side of the table. “I was embarrassing myself by assuming you had a good relationship with your mom, and you were telling me about your aunt.”
“It’s not embarrassing,” she corrects. “You didn’t know. And it happened a long time ago.”
Heat rises in my cheeks, but I listen as she continues.
“Unfortunately, my aunt is uh…” she pauses, and I can tell she’s trying to decide just how much she wants to share with me. “She’s suffering from dementia.”
My mouth falls open slightly, and my brows pull together with sympathy. “How advanced?”
“She’s at a care facility, but I call and visit as often as I can.” She opens her arms and gestures around the room. “That is, when I’m not spending time in another country.”
I reach for my wine glass before remembering it’s empty, so I take a sip of water.
“I lost my dad when I was a kid.” I try to ease the blow a little. Her face twists, but she doesn’t say anything as I continue. “He was always my number one fan when I was belting out songs as I did my chores or when we went on car rides.”
Fuck.
I cannot be telling her this part of me. I should be telling her that I used to dress up as a doctor, and my dad would be my patient. And how we used popsicles as medicine or something. I should fall back on my story of being a surgeon, but I really hate lying to her about… anything.
My security detail is somewhere in Milan, enjoying the sights with his husband while I’m here at dinner with you. I only need him when I’m walking around as Solace.
Oh yeah, I’m a famous pop star.
“Did you go into music for your career?”
There it is. That opening line allows my rehearsed story to settle into place ever so easily.
“I’m a surgeon.” I feel the heaviness of the lie as soon as it falls from my lips. “My mom is my biggest supporter.”
Her eyes go wide. “That’s super impressive. What’s your specialty?”