Chapter 13
DAMIANO
I wanted to take Madison for a walk around the Rossi Nature Preserve, but with her injured foot, a sit-down lunch was the better idea.
We order drinks and I ask the server to wait a few minutes before returning to take our order.
“Tell me how you are, truly.” I take Madison’s hand. “Last night was very frightening, I imagine.”
I know I was terrified. She was in danger and there was nothing I could do. San Esteban seemed to stretch forever, minutes turning into hours as Seth and I raced to reach her.
“It was. And while I’m grateful you had guards on me or whatever…” She pauses and looks down for a moment before meeting my gaze directly. “Damiano, do you know what I’m saying?”
“It was heavy-handed of me, yes. An overreach.” I take a sip of my Thai iced tea.
It is too sweet for me, but Madison ordered the same, and I wanted to see what she likes.
At the next opportunity, I’ll order something stronger from the bar.
“I ought to apologize for it. But I won’t.
Because if my men hadn’t been there? It terrifies me to think of what could have happened. ”
“I can’t argue with you about that, I guess. Although it sounds like he would’ve just taken a few things and run off.”
“He would’ve been surprised to find the home occupied. No one can say how he might have reacted to that.” Life has taught me that desperate people will make all kinds of terrible choices when pushed to the edge. I hope Madison never has to find out the same way I did.
“Well, he might have done anything. He might have been a zombie wanting to eat my brains.” Madison sounds sarcastic, but she’s smiling.
“He might have been on the run from the sheriff and hiding in a monastery,” I add.
“You’ve seen Flesh and Teeth?” Madison leans forward, her green eyes sparkling.
“I’ve seen a few episodes, but I lost interest after the start of Season Two.” I pause. “But from your excitement, I take it you’re a fan?”
“A fan? It’s only the best show ever.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. I can think of several Italian dramas which may challenge its spot at number one.”
Madison clutches her heart like I’ve wounded her. “Nothing can live up to the perfection that is Flesh and Teeth. It’s impossible. Any attempt is an embarrassment.”
I laugh. “Maybe I should watch it with you sometime.”
“It’s a crime you didn’t even finish the second season, so yeah.”
I’m still laughing when I catch sight of Seth walking into the restaurant. I lift a hand in greeting. Madison turns around to see who I’m looking at.
Seth frowns. When I invited him to lunch, I neglected to mention Madison would be here, too.
Madison spins back around to face me. “I thought this was a date?”
“It’s still a date.”
She raises her eyebrows. “There you go, heavy-handed again. And overreaching.”
“He probably won’t stay long.” I clear my throat. “And, I apologize. I did it to mess with him, not you.”
“We aren’t your puppets, Damiano,” she says softly.
Fuck. “You’re right. I do apologize.”
Seth ambles over, irritation flashing in his eyes. He offers a perfunctory smile to Madison before turning a glare on me. “Damiano.”
“Seth.” I smile widely. “Thanks for joining us. This place has the best pad thai in the city, and—”
“Yes, I know.” Seth pulls out a chair next to Madison and gives her a nod. “DIY Depot will have someone out to replace your door by two.”
“Thank you—how much do I owe you?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I can pay you. Recent inheritance, remember?”
I watch their interaction, cataloging the way Madison looks up at his face, then away quickly. Cataloging the way he does the same to her.
Their long-denied attraction is potent.
We order food and I steer the conversation back to Flesh and Teeth. Seth has never seen it.
“It’s a soap opera disguised as a zombie flick,” he says with a wave of his hand.
“Oh, I can’t believe you would disparage it like that.” Madison lifts her fork menacingly toward Seth. “Not only that, but what the fuck is wrong with soap operas? You’re saying it like it’s an insult.”
“Melodramatic, over-the-top, clichéd, manufactured,” he lists. “That’s what’s wrong with soap operas.”
Madison shakes her head, adopting a mournful expression. “Wow, I didn’t realize you had such bad taste.”
“If hating Flesh and Teeth means bad taste, then I don’t want good taste.”
“But you said you haven’t seen one episode,” I interject. “Perhaps you should try it before disparaging it?”
“Yes!” Madison slaps the table. “Yes, that. You can’t say it’s clichéd and melodramatic if you haven’t even watched it.”
“I’ve seen the previews. Trust me, that was more than enough.”
The two of them continue their bickering as we eat.
I lean back in my chair, watching the beauty of their interaction.
They have an ease with each other that surpasses their obvious attraction, if they can forget about the attraction long enough to fall back to natural conversation. It’s a fascinating character study.
Madison’s phone rings. “It’s the officer from last night,” she says, looking at the screen. “I should take this.”
She moves to get up, but Seth stops her. “Nobody’s around our table. You can take it here.”
Nodding, Madison answers the call. “Yes?”
I can hear the officer on the other end. “The intruder is in custody and can’t make bail. The DA has a case…will likely need you as a witness…be in touch.”
“So I’m safe from this guy?” Madison asks. “He can’t get out?”
“Right.” The officer says a few more things, but Madison is beaming at Seth and me.
When the call ends, Madison sets the phone down on the table with a decisive thump. “It’s time for drinks. I want to celebrate.”
I signal our server. Soon, we all have drinks in front of us—a whiskey for Seth, a gin and tonic for me, and a mojito for Madison. She lifts her drink and says, “Cheers! To bad guys getting locked up, and excellent zombie series.”
“Oh, so we’re cheering to Shamblers?” Seth asks.
Madison cuts him a look. “It’s good, but it doesn’t hold a candle to Flesh and Teeth.”
“Disagree. I am objectively right, and you are objectively wrong.”
I’ll have to review all of these series so I can take part in the debate.
But for now I sit back with my drink and watch the two of them argue.
Madison’s green eyes flash with outrage and Seth continues to disparage her favorite show.
He’s goading her on purpose. And the more she drinks, the more she seems to enjoy it.
She orders another mojito and leans toward me to confess, “My foot doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“Good. Give it to me.”
“My foot?” She laughs.
I reach under the table to grab her ankle, then bring her foot to my knee. I don’t have a foot fetish, but there’s something titillating about lightly touching Madison’s skin, feeling the delicate slope of her ankle…and drawing a surprised and aroused gasp from her lips.
Seth looks between us and frowns. Conflicted desire shows briefly in his eyes before he shuts it down. “I have to go.”
I pushed too far.
* * *
MADISON
I wake up alone in my bed on Monday morning. No attractive former brother-in-law cuddling me on the floor. No hottie with an Italian accent stroking my leg. His hands must be magic, because every time he touches me, I feel electrified.
I walk downstairs to forage for breakfast, thinking about yesterday’s lunch date. For all his “heavy-handed” antics, Damiano was a perfect gentleman afterward. I was tipsy, so he brought me home and kissed me on the cheek. He first made sure I had some aspirin and drank water.
“It’s the middle of the day,” I said. “I had two drinks—I won’t be hung over.”
But he’d fussed at me until I guzzled some water and promised to call him if I needed anything.
I invited him to watch Flesh and Teeth with me, but he simply kissed my cheek again. “Another time, bella. I have to go in to work.”
Now I’m wondering if it was a lie. Work on a Sunday?
Maybe he lost interest in me, or I made a fool of myself after my second mojito.
I thought I was composed, although maybe a bit loud and opinionated over Flesh and Teeth.
Damn Seth and all his soap opera rants. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
I gather things for breakfast, marveling at the fact that I don’t have a job. I’ll need to find something to do, but I don’t know what.
Orange juice would really complete the meal, but I didn’t think to buy any the other day. Outside the kitchen window, however, is an orange tree loaded with ripe fruit. What kind of paradise is this? I put on some shoes and go outside to gather oranges. I’ll make my own orange juice.
There’s even a rickety stepladder next to the tree. As I set it up, I spot footsteps in the soil outside my kitchen window. My heart thuds to a stop, dread chilling my blood.
No. The burglar did a number on me. The footsteps are probably from the last person who lived here—Ford, most likely. I need to turn down my paranoia a notch. Several notches
I gather my oranges, but my delight isn’t the same as it was when I first stepped outside.
I keep looking over my shoulder. My next door neighbor, Matthew, is in his yard, but he doesn’t notice me until I wave.
He waves back, then returns to whatever he’s doing.
I can’t see clearly through the privacy hedge, which makes sense.
That’s what privacy hedges are for, right?
I spend the rest of the day inside, sorting through Great-Aunt Vivienne’s closets.
My understanding is that before she got sick, she moved into a senior living facility to be around other active seniors.
She left a lot of random clothes and things behind.
Most of it I’ll donate. I could probably just throw it all in my car to take to a donation center, but the act of carefully sorting helps me feel closer to her.
Especially the older clothes—if she kept them from the sixties and seventies, they must have had some sentimental value.
“I wish I were doing this with you, Aunt Vivienne.” I fold another funky, seventies-flower-print scarf before setting it gently on the donation pile. “I imagine you’d have all kinds of stories about these things.”
I discover a sequined drawstring bag, still in its designer box.
A vintage Baciarvita. It’s a bit flashy for my taste, yet something about it speaks to me.
As I set it in my tiny “keep” pile, I notice the sky beyond my window has grown dark.
I’ve been doing this for hours, hunched over piles of clothes and accessories.
No wonder my back and shoulders are aching.
I’m hungry, too. I’ve been so focused, I forgot to eat lunch.
I stretch, raising my arms over my head as I make my way toward the hall. On my way out of the room, I survey the heaps of clothes before flicking off the overhead light.
But something else catches my eye. Movement, a shape.
There’s a face in the darkened window.