“Oh, a card holder!” Gia exclaimed. “Do you want me to help you open it?”
“Gia.” Lucia admonished.
“What? I can’t wait to see.” Gia said, clapping her hands in delight. This time connecting her palms and making it a mini party in my room.
I undid the clasp and opened it to find a small envelope with a card with bossy black penmanship:
The color of her eyes…
P.S. Go to town with my sisters. Let them pamper you. You deserve to be indulged after what you’ve been through.
-Roberto
“What does it mean, the color of her eyes?” Gia asked.
I knew. What he said to me last night. My eyes were the color of emeralds. Precious, like gemstones.
“It’s beautiful, but what compelled him to give me this? He found me on the side of the road with a miniskirt and a tank top to my name, what does he think I’ll do with a bag this opulent?”
I didn’t deserve such a gift. I’d never been a fancy girl.
I was a broke girl.
A girl running from trouble; trying to claw her way out of a hole. I didn’t see myself clutching to this bag with my broken, unmanicured nails.
This was a bag for a proper lady.
No man ever lavished me this way. My heart felt like it was being covered in caramel syrup.
“How did he get this gift so quick?”
“Our brother is resourceful. And powerful. He makes things happen.” Gia snapped her fingers in the air, rocked back and forth and stuck her tongue in the side of her cheek.
“Gia,” Lucia warned.
“So I see, but why is he being so nice to me?”
“We told you. He never brings girls home.” Lucia took the leather card holder from my hand and pulled out a black card with American Express written across the top. “Alright ladies.” She waived the card over her head like a lighter at a concert. “Let’s go to town and do some damage!”
We drove into town for mani pedis in massage chairs. The cold bubbles from the champagne tickled my nose when I laughed at Gia’s jokes.
Afterwards the sisters insisted on buying me a wardrobe at Spell on You boutique, after which we fortified ourselves with a cocktail and charcuterie at Splendor in the Grass, and I learned Gia ran an online author consulting business where she helped indie writers build mafia worlds, a hot genre. Livia talked about her jewelry business.
We three rode together in the back of the car, driven by one of their employees. Slightly tipsy and warm, inside and out, I rested my forehead against the window and watched the greenery go by.
Lucia hit the gate code and we wound our way towards the manor. My heart kicked like a seven-month-old baby in the womb as we approached the palatial residence, wondering if he’d be home. I wore an outfit Gia and Lucia insisted I bought.
A kelly green overcoat which brought out the color of my eyes, a cream-colored button-up shirt and ankle length dark denim jeans with a rolled hem, and blood red pumps with a kitten heel to complete the look. “You’ll be fine wearing that to dinner, Eva. Those shoes make the ensemble fancy.”
The driveway was empty of his car and my stomach plummeted. I’d known Roberto for only one day, but my libido felt like it I’d been waiting for him way longer than that.
She wanted him to come out and play. That was exactly what he’d do with me.
Play.
Cat and mouse.
Darkness and light.
Gia’s cell phone rang, “Hey Roberto.” There was a pause while she listened, and my skin flushed hot. “But we just got back. We wanted to hang up her new clothes and have dinner. We’re hungry.”
She paused again.
“I am not always hungry!” Gia pouted. She hung up. “Roberto the grouch wants the car to take you to his place tonight so he can have dinner with you alone. We’re not invited. You okay with that, Eva?”
Was I okay with that? I fiddled with the top of my shirt and bit my lip. My stomach hollow, I didn’t want to admit to Roberto’s sisters I wanted to be alone with him.
“You guys, I have never had a day like today. Manis and pedis, lunch and clothes aside, I loved spending time with you both,” I said.
They climbed out of the car. Looking back at me, Livia shook her head and Gia squished her eyebrows together.
Rather than try to tell them how I lusted after their brother, awkward, I waved goodbye. “See you soon!”
The driver left the Moretti Mansion and headed back the way we came. Uncertain what to expect at Roberto’s house, the thought of being at once safe and in sexy peril with him gave my whole body a fuzzy, tingling feeling.
Roberto acted like he wanted to put me on a pedestal and have me at his mercy at the same time.
He was an adventure worth having. After all, wasn’t playing it safe just another kind of gamble?
8
Eva
My fingers curled around the edges of the back seat cushion while Jack, the driver, played classical music and maneuvered tight turns down the mountain.
“How far is it to Mr. Moretti’s house?” I asked.
“Just about fifteen minutes—ten into town, and five up the hill to his place.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Oh, I’ve been with the Moretti family since Moretti Senior ran things. I’ve known Roberto, er, Mr. Moretti, since he was a child.”
I sat for a moment, trying to imagine Roberto ever being a kid. “What was he like back then? When he was little?”
Jack gripped the leather steering wheel cover, squeezing it, moving his hands a half inch this way and that, back and forth in a rhythmic gesture. “I think one can always see the man a child will become. He was there: intelligent, courageous, protective to a fault.”
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “I knew Mr. Moretti when he could be carefree. He doesn’t have that luxury in his current, adult role. I’m glad you’re joining him for dinner tonight. Companionship, dinner with someone outside the family, it’ll do him good.”
How on earth did I find myself in this position?
The winding driveway twisted around boulder outcroppings, displaying glimpses of blue waters to the left, and a large stone home. The apricot kiss of sunset in the sky over the trees, and the golden lit interior smiling from every window softened its imposing stature.
Roberto’s home was a showstopper even though not as extravagant as the family home.
Jack came around to open the door and walked me to the front entrance where flared roofs added a European touch to the home. A tall, unsmiling woman opened the door, gave me the once over, and admitted us into an elegant stone entryway where rectangular rocks crawled to the ceiling, interspersed with immense wooden shelves that held books and artwork.
I stood at the center of the hall, letting my eyes adjust. Neck crooked back, I scanned the shelves floor to ceiling, taking in their treasure.
“Reclaimed wood,” said a voice from the shadows.
I started at Roberto’s deep voice from the end of the hall where he stood with one hand resting against a shelf over his head. His silhouette in the dim light was the last thing I saw before my kitten heel caught on the edge of the rough stone and I tumbled towards him.
My knees throbbed from smashing into the stone floor, but I barely registered the pain. Instead, my attention was on jet-black hair framing a jaw-dropping face. Bone structure that would make Michelangelo blubber with joy, while a square jaw and razor-sharp cheekbones made him edible and threatening at the same time. Sapphire-blue eyes narrowed; facial features set in emotional restraint.