Vanni looks heavenward. “I told you I was too old. Of course she is too old too! Come on, can we get another Coke?”
“We’ll see,” Claudio says.
He gets to his feet and then turns and hauls me up, fingers wrapped around my elbows. Our eyes lock, an expression that I can’t read sitting deep within his eyes, and his hand trails down my forearm, over my wrist, over my hand, then finally lets go.
I swallow hard, feeling drunk and dizzy, all because of him.
He grabs Vanni’s hand and they walk along the edge of the crowd to the food cart, me right behind them.
Twelve
Claudio
I am nervous.
I stare at my reflection, trying to decide if I should wear a tie with my suit or not, but I can’t make up my mind. It shouldn’t matter—I have nights like this at the gallery all the time. It’s just me and my friends, and maybe one of my friends will bring someone with money who will buy one of my pieces of art and I can breathe easier.
Or maybe not.
But of course, it’s not just business as usual this time. This time, I have company.
In another world, another universe, perhaps one that even Vanni isn’t aware of, she would be a date.
But in this one, at least, she is a guest.
Grace is coming with me to gallery night.
And she’s why I’m nervous.
She’s why I can’t decide on tie or no tie.
She’s the one I want to impress.
La mia musa.
I’m starting to think she’s my muse.
Outside, thunder rumbles ominously. After nearly two weeks of sun and building heat, the tension has broken. Dark clouds gather behind the peaks of the distant hills with threats of rain. It would be good for the land to have some rain tonight. Perhaps it would be good for everyone, a reprieve of sorts.
The relationship between Grace and I has gotten more complicated over the last week. Prior to my sisters showing up, I was willingly pushing her, seeing how far I could go. I wanted to know if she felt what I felt. Something a bit more complicated than pure attraction. Yes, I lust for her but it’s more than that. It’s something inside me recognizing something in her. Perhaps the pull of an artist’s heart for an artist’s heart. Maybe it’s just the potential of what we could be.
But my sister Maria reminded me that it wasn’t just my feelings that were complicated. It was the situation. With Grace being Jana’s client, with her being here because of Jana, because she needs to finish this book, I realized how selfish and inappropriate I have been. There’s a part of me that physically aches for her, this need to be around her, to gaze at her beauty, and I can do all that without involving Grace.
I just haven’t felt this way in a long time … dare I say, ever. I’m not sure what to do with myself, and pleasuring myself night after night with thoughts of her hasn’t helped—if anything, it’s made it worse because my imagination is pretty fantastic, but it stops just short of being the real thing.
I want the real thing.
I want Grace.
I want to touch her, to explore her body from head to toe, discover everything hidden to me, lose myself in the way she’s put together. She’s art, I know she is, and if I can’t have her, I need to create her. She inspires me to no end.
Slow down.
I stare at my reflection, at the dark eyes peering back. I can’t let my mind run away on me because if it does, my body will follow.
I decide against the tie, tossing it on my bed.
Rake my fingers through my hair, adjust my cufflinks. Black suit, white shirt, no tie. I know I look good. But there’s only one opinion I care about.
I grab the keys to the Lusso and leave my room, closing the door behind me.
Out in the hall, Grace is doing the same thing.
I stop, air seizing in my chest.
Grace is wearing a dress that would be fitting in a Dolce and Gabbana ad. White with a bright floral print—the top is like a bustier, with skinny straps and cups that push up her breasts, dangerously close to overflowing.
When I tear my eyes away from her chest, ignoring that persistent pang of need in my dick, I’m taken by her face, the red on her lips, the smoky eye, the way her dark hair shines, cascading softly over her shoulders.
“It’s not too much, is it?” she asks, her voice quiet and anxious.
It’s too much for me, I want to say. Far too much for me to handle.
I don’t think I’ll survive tonight.
Somehow I manage to speak. “You look beautiful.”
I want to say more. She looks more than beautiful. There are no words in my vocabulary to describe her. She’s the writer here, not me. I just know that if I were to sculpt her, people would be fighting over themselves to own her, to display her beauty forever.
In the back of my head, a risky proposition rears its head.
I ignore it for now.
“Okay, good,” she says, eyes downcast so all I see are her lashes. “I was worried that I’d either be too overdressed or too underdressed.”
“You’re perfect,” I tell her, licking my lips. If only I could get her to believe it.
I clear my throat, trying to regain some composure. “And me? No kind words for me?”
“Do you need me to tell you you’re handsome?”
“Yes,” I say emphatically. “How else will I know?”
She breaks into a smile that lights up her whole face. At least she still finds me funny. That’s something. Maybe it’s everything.
Last night was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. It wasn’t just that the show was amazing. It’s that I finally felt Grace becoming undone. She wraps herself so tightly, afraid to let go, afraid to feel because her feelings seem too big for her body. She’s consumed with her darkness sometimes, as I suppose it can be for writers. And I can’t blame her, because she seems to have gone through so much.
But she let herself be free with me last night.
It’s probably too much to ask for it again.
I jerk my head to the stairs. “Come on. Let’s get going.”
I head down the stairs and see Vanni lounging on the couch, reading a book. When he sees us, he sits up straighter. “Are you sure I can’t go with you?” he asks with pleading eyes.
“Was the concert not enough?” I chuckle. “And you have been before. You remember? Lots of adults, no kids. You’re not allowed to touch anything.”
“That’s okay.”
“No eating either. I don’t trust you not to get cheese on all of my statues.”
He nods at that, understanding. “Okay. At least here I can eat.”
“Where is Emilio?”
He shrugs. “I think he’s cleaning the pool.”
“Okay, well you listen to your uncle,” I remind him. Not that Vanni is ever a troublesome kid, but I know one day he’s going to give me a run for my money.
Grace gives him a little wave. “Ciao, Vanni.”
“Ciao, ciao, ciao,” he says with a dismissive wave, then with a heavy sigh, picks up his book again and goes back to reading.
We head down the outside stairs to the Ferrari parked below. I open her door for her, and a vicious thrill runs through me, the sight of her, in that dress, getting in my car. Too sexy for words.