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He moves out of the way, letting a slim shape in to the room, and I freeze.
I do not wonder as I see Caterina step inside.
But I doreact.
If I thought she was beautiful as a young woman, I did not know the meaning of beauty then. Because while she is unmistakably Caterina, any trace of the beautiful girl that I made love to under the moonlight is gone.
In her place is a goddess, who men would destroy themselves and everything they love to worship.
Her hair is long now, and falls over her shoulder in a glittering sheet that reminds me of the decadent chocolates that I import from Paris. They are not too sweet, these treats, and every timeI bite into one I relish the bitterness that comes with the dark undertones of the candy.
Caterina has a darkness about her too.
Her dress is not the floating, effervescent concoction of violet lace that I peeled off of her body six years ago.
No, this time it is black, and fitted against her skin so closely that I can see the muscles in her ass flex as she moves.
She takes her coat off, revealing the curve of her hip that leads into her waist, flaring out again when it reaches her breasts. A silver locket, dainty and heart-shaped, gleams at the dip of her collarbone.
It looks sweet, but I am not mistaken.
The woman underneath is not a kitten. She is a tiger.
And when she fixes her dark eyes on me, I feel the thrill of the hunt.
“Sit,” I bark. Gia shoots me a look that clearly communicates her feelings on my lack of manners, but it’s the only word that I can get out.
If I let myself say more, I’m not sure what I will say. There are words gathered on my tongue that I cannot allow to see the light of day.
You are beautiful.
Caterina, your dress looks like it was poured over your skin. What would it take to peel it off?
Marco, your sister has turned from a housecat into a wildcat. What have you done to her?
I miss you.
The last one I inhale sharply, lest it sneak out in my next words. Stiffly, I pull out Caterina’s chair, then push it forward too abruptly as she sits. The metal squeaks on the tile floor of the restaurant, and she turns to glare at me.
There is such vehemence in her eyes, it sends a shiver down my spine.
She has grown claws in six years.
God save me, but I like it.
“Elio,” Marco begins. Even his voice sounds tired and old, like he has spent the last six years fighting and losing a battle over and over again.
Good.
I have spent them winning, and I am ready to point that out as much as possible.
“Marco,” I reply coolly. I gesture to Gia, who hands me a tablet. “Are you ready to negotiate?”
“I am,” he says slowly.
I read from the tablet, naming the terms of the deal that Marco and I began several weeks ago. When I had approached Gia with this idea many months prior, she had been upset with me and called me an idiot, thinking me foolish for proposing it.
Thinking that I was living in the past, that I didn’t know how to move on past our parents death.
