“It’s beautiful, is it not?” Rina sighs after a pregnant pause.
The city lights twinkle below, bouncing from pale buildings that are finally cooling down from the summer heat. It’s romantic in a way Brooklyn could never be, and I find myself surprised that I’m comparing the two cities at all.
“I think I’ve missed it,” I offer quietly.
“You think?”
I shrug with easy nonchalance. “Jury is still out.”
I can feel Rina’s eyes boring into the side of my face, the attention sending an uncomfortable prickle down my spine.
“I recall you used to value strong intentions,” Rina says, ceasing the preamble. “So I intend to make mine clear.”
A glance her way is all the encouragement she needs to continue.
“I’m aware you’re in need of a wife. Your mother has not been particularly subtle about it, but even if she weren’t, the Grasso di Ferro will need new leadership soon. Your return here is inevitable, but this isn’t your stomping grounds anymore.”
“But it is yours, right?” I predict a little harshly. “Even though you’ve been in America almost as long as I have?”
She purses her lips. “I’ve stayed in touch, visited, kept up appearances. You, however, greeted Maria De Luca as MariaFerrerojust now. Your mother will pay for that tomorrow, you know.”
I cringe slightly at that. “Teething problems.”
“These are old families, Dante. Don’t think for one second they won’t take advantage of you while you’re scrambling to keep up.”
And she’s right. Of course, she is. Suddenly, it makes a lot more sense why my mother wants me to marry a local. I need someone at my side who can fill the gap created by nine years of absence.
“You intend to secure an engagement with me.” It’s a fact. I state it like one.
Rina tilts her head, endlessly long hair cascading beautifully over her shoulder, teasing smile on her lips. “Don’t sound so displeased by it. As I recall, you didn’t seem to mind my company that night at the club.”
“We were teenagers.”
“Mmmm,” her eyes become hooded. “Now we’re all grown up. I can only imagine how much more experienced we both are.”
I should flirt back, offering a demonstration or something equally shameless. It’s not like she’s not very, very beautiful, and it’s very clear how she wants this night to end.
And yet.
And yet, and yet, and yet.
I knock back the rest of my drink, hoping to buy myself some time. The alcohol burns down my throat. I want it to burn away my hesitation.
But it just leaves a lingering note of caramel in my mouth.
With a final, displeased swallow, I lean away from her. “I’ll certainly take your intentions under consideration.”
It’s late.
It’s very late.
When I got into the back of the car, this seemed like a good idea, but the journey considerably sobered me up.
Now, I’m hesitating by the door. Which is stupid.
So I push it open and stagger through.
Okay, so maybe I'm not as sober as I thought.
