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He dressed impeccably, always in a suit. But he went less traditional and much more fashion-forward with those. Meaning his slacks were much tighter, his cut to his shirts and jackets more form-fitting, and his colors more daring.
He went more tame on Sunday dinners, knowing his brothers would get on his ass about anything too "out there."
He had on a silver-gray suit with a silk black dress shirt underneath. Not just a plain dress shirt, though. This one had little light gray skulls all over it.
Just like just about everything else about him, Elio's name wasn't pronounced traditionally either. Not Eel-eo, but Ellie-o. El for short.
It was a concession Denise, his mom, had made when he'd been born and our father had insisted on using the family name Elio. She got to choose the pronunciation.
"I'm playing nanny and bodyguard to Santiago Costa's son," I explained to the confused Elio.
"That's, ah, that's a completely ridiculous position for you," El said, dropping down beside me. "Did you tell them that you refused to hold one of your cousins' babies because you were afraid you'd accidentally poke his soft spot and dent his brain?"
"It's a valid concern!" I shrieked, not for the first time. Soft spots were freaky and terrifying. "They shouldn't be allowed to come out until all their parts have fused, damnit. Besides, Avi is like eight and a half." He freaked out if I referred to him as eight. "He's not as breakable."
"She's knitting and shit," Gio said.
"I'm sewing, not knitting," I clarified.
"Didn't that kid just lose his mom?" Elio asked.
"Hence the need for a bodyguard, not just a normal nanny," I agreed. "What?" I asked, feeling Elio staring at my profile.
"Remember that time I got shot?" he asked.
"Which time?" I asked, smirking.
"That's a fair question," he conceded.
"It's your own fault for being so shootable. It must be your terrible personality," I said, getting a chuckle out of him.
"Anyway, the time I got shot in the back," Elio clarified.
Of course I remembered.
It was one of the scariest nights I'd ever experienced.
And I'd led a colorful and dangerous life.
I guess the difference was that in the past, the only person who could get hurt was me.
When it was someone I cared about, it was a whole other thing entirely. I'd felt like I was shot too. The fear and uncertainty had my mind and pulse racing, made me feel useless and damn near tears.
"I remember," I agreed.
"You'd told me to quit bitching and to stop bitching," he reminded me.
I had said that.
Because I didn't want him to notice the way my hands were shaking, my lower lip was trembling.
Better him to think I was an asshole than a hysterical mess.
"Well, you were bitching," I said, shrugging. "And I'm not a complete dick, El. I'm not going to shame a kid for grieving over his mother."
"Did you land the gig because you're the only bodyguard in the Family with a uterus?" Elio asked.
"That seemed to be the main reason, yeah," I agreed, the fact still stinging.
"Sexist fucks, huh?" he asked, nudging my shoulder.
"Yeah," I agreed.
"But I bet you have a chance to get in with Lorenzo if you do a good job."
"That is the hope," I agreed. Even if I'd only ever seen the man in passing.
"So, what is Ma making?" he asked, pressing a hand to his stomach. "I haven't had anything home-cooked in months."
The rest of the evening was loud and crowded and crazy. A typical Sunday dinner, really.
It ended relatively early.
Early enough that I really should have gone home.
To my own place. With my own bed.
But I found myself taking a cab toward the much nicer apartment belonging to my employer.
With the excuse of showing Avi his mended dinosaur costume. Though Halloween was still several days away, so there was plenty of time.
"Oh," Santi said, stopping mid-stride from his bedroom.
He hadn't been expecting me.
I knew this because when he did expect to see me around, he was always fully dressed.
But, ah, yeah, he wasn't fully dressed at all.
Nope.
He was wearing only a pair of black lightweight pajama pants slung almost indecently low on his hips.
I knew from Avi that his parents had been pretty avid exercisers. He said they both took turns running in the mornings, his mom would go to the gym while he was at school, and that his dad would go to the gym in the apartment building before bed some nights.
Clearly, it was more than some nights.
You'd never know it since it was always hidden underneath layers of fancy suits, but Santiago Costa was built. As in built. Like you could sink a fingertip into the indents of his abdominal muscles.
But he wasn't the obnoxious kind of muscular, either. His veins didn't poke out. He could actually rest his arms against his sides.
Damn.
Like goddamn.
It wasn't like I hadn't ever been thirsty before. But I felt completely dehydrated. Like someone had dropped me in a dessert for a week without a drop of water.
