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I asked Daniello for a moment and decided I needed my own shower. I picked up his soap and took a huge whiff as my eyes darted through the glass doors to make sure he didn’t see. It smelled divine, and I couldn’t place it. It was masculine but fresh with a hint of mint. I dropped it when I heard his voice.
“I brought you a gift, you bitchy,” he joked from the kitchen, battering the words.
“Sucker,” I joked back as if we had been doing this routine for years. Maybe he had. Maybe it was his norm. I admitted to myself then I had no idea what territory we were in. This was completely out of the norm for me.
“You should know this is my last attempt at a gift,” he said, much too far away. I made quick work of changing into a casual sundress and wedge heels, applied light makeup, and twisted my wet hair into a tight bun.
I joined Daniello in the kitchen as I saw he had a bottle of wine poured and handed me a glass.
I took it with a polite thank you and sipped it eagerly to calm my nerves. Fucking him would be easier than casual conversation. As usual, he caught on quickly.
“Relax.” He nodded at my glass. “What do you think of the wine?”
“It’s delicious, thank you,” I said, taking another sip.
“Taylor, you are lying,” he whispered.
“No, I’m not.” Softening my tone, I tried to raise my enthusiasm. “It’s really good. Is this my gift?”
Daniello sighed and began to laugh softly. He shook his head in exasperation and took my glass from me. “Thirteen-year-old award winning bottle from the vineyard,” he scorned still amused. “Taylor, what do you like to drink?”
“Wine, this is—”
“Baggianate. Bullshit, you lie,” he snapped, setting his glass down. I couldn’t help my smile with the way his accent slaughtered the words. What came out sounded like bowel shit. I chuckled as he narrowed his eyes.
“There is only one way to solve this mystery,” Daniello said, nodding in agreement with himself.
The man was strange. Maybe he cheered for himself daily. Maybe he was a full-fledged team: the player, the referee, and the scorekeeper. I laughed harder as he drug me out of the living room and I escaped his grip to run back to the counter and sip the wine again. “Yep,” I confirmed, wrinkling my nose as he looked back at me, hopeful. “Tastes like shit.”
It may have been a growl that erupted from him as he pushed me through the front door and waited for me to lock up.
“By all means,” I prompted, gesturing toward the door in hopes that he unearthed a key.
“Taylor,” he sighed.
“What?” I said innocently. “Be a dear and lock up for me.” Turning without looking back, I made my way toward the SUV. I heard Daniello mumbling in the background. I hopped in the back of the SUV, greeting Rocco, who refused to give me anything other than a nod in return. I felt loose and alive and was positive the wine had everything to do with it.
“It is final,” Daniello said sternly, “no more gifts.”
“Fine by me.” I gave him a wink and nodded to my front door. He rolled his eyes. “Rocco.”
Rocco pulled away from the curb sharply, and I clung to my seat. Daniello was opposite of me as he took in my dress.
“You are beautiful tonight,” he said appreciatively. I felt the heat of his compliment. My whole adult life, I’d gotten attention from men. Some had openly gawked at me, and I knew the power of sex, but when Daniello complimented me, it mattered. I realized then it was because he was so beautiful, his words were made more powerful. I thought it ironic.
Beauty is power. Money is power. And even though in his eyes I had both, with him I felt a little weak.
Shifting in my seat, I changed the subject. “So what are your plans?”
“They have changed,” he said with a shrug.
“Not my fucking mouth again?” I said, testing him.
“Of course,” he replied, his tongue dragging out the words.
“So you said some of you was Italian. What is the rest of you?” A harmless question and not too personal.
“My father was Egyptian. M
