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“But what about you?” I ask, forcing the spotlight off of me before he can delve too far into my story. “Don’t you have a sport or an interest that you’re passionate about?”
Nicolo gives me a one-shoulder shrug that I’m starting to learn is his attempt at casual disregard when something is actually bothering him.
“I used to follow baseball pretty closely–when I was a kid. But my path in life has been set since the day I was born. As the oldest son of Lorenzo Marchetti, it’s my responsibility to take up my father’s mantle and run the family business.” His practiced nonchalance as he leans back against the couch and turns his gaze to the city skyline tells me there is some underlying emotion regarding his inheritance that he’s not willing to talk about.
“Did you play baseball?” I ask, rather than probing into his family’s affairs. Now that he’s mentioned it, I do recall the room he took me to at that high school party. It had been decorated with all sorts of baseball paraphernalia.
A mischievous grin spreads across his face, and Nicolo turns to meet my eyes. “I did more than play it. I made the varsity team my freshman year of high school.”
“Really?” Astonishment rings in my tone, and I catch myself a moment too late. But I don’t recall him playing for our school.
“Yes.” Nicolo’s expression darkens slightly, and at first, I think he’s registered my surprise as disbelief. But when he speaks, he doesn’t sound angry with me. Instead, his tone is bitter as he explains, “But high school was when my father’s expectations started to increase. I didn’t have time for baseball. I needed to learn the family business and understand the responsibilities of what it means to run the kind of enterprise we have.” Nicolo downs his martini in one gulp, as if to wash away a bad taste.
Setting his martini glass on the coffee table, he rises from the couch. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
Surprised by the unexpected shift in mood, I set aside my own unfinished drink and stand as well. In silence, I follow Nicolo back to the elevator. The tension that had seemed to dwindle after our rough, passionate sex culminates once again as the lift lowers us rapidly toward the parking garage. By the time the doors ding open, welcoming a cold gust of autumn air into the enclosed space, I feel as though I might have imagined the momentary window into Nicolo’s mind. For an instant, it felt as though he was opening up to me. But the sullen silence that brews inside his Maserati as we drive back toward my Uptown apartment would say otherwise.
Confusion wars within my mind once again. I feel like the rope in the midst of a game of tug-of-war. On one side, my mind demands I keep my distance from Nicolo. It’s the only way I can protect myself from the pain and regret I’m sure to feel if I try to give him my heart once again. It would be foolish to let down my guard around him after he’s proven time again that he not only cares little about how I feel but might even enjoy hurting me.
On the other side, my body is determined to revel in the sensation of his touch, to soak up every delicious moment with him as he plays me like a masterful musician. And sometimes, despite all the rational arguments on my brain’s behalf, it feels as though my body might just win out. Because no matter what I know about Nicolo, no matter how clear it is that he can and will hurt me, I can’t ignore the magnetic pull I feel toward him. And now, with just the tiniest window into who Nicolo is underneath all his anger, I find my mind losing ground in the argument.
“Good night,” Nicolo says, pulling me from my thoughts.
I’m startled to look up and see that we’re already back at my apartment building. Reaching for the door handle, I open it quickly and climb out, doing my best to keep my skirt down around my thighs as I do.
“Anya.”
Nicolo’s voice stops me just before I close the car door, and I bend at the waist to look back into the car questioningly.
“Thank you. For tonight. I know I might not be the best at showing it, but it helped.”
“Oh, um.” A shy smile tugs at my lips. “You’re welcome… Thanks for the drink.”
Straightening, I close his car door and head toward the front entrance of my building. Tonight, I’m starkly aware of the way he waits for me, his car idling at the curb until I step inside my apartment building. Not only has he taken the time to drive me home, but for the first time, he seems to consider my safety. An odd tingling at the base of my neck accompanies this realization, and I push the thought from my mind as I make my way up the stairs to my door.
I just don’t know what to make of it all. No matter how roughly Nicolo handles me, he still manages to make me orgasm multiple times when we’re together, which makes me feel even more conflicted about our arrangement since I’ve been so adamantly against it from the start. And now that he’s started to ask me about my personal life, things are even more baffling. I can only imagine he’s pretending to care, but I can’t fathom why because he’s already getting what he wants. It could only be because he needed a distraction tonight. And still, after our first real conversation in years, I find myself incapable of getting Nicolo off my mind.
* * *
I’m sorry,Anya. Something came up. I won’t be able to make practice today…
It’s the fifth time Robbie’s canceled our dance practice in a week, and I can’t do this anymore. His excuses are growing increasingly more flimsy, and they started so shortly after Paige’s comment that I’m sure she’s scared him away.
As I stare down at my phone, fighting back the tears, I strengthen my resolve and yank my bag from the cubby where I’d stored it. Ignoring Whitney’s question that follows me from the studio, I march out the door, not wasting time to change out my shoes as I race toward the stairs and make my way down to Robbie’s improv dance class on the floor below. It’s his final class of the day, one that should have just ended minutes ago when he sent the text. On the off chance that he hasn’t left campus for the day, I plan on confronting him to see what’s really going on.
“Robbie!” I call as I round the corner of the stairwell and spot his lanky form at the far end of the long hallway. I’m in luck. It looks as though he is on his way out the side door.
He cringes as my voice carries, turning several people’s heads, and he stops in his tracks to slowly turn and face me. He doesn’t try to meet me halfway as I stride down the hall with purpose, but lucky for me, he doesn’t make a run for it either.
Breathless and flustered when I finally reach him, I plant my fists on my hips and look up into his bashful baby face. “What is going on with you?” I demand. “You’ve bailed on me five times now. Is this your way of telling me you’re not up for being my partner anymore? Because if it is, it’s a pretty lousy way of going about it. I don’t have time to waste being yanked around, Robbie.”
Robbie flinches from the harsh accusation in my tone, and his eyes drop to the floor.
“What’s ‘come up’ this time that’s so important you can’t spare a second to tell me face to face. I’m one floor above you, for God’s sake. I’ve waited almost an hour to start practice when I could have gone home to do something else with my family if you’d given me any kind of notice.” I take a deep breath, trying to control my temper.
Robbie’s lips press together in discomfort, making the dimples pop on his cheeks. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” His eyes meet mine tentatively, brimming with apology. “I just…” He releases a deep sigh, his shoulders dropping in resignation. “I might have kind of panicked after what your friend said the other day–you know, about your mafia boyfriend going after your partners. I keep trying to get past it. I know it’s not your fault–that you would never hurt someone intentionally. But I just… kind of… freaked out and didn’t know what to do.”
My chest tightens as a knot sticks in my throat.How can I possibly be mad at him now?I would be scared, too, if I were in his shoes. Hell, I’m terrified, and I’m not even the one Nicolo has threatened to physically harm. However, I do know what he is capable of better than most.
