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“Her face is as pink as her gown,” Kylie whispers.
“So it is.” I haven’t seen Charlie take an interest in anyone since her husband died, and the Beast is the very last man I would have thought she’d want. Charlie is prim and proper, not a hair out of place, always wearing cheery floral print dresses, a casserole delivery machine.
The Beast is… well… the Beast.
“I’m not sure sweet Charlie could handle him,” I say.
Kylie disagrees, eyeing the tattooed biceps. “Oh, I think you’re wrong. I think maybe he couldn’t handle her. Charlie’s as sweet as sugar but I’m sure she’s got a feisty streak under all those floral prints and strands of pearls.”
“Never mind.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders, turning her in the other direction as we walk down the path. “I think we’ve seen enough of his tats for one day.”
She reaches out, fingering the delicate petals of a blood-red rose as we pass a line of deeply hued blooms. Something is on her mind. I sneak a glance at her, seeing her brow is creased in the center as it does when she’s deep in thought. I wait, knowing it will only be another moment before she asks her question.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” She sneaks a peek up at me. “That you were jealous? I would have stopped, you know. I wouldn’t have wanted to make you feel that way. Especially after all you’ve done for me and my Nonna.”
“Did I say I was jealous?” I ask.
“You didn’t have to,” she says. “The kidnapping just happening to be on the night of ASAG says it all. You could have just asked me not to attend. I owe you after all your help.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say.
“But why not say something?” she asks. “Why not tell me how you felt?”
I give a simple shrug. “You weren’t mine.”
She gives me a shy glance. “And now I am?”
“Yes. Now you are.” I bring her closer, kissing the top of her head. Her hair is soft as silk and smells of coconut and vanilla. It reminds me of the beaches of the Parrish. “And there’s no escaping.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see,” she says. But she’s smiling as she says the words.
Just as I’m leaning down to kiss her, a business-like Paige comes rushing down the stone path.
“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Fifteen minutes was over twenty minutes ago. We need to get you on stage, Kylie. The families have heard about your organizing skills and they’re all clamoring for your services.”
“Really?”
Kylie looks surprised. But who wouldn’t want her at their disposal?
Paige nods emphatically, her dark hair bobbing up and down. “Yes. I told them to show me how much they want you with their wallets. I’m planning an entire new wing in the Home this year, a spa for our aging clients. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” She slips an arm through Kylie’s, guiding her in the direction of the theater. “The touch of a massage can do wonders for a person.”
“That’s so sweet,” Kylie says. “I’m glad I can help in some way.”
“Come on. Let’s go.” Paige offers me an apology as she drags my date away. “Sorry, Cannon. Beauty calls.”
“Save me a dance?” Kylie says, but she’s gone before I can kiss her goodbye, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air.
“God help me,” I murmur to myself. “After this auction, she’s all mine.”
We gather in the town’s theater, a mini replica of one of Carnegie Hall’s auditoriums, a place Paige commissioned after returning home from a girls’ night out in Midtown Manhattan and seeing a child piano prodigy play there. She insisted our children have a similar venue to perform their own concerts and plays. The Hamlet has yet to produce a theatrical prodigy, but I have to admit, the place is pretty stunning.
I sink into a red velvet seat, taking in the Renaissance Revival architecture. The arches and curves sculpted above me remind me of Italy. I think of Fire. I miss my club.
Then I remember what’s taking place there tonight and I take a deep breath of relief, knowing I won’t have to bear the sight of Kylie and her many partners. I wish she was sitting beside me now. Why does she have to be in this auction, anyway. Can’t I have her to myself for a moment? Charity, Cannon. This is all for a good cause.
I sit, bored out of my mind, as we go through endless auction items. A tutoring session for your child, a week of frozen homemade dinners courtesy of Charlie, a salsa dancing lesson. I don’t bother bidding; I’ve already handed Bronson a fat check of a donation for their cause. My eyelids are growing heavy, the darkness of the theater and the cushiness of the chair making me drift off.
Paige’s high voice trills through the room. “Kylie Barone! Organizer extraordinaire. Coming to us all the way from Club Fire of the family’s Italian branch, Kylie will bring peace and tidiness to any disorganized corner of your home. If you’ve got junk drawers and overflowing closets, Kylie’s your girl!”
