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I’m nearly to my car when my phone rings. My father. Reluctantly, I answer, knowing I can’t avoid him forever.
“Come to the house. We need to talk.”
“I’m busy,” I lie.
“Be here within an hour.”
He disconnects with that order. Rather than go home, I go ahead and drive in the direction of the Moretti estate, anxious to get this over with. I walk inside, the scent of something baking in the air. I peek inside the office and find it empty.
I walk to the kitchen, curious what has the house smelling so good. Milana stands at the counter, spreading icing on what looks to be a carrot cake. She jumps when she finds me watching her.
“You scared the shit out of me. I thought I was finally alone in this house. Well, as alone as I can possibly be when I’m being watched twenty-four/seven.”
“I apologize. Carrot cake?”
She nods. “I needed a distraction. Baking it is.”
I approach her, eyeing her handiwork. “Looks delicious.”
I didn’t mean to get this close. Close enough to smell her perfume. Close enough to see her lips part. Hear her sharp intake of breath.
I’m fucking mesmerized as she takes her finger and scoops some icing onto it. She raises it to my lips, and I suck her finger inside my mouth, licking the sweet concoction from the tip.
Her cheeks tint pink, eyes hood with desire. How am I supposed to stand back and watch him marry her? She’s every damn thing I crave.
“Why are we torturing ourselves?” she asks.
“You know why.”
She sighs. “I know, but why can’t we say fuck it? To hell with our fathers and their impossible expectations of us. They don’t get to decide our futures.”
“Because that’s not the way this works.”
“You’re right. We’re supposed to pretend this is what we want. Me fucking your father, and you watching me do it.”
I start to say I hate it as much as she does, but my father walks in. He saunters right up to her and pulls her reluctant body into his arms.
“You weren’t in the office.”
He grins. “I didn’t call you here for a business meeting. Milana and I have set a date for the wedding. I want you to be my best man, Salvatore.”
She looks at me with sad eyes. Pained eyes.
“I’d be honored.”
But my father is wrong. Thisisabsolutely about business, and Milana is simply another transaction to him.
31
Milana
He’d be honored.Honored.Damn, he’s a good liar. Or am I just that fucking stupid? Did he know what he was winning?
“If you’re finished here, we’re going to the casino tonight. We haven’t made an appearance lately. Join us?”
Stefano looks to Salvatore, awaiting a response. We haven’t been to the casino since he won me in the poker game. Guess he didn’t want to show off his prize.
“Sure,” Salvatore answers.
