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Slowly he drags his cigar back up to his plump, moist lips, grinning.
“That for me?” he asks.
“On the house,” she smiles.
Anton shoots me a meaningful look, indicating that I need to leave. This is not my interaction. This is out of my hands.
As I make my way back down the dock, I see Giorgio at the far end. I wave him over and he trudges toward me obediently.
“You had something to do with this?” I ask, knowing he isn’t going to answer me.
“She’s all ready to go,” he answers, meaning the boat. “You get another swing at him, I figure. But if you miss, you know what you have to do.”
I shouldn’t let him talk to me like this. I know my father wouldn’t have let any of his employees talk to him like this. But that doesn’t change the fact he’s right.
I’m going to make the call. Even as I think it, I know it’s going to happen. It’s not a matter of if but when.
Chapter 5
OPAL
“What are you doing?!” Tabby hollers up the stairs.
I check myself in the mirror again. Purple dress, tits out, strappy heels. The usual uniform. I think I have worn this dress a hundred times. People will probably recognize it before they recognize me.
“Opal! Come on!”
“I’m coming!” I yell back.
Should I change my lip gloss? Maybe bring that cute little gold clutch? I have no idea where it is. I think I loaned it to Tabby…
She appears in my bedroom doorway, pouting angrily. It’s really humid and hot tonight, and her curly red hair is sticking out in random directions, making a distracting spectacle of corkscrews that seem to hover in midair. This weather always makes her cranky.
“Should I change my dress?” I cringe.
“No! You should get your ass downstairs so we can leave already!” she barks back at me.
But I don’t know what to do. I tug at the dress, wishing it looked different. A little variety wouldn’t kill me. My hair is straight, cut in a bob that ends at my earlobes. It never does anything. Warm or cool, wet or dry, it is always just straight down. Not like Tabby, whose hair is so complicated and temperamental it practically has time zones.
“What about the pink one?”
“Oh my God, sister, you are killing me!” she bawls.
Dramatically, she stomps toward me and stares at my reflection in the mirror. Her hand shoots out accusingly.
“See? You’re gorgeous. You’re perfect in every way. Angels sing when they look at you. Can we please leave now?”
“Should I take another stab at contouring? Can I make my nose smaller? I’ve seen people do it, it won’t take long.”
“You practically look like anime already. Now please shut the eff up and let’s go.”
She stomps out of the room, her ankles wobbling inside the gold straps of her sandals. She has been on the lookout for a pair of perfect gold sandals for years. They are practically a Miami staple. Somehow, Tabby’s feet are always popping out one side or the other and breaking straps and generally not participating in the gold sandal thing at all. Doesn’t stop her from trying.
Dutifully, I give myself one more brief look in the mirror before decidingit’s fine, who cares, she’s probably rightand following her down the stairs. The Uber magically rolls up as soon as we leave the gate of my apartment complex and Tabby flings open the door so she can crawl into the back seat.
“If you are going to be like this all night, I am just going to stay home,” I warn her even as I crawl in too.
“I am not like anything,” she mutters.
