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Nicolo picks up the envelope. “This seems a little more designed to be unsettling rather than letting you know he’s thinking of you.”
“And you don’t know my father,” I scoff.
His gaze slides slowly over me, lingering on my mouth for a moment. “I think I might know men like similar.”
“You might think you do, but you don’t. He’s. . .” How do I explain to Nicolo without telling him the truth?
My dad, well he’s got his fingers in the kind of pies he shouldn’t have. He rules our small town that lies just outside San Diego. He’s organized crime, as far as I know. And I hate it. I do. I’ve always had protection and I’m sure he wants me married off to a crony. Even a young crony is gross because . . . because I want to fall in love.
I want a home away from all the crossed lines and guns and dark secrets.
I want to be me. Whoever that is. At twenty-three I’ve got a good idea. But boxed up is not how I want to live my life and I know my dad.
He’s furious I took off.
Annoyed that I’d dare leave the nest.
To defy his wishes.
So, yeah, he’d send a card like this.
I’m not in hiding from him, but I should have known it was too easy to get a job and an apartment. The photography job wasn’t as easy to get, but this one was and . . .
After the expensive lingerie that my new friends Scarlett and Mia oohed and aahed over arrived here the other day—reason Gregory gave me a lecture today—have thrown me off a little. Making me look hard at shadows and jump at noises.
This card could be Dad. The lingerie, definitely not. Then again, it doesn’t mean anything except someone likes me.
But then there’s the guy who grabbed my arm with his sweaty hand and told me how he’d like to see my tits and bang me stupid, while gross, informs me of something.
I work in a bar. Men come in, get drunk, and say and do things.
I’m justifying the lingerie, I know. But what else am I meant to do?
Be scared?
Run home to Daddy?
“Earth to pretty Avah . . .”
Shaking my head, I smile at Nicolo, which is easy to do. “Just thinking. My dad, well, is not exactly happy I’m here. He’s controlling and yeah, he’s not above this.”
Nicolo looks at me.
“Besides,” I add, “it’s just a card. I’m being weird about it. I didn’t expect mail, you know?”
“Maybe.”
I pick up a fry and eat it, and he finishes his tequila. “What else do you do?”
“Photography.” The excitement at the one thing I do know I want to do bubbles up. “I have a second job two streets over, actually, at Perfect Memories.”
“What the fuck is that?” He scowls.
A small laugh bubbles up. “A studio that specializes in portraits, weddings, and special events. It’s not very exciting but it’s a good job and I enjoy it.”
“Taking photos of people all dolled up is good?” He raises a brow. Then lifts his beer and takes a swallow.
This time my laugh is bigger. “Well, not always, but it has its moments. I mean, you’re helping people make memories. Plus, I’m learning different techniques and so on.”
