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I shut the urge to pick her up. She’s wearing one fucking hot summer dress that gives away her want for attention. She has all mine. I bend down to embrace her. My right-hand grazes the small of her back as her ripple breathing tickles my neck. She barely hugs me back, so I pull from her sooner than I want. She still smells like warm vanilla, my god.
¨Alex…I was hoping you wouldn’t see me. But, here we are.¨
The pesky married man turns to his friend, who’s talking to Micola’s dancer friend.
¨That heartache was a serious one. I can’t blame you.¨
Her eyes stretch in almost horror.
“You’re a fucking joke. What do you want? To remind me of it?¨
I mouth the word, ¨sorry¨ as I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear it.
¨First of all, you are stunning. That’s a no-brainer, though. Um…I wanted to see how you’re doing. Play a little catch-up.¨
¨Alex…you always have an agenda. That’s one thing I’ve learned in my dumb twenties.”
She cradles two drinks as she’s only halfway through the drink she already had. I slide the other one out of her hand. The slippery condensation reminds me of moments we had together in the shower. Moments in my memory box I’ve opened a handful of times to get in the mood with a few women. I was always in the mood with Micola.
I take a peek at her cleavage before her eyes pull me up with, ¨Alexander Matani? What is that you want?¨
¨First thing first. I am no longer Alex Matani. I’m Alexander Masters. No one has called me Matani for over five years. Please, let that sink in. I do not and will not respond to Matani. Can you respect that?¨
I dart my eyes at her, pulling all the seriousness into my face. She huffs, shakes her head, and rolls her eyes.
¨More than the Costas hate the Matanis. Makes sense to me.” She sips at her drink. ¨Are you aiming for a phenomenal reputation?¨
¨Little did I know how much the world loves the Costas.¨
I hate to admit, but as soon as the rivalry hit a breaking point after Micola’s father, Martin, was poisoned, the international stakes and relationships the Costas had became instantly clear. Immediately in the Sicilian, Italian, and overall international community, the Matani’s was not the family to be from.
¨Well, I’m not a fan of the way they do things, but I am glad to hear you had to change your name. Let that be a forever reminder of the damage your family’s done to us.¨
That was harsh.
¨Well, I guess it was nice seeing you, Alexander Masters.¨
She tries to turn, but I grip her elbow.
¨Your drink?¨
¨You clearly wanted it.¨ She cuts me with those black opal eyes.
¨Micola, please. How’s the art studio going?¨
¨How do you know about my art studio?¨ Her eyes grow large.
¨ I’ve heard. It’s here in Brooklyn, right?¨
She nods.
¨I know a couple artists who worked for you. They say you’re great at your job, and I’m not surprised your passion spills over.¨
¨Oh…Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.¨ She takes the cocktail from my hand.
¨This is my last drink. Only four for the night.¨ She reports this to me as if she needs to keep a tally. Curious if she’s developed a co-dependency on alcohol the way most artists do at some point in their lives.
¨But I hear you’re unable to provide summer lessons this summer?¨
