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He replies with a brilliant smile. “That sounds great, thank you, Mrs. Edwards.”
My mom lifts the receiver of the intercom phone on the wall and dials the kitchen, ordering Doris to serve tea and cake.
“While you’re at it, please bring a vase with water,” Mom adds before hanging up. Facing me, she rubs her hands together. “Colin has a surprise for you.”
I look at him. “You do?”
“Sit,” he says, taking the flowers from my hands and leaving them on the table. “It’s your birthday gift.”
Flopping down on the sofa, I give him an anxious smile. I hate surprises. “I thought the flowers were for my birthday.”
“This is your real gift,” he says, walking to the grand piano.
Oh, no. I cringe inwardly when he takes a seat on the bench and shakes his fingers to warm them up. Sometimes, he can be such a nerd. He’s an all-rounder, good at academics, music, and sport. He’s always considerate and friendly. His manners are impeccable. He never loses his cool, and he never says something bad about anybody, not even to side with me when I’m having a tiff with one of the kids in our neighborhood. I’m not sure why his flawless character irritates me so much today. I just wish he’d sometimes be a little less perfect.
He runs his fingers over the notes from C to B or whatever they’re called, testing them.
“It hasn’t been tuned,” my mom says, taking a seat next to me and crossing her legs. “The technician can’t come out until next week.”
“It’s a mighty fine piano, Mrs. Edwards.”
She beams. “Thank you.”
Diving into a saloon-style version of Happy Birthday, he sings, “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Bella.”
I make a gagging gesture.
He laughs and changes direction, letting his fingers fly over the keys as he launches into a complicated modern piece of music.
While I admire his skill, the music isn’t my style. Call me unsophisticated, but I find it awful. I clench my hands in my lap while he loses himself in the music.
It feels like it’s gone on forever before the beat slows and he pauses dramatically before hitting the final key. The high note still reverberates in the space when Doris enters with a tray.
Colin shoots me an expectant smile.
My mom claps. “Bravo. That was outstanding, Colin.”
I join in the applause, but my effort lacks enthusiasm.
“What is it called?” Mom asks.
“I composed it for Bella,” he says. “I haven’t titled it yet. Maybe I’ll call it Sweet Sixteen.”
Doris leaves the tray on the coffee table and straightens. “Bella has another guest.”
I jerk my head in her direction, expecting her to tell me my visitor is waiting in the entrance to be invited in, and then I do a double-take. Angelo stands in the doorframe with a huge box in his hands. My stomach lurches as if I’m on a rollercoaster. Blood surges through my body, and heat burns on my cheeks.
Wearing black jeans, a leather jacket, and a dark expression, he looks sinister and angry. The rings on his fingers and the chunky bracelets on his wrists add a bad-boy slash alternative-artsy vibe. I find the male accessories hot, but my mom’s upside-down smile as her gaze homes in on his hands says it’s too much jewelry for her liking.
He sweeps his gaze over the room, taking in the flowers, my dress, and the fine china reserved for special occasions. When he fixes his attention on Colin, the look in his glacial eyes turns diabolical.
Colin blanches. Who wouldn’t under such a stare? That glare promises torture and murder and all the unspeakable horrors of nightmares.
Shifting on the bench, Colin glances between Angelo and me.
“Angelo,” Mom says, turning as stiff as cardboard. “We didn’t expect you.”
He nails her with a piercing look. As if finding the sight boring, he quickly moves on, his next target me. I’m frozen in place, exposed and vulnerable, my secrets spilling out in the color of my cheeks and the breathless gasp that’s squeezed from my chest.
Tilting his head, he inspects my features. What he sees amuses him. He quirks an eyebrow. A knowing smile curves his lips.
He knows.
He knows the effect he has on me.
I’m such a damn open book.
“I brought the rest of Sabella’s gift,” he says in a suave voice, his accent barely detectible.
My mom says through tight lips, “As you can see, Sabella has a guest.”
Angelo’s tone is dry. “I noticed.”
“I’ll fetch another cup and slice of cake,” Doris says, enjoying the spectacle with a little too much glee. She’s never been a big fan of my mom.
My mom’s cutting look is lost on her as she leaves the room.
Always following the protocol of good manners, my mom stands and straightens her skirt. “Angelo, this is Colin, Sabella’s very special friend. Colin, this is Angelo, a business associate of my husband.”
