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Flustered for no apparent reason—other than spending time with my fiancé after three long months of trying to reinforce my guard—I chatter on and on. He finally interrupts me, but it’s not with a growl or dismissal.
“So you doubled the number of clients?” There is both praise and concern in his question.
I chance a look at him. He’s not even holding his phone. Gio is looking right at me. I avert my gaze, because in the car’s dimness I don’t want to misinterpret the emotion behind his eyes.
I don’t want to feed the hope, so I lean into the safety of our current topic. “Our projections are at twenty to thirty percent increase compared to last year. I had to hire more people, so the overhead is higher, but most of them work from home, which contributes to the bottom line.”
“If you continue this way, next year we can consider an IPO. You should be careful about growing this fast, though. Smaller shops—”
“We have a committee looking into implementing necessary processes. It’s important to Hilda, and me, that we stay small in terms of values and culture as we grow.”
He continues asking me questions and offers suggestions. By the time we arrive, my poor heart is galloping around, and my stomach is tied in a double knot.
I should be thrilled, but I can’t risk it. I can’t expose my heart. Allowing hope would be a suicide mission.
Perhaps his openness has nothing to do with me. He might have had a good day and I benefited. Still, as we walk to the gallery, I’m struggling to breathe. This can’t be happening. I protected my heart. I can’t have it shattered again.
The beautiful open space with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the street is packed with people. I can’t imagine anyone can truly appreciate the art. It’s more like a dance club, though the music is jazzier. Several well-dressed guests squeeze around us, leaving.
“Hey, guys. Good, you made it.” Sydney pushes through the crowd to greet us. Her gorgeous boyfriend shakes hands with Gio.
“Quite a turnout.” I try not to analyze Gio’s arm around my waist.
“I’m not so sure that’s good, and Andrea is high.” Sydney pleads with Gio, and some undecipherable communication passes between the siblings.
“It doesn’t seem like this is a crowd of art aficionados.” Gio frowns. “Where is he?”
He’s right. Most of the people here look like starving artists, hipsters, goths, bohemians. I’m not the one to judge by appearance, but this looks like a group of artists descended on the place. Not the typical crowd for a commercial gallery.
Sydney huffs with exasperation. “Somewhere here. I tried to talk to him, but it didn’t go well.”
A beautiful but somewhat frazzled blonde appears by our side. “Gio.”
“Violet.” He kisses her cheek. “This is my fiancée, Mila Ward. Mila, this is the gallery owner, Violet Mathison.” We shake hands and Gio continues. “Why did you send so many invitations for the event?”
“I didn’t,” she pushes through her teeth. “The man of the hour did.”
“Fuck me. Where is he?” Gio grabs my hand, and we follow Violet through the crowd, with Sydney and Hunter behind us.
There is some family crisis happening, that much is clear to me, but it’s my hand in his that steals all my attention. Large, warm, protective. The most intimate touch we’ve shared in months.
The gallery consists of three interconnected rooms, and we finally find Andrea in the last one. In the corner, under a large colorful canvas, he talks to a small crowd of guests. His long fingers direct his monologue like a musical performance.
Around him, women are gasping at everything he says, and it’s clear he relishes the attention, but behind the dilated pupils his inner torture is visible. When he flirted with me at Hunter’s opening, his struggles were obvious. What drives him to drugs?
He lifts his gaze. The man is roguishly handsome. All the Cassinetti brothers are. Andrea has a lean body like Gio, but his form is not as filled out.
His jawline and cheeks could cut diamonds, all sharp lines of raw beauty. His cat-like, greenish brown eyes scare me, but I can see how they draw women into madness.
“My family,” Andrea drawls and excuses himself. A collective sigh follows him as he joins us, his eyes narrowed and a cunning smile on his handsome face.
“What the fuck? You won’t sell anything if you bring all the stray cats in off the street and nobody can actually see the art.” Gio glares at his brother.
Andrea laughs and pats Gio’s cheek. “Not everything is about closing deals and making money, bro.”
Violet sighs and leaves to attend to a couple who seem mortified by the bursts of laughter and carefree behavior around them.
“Don’t act like an asshole. Why would you jeopardize your own opening?” Gio insists.
