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Gabriella Matos
I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
My legs follow Vittorio's lead without me having to make any decisions, and I thank God for that, because I don't think I could, not now. My brain feels like it's turned to jelly, and all because I felt his lips on my skin.
My heart beats in every inch of my body instead of just my rib cage. I didn't know it was possible to feel him so intensely until that moment.
I was foolish to think I could play this game of pretending; all it took was one gesture from Vittorio to make me want to abandon the skin of the woman I was so determined to play tonight and run away.
My desire is to bury myself in a tightly closed shell, where my already abused heart will never again be exposed to the colossal damage that was done just by a whispered word, a crumb of a caress and a kiss on the corner of the lips.
Don is incredibly better at pretending than I am, because when we reach the dance floor, while I'm panting and completely affected, Vittorio has the same impassive mask on his face that he wears almost twenty-four hours a day and the same unwavering posture of which he never gets rid of. In hisperfect tuxedo and slicked-back hair, he is a god, and no mere mortal would dare say otherwise.
Standing facing each other with a meter between us, we wait for the music to start. Violins, accordions, and a cello cry out the first notes, and every bit of me vibrates, anxious, as I realize they're going to get a few minutes of what Vittorio's kiss left them hungry for, more of his presence.
How is this possible? How can I be so indelibly attracted to this man after such subtle, short touches? It's like consuming the first dose of an addiction I didn't know I had and now finding myself hopelessly dependent.
Vittorio's hand reaches out to me, and I accept it with my eyes on the floor, as the choreography orders. On either side of us, a line of couples does the same on the crowded dance floor.
I hold the skirt of my dress with my free hand and make a short curtsy. Then I stand up and finally meet my Don's gaze. It never leaves me.
Vittorio follows each of my movements as if there was nothing but me in the room, as I perform the first steps of the rehearsed dance. And when the moment finally arrives when our bodies come together with our hands intertwined, my body dances as if that were the greatest purpose of its existence.
Vittorio leads me around the room, walking with me and spinning me around. And the moment the exchange of pairs happens, the threads, those threads that pulled me towards him the first time I saw him, seem to become shorter and hiss as they are stretched in an almost painful way.
However, all it takes is for me to be returned to his arms for them to relax, filling my body and soul with a sense of belonging I've never felt before.
I am completely consumed by music. The notes involve me in a state of torpor so absolute that it's impossible not to conclude that I was wrong, I don't want to run and hide anymore. I want to stay here and pretend tonight and next and every night because if this were true, if the statement encrusted in the diamonds, I'm wearing around my neck were true... Oh, if it were true...
Too quickly the song comes to an end and, with it, the beautiful illusion that my eyes created just for me. I stop, panting, again, facing Vittorio and with just a meter between us. As my heart gives in to a crazy rhythm, reason is forced back down my throat, and I see my place again.
I lower my head, breathing hard, and the last note dies on the strings of a faltering violin. Before I feel ready to face the world around me, however, firm fingers rest under my chin, forcing me to look up. Blue eyes consume me without me having the chance to protect myself as new couples position themselves around us on the dance floor. When Vittorio speaks, his voice is low and hoarse.
“Bravo, Gabriella. Bravo.” I smile, feeling the familiar satisfaction that fills my veins every time I do something that pleases him. “You won your bargain. Choose, and it will be yours. At any time, just tell me what you want.”
I nod, but the pleasant feeling that invades me is tinged with shades of gray when I realize that the only thing I want, I can't have.
CHAPTER 37
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Vittorio Cataneo
“I don't remember you being on my schedule,Mamma,” I say as Anna Cataneo marches into my business office in her Louboutin’s. She got tired of trying to ambush me after family dinners, then.
The wine importer's building is not my favorite place to work, the winery is our family's main legal business and the one that demands the least of my time. Even if, sometimes, it still requires it.
“That's because I'm not.” She sits in front of my table.
Unlike my home office, this one doesn't follow the classic decor style. Here, steel and glass are everywhere, and this is another reason for my preference for home offices or at the La Santa training center.
“Then why am I talking to you?” I don't look away from my computer screen.
“I am worried.”
“You're always worried,Mamma. I'm going to need you to be more specific than that.” She throws a magazine onto my tabletop; a quick glance tells me that I've already read that headline. A photo from two nights ago appears on the cover of the magazine. Even though I've seen it a few times before, thephoto of Gabriella wearing the rose around her neck catches my attention for two seconds longer than it should. “Is your favorite magazine going out of business?”
“Vitto!”Mammatries to scold me, and I let out a long sigh before focusing my gaze on her. “The magazine is talking about marriage!” When I don't respond to her statement, my mother crosses her legs and approaches my table. Her white suit wrinkles with movement. “Thefamigliais talking.”
