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“On second thought, probably not. He didn’t even show his face for the opening.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Faith pipes up. Lewis and I fling our heads around in her direction as she polishes a tall glass. “He was at the opening. He sat in his car in the parking lot the entire time.”
Silence drops as the three of us take this in.
“Are you sure? I didn’t see him.” Lewis frowns.
“That’s because you weren’t looking,” Faith purrs, a knowing look on her face only adds to her slightly mystical aura.
“I mean, who does that? Who sits in their car for the opening of their new business? The guy has a screw loose, to say the least.” Lewis is trying to keep his voice low, aware Piero is only a wall away, but his agitation is winning.
“I don’t think it’s anything to do with having a screw loose.” Faith’s voice is soft and deep compared to Lewis, whose squeaky voice is wound up like a corkscrew.
“And what makes you think that? How can anybody know what’s going on with that guy when all he does is arrive spontaneously, moan about something, tell everybody off, then leaves as fast as he arrived?”
“Call it women’s intuition.” Faith smirks. She knows she’s rattled Lewis. He hates the fact she is more insightful than he is. He shakes his head as he shuffles over to the cash register, immersing himself in the day’s takings.
Faith is humming to herself as I move back over to the counter.
“What do you mean about Gianni?” I whisper. Faith glances at me as if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “When you said his bad mood wasn’t to do with having a screw loose.” She inhales, putting down the now spotless glass before selecting another one.
“I think he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.” I’m motionless beside her, wondering if I can probe further without arousing her suspicion. The soft tone of Faith’s voice made me almost miss her comment. “And he hates his brother.” I spin myself to face her, my mind puzzling at her bizarre comment. I’m about to push her further when Piero steps out of the office as a group of office workers bundles into the shop.
I spring to life as Faith slowly follows, the chatter of the customers annoying me. I sieve through my brain, trying to recall the moments when Gianni and Piero have been together, and I realize these are few and far between.
ChapterEight
My balance is precarious as I cross the polished marble floor of Le Rouge in seven-inch heels. The high ceilings are dizzying and are strung with low-hung lights, complimenting the rich red furnishings that give Le Rouge its prestigious name.
It had to be heels. This isn’t the place you can turn up to in flat shoes. I wonder what the rest of the group will show up in. Casey doesn’t strike me as a heels kind of woman.
I’d finished my shift at four, giving me ample time to try on ten different outfits, all of which I’d decided were inappropriate for a staff night out. They were too short, too revealing, or too provocative. I’d begrudgingly settled on a simple black dress. The skirt sits at a respectable length above my knees, and the lace sleeves and collar give a hint of flesh without looking too brazen. I’d tried to contain my chest, but it was difficult in the strapless bra I needed to wear to complete the look. I’d straightened my hair and decided upon smoky eyes and nude lips. In the mirror at home, I’d been happy with my efforts, but now I’m here and alone, I feel exposed.
My thoughts swim to the last time I was out. The surroundings are a little different, and the company was of my own choosing.
It’d been a Saturday night, and I’d been in the Cobra Bar with Delia and Saskia. Delia had recently split up with her boyfriend, and Saskia and I were trying to convince her it was a blessing in disguise. The large gin cocktails were flowing far too easily and appeared to make Delia feel worse, not better.
“Who’s ready for another?” Delia slurs, slamming her empty glass on the table.
“I think we should get a pitcher,” I suggest. “The bar is getting busy.”
“We’ll get two. That should last us,” Delia adds, gazing sadly into her glass.
“I’ll go to the bar. I need the restroom,” Saskia says. “Delia, come and help me with the pitchers. It’ll take your mind off that dickweed ex.”
I remain at the table, guarding the bags and scrolling through Facebook.
“Chloe,” the voice announces.
“Yes,” I answer, slowly raising my eyes from my screen.
The man Cora knows as Richard is standing in front of me. This time Cora is not between us.
For a second, I’m falling, the chair useless beneath me.
“Carl.” As his name leaves my lips, I feel fourteen again. My inner teenager rears her head.
I stare, apprehension coating my skin.
