"Look at this whole thing, Giovanni,” she said bitterly, “It's all for show. Us, your family, this stupid party of yours—"
"Everyone needs something to cheer them up. Mama needs something to take her mind off things," I argued. "There's nothing she loves more than going to a good party.”
Kandice was already walking away. "Fine, then go to a party. But I don’t need a party. And please don't throw my parents into it or try and force my hand in this."
With that, she was gone.
The rest of the day, after I returned to my penthouse, I addressed minor things aimlessly. What Papa would have called tempo perso—lost time. Addressing work emails, minor memos, and design approvals wasn’t work. It wasn’t the same as going in myself, showing a sense of presence and commitment.
I refused an invitation from Mama and Maria to come over for dinner, despite being hungry and having no food in the fridge.
All that would entail is more chatter about Kandice—Kandice and me… I was sure of it. They would try and keep the subject off the funeral, anyway. Today had been hard enough without having to lie more about Kandice and this situation that seemed to be spiraling out of control.
I sipped on a glass of wine, thinking about the path that I'd laid out in front of myself.
Was this what life was going to be like from now on, side stepping from one half truth to the next? Never being able to tell my family about just how far I'd gone to protect them? How much I’d…
The ring of my phone stopped my sour contemplation. Putting my glass on the counter, I answered.
"Where is he? Why would you lie to me like that!" It was Gino.
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"You lied to me," Gino roared. "He's sick, maybe dying, but no way did he go that fast, it's impossible. I'm almost in Miami, so tell me, where is Papa?"
I swallowed. There seemed to be no way to tell Gino the truth in a gentle way, no way to make him understand I hadn’t been lying in Shanghai. I had to just get it over with.
"I'm not lying," I said. "You want to know where our entire family was today? We were burying Papa. If you don't believe me, then go to Our Lady of Mercy Catholic Cemetery in Miami yourself. Look for plot 2879B2."
The silence was so long that I almost thought Gino had hung up until the dial tone sounded.
Then I was sure of it. Things were falling apart, fast. Kandice, now Gino...
No matter. I am Giovanni Bruno. Bruno men, we fix things.
Maybe I couldn't fix the situation with Gino right now, maybe he needed space. Maybe this would jar him enough to try.
But Kandice... That, I could fix. Or at least try.
I dialed her number, sitting completely still as the phone rang... and rang... I stood up and started pacing as it continued to ring... and ring... Then went to voicemail.
I hung up.
How could I be expected to fix anything if she wouldn't give me a chance?
A realization occurred to me. I dialed a familiar number, and only had to wait one ring.
“Hi James,” I said and launched into the favor I had to ask.
19
Kandice
I stared as the phone rang and rang.
"Are you going to pick that up?" Jen asked, peering over to look at the name. "Or am I going to have to steal Mr. Sex God right out from under your nose?"
"Be my guest," I said, sipping my cocktail with a sigh. "Married life sure isn't all it's cracked up to be."
"Married life has a reputation for being worth it?" Jen asked, perplexed. We cracked up.
"But seriously though," I said. "Maybe I'm being a bit of a brat, but I thought it would be more businesslike. Casual. Have some space."
"It's never easy when genitalia are involved," Jen said with a wistful sigh, clutching her glass to her chest, as she stared at the musician-looking guy in a fedora stationed two bar stools down from us.
"You're right," I said. "I've been acting like an idiot. Just because I'm insanely attracted to Giovanni, doesn't mean I should be giving into it. He's clearly all over the place with how this should look and feel. The best thing I can do for myself is stay away."
Jen just nodded absentmindedly, her brown eyes still focused on the musician lookalike.
"Jen?" I asked. "Hello?"
"Sorry," she said. "You just said that like, five times, so I’ve started to tune you out. I mean, I love you, but my best friend isn't a hypocrite who's full of shit, so..."
"Hey!" I said, poking her in the ribs. She giggled evilly.
"Okay, okay, what do you want me to say? He's the jerk and the only one at fault? Okay, let's go find a bunch of Giovanni pictures, make a dartboard and throw darts at it until you feel better." She forced a grin. "There, happy?"
"No," I admitted with another sigh.
The more I thought about it, the more I felt like some Victorian heroine, except I was certain that no Victorian heroine had hot sex with their heroes. Well, they didn't write about it, anyway.
"I do appreciate you being honest with me, it's just, it hurts when you look at it straight on. It would just be so much easier to blame Giovanni for all of this."
"It would, wouldn't it?" Jen said helpfully. “Other than realizing that this is actually a 50/50 thing, amiga."
"Please don't," I said. One of Jen's favorite things to do when she was getting tipsy was use her grade nine Spanish "skills", if you could call them that, on me.
"Sí furiosa, tú," Jen continued, smirking.
She finished the rest of her drink in one ambitious swig. "Seriously though? You like him, he likes you. What's the problem?"
"I do not like him," I corrected her. "I enjoy sleeping with him. There's a difference."
Jen shrugged. "That's more than you could have said for Jin."
"Don't," I warned.
Jen threw up both hands as if she was at gunpoint. "Okay, okay, furiosa amiga. Anyway, what's this great big realization you've come to, then?"
"I don't know," I admitted, feeling more and more stupid the more I spoke. "That's just the thing. I feel dumb saying that I should stay away from Giovanni and control myself, because I've been saying that for days now and it's done me no good. Every time I'm with him, my self-control just disappears. I always end up in bed with him. Maybe it would just be better for my self-respect to not make myself any promises and just hope for the best."
Jen lifted her hand to her mouth in an expression of faux shock. "Kandice McArthur, backing down? I never thought I'd see the day."
"Sometimes the best defense is no offence," I said, butchering the original quote.
Jen reached over and gave me a pat. "That's my girl. Now what do you say we go watch the ladies with the sequin feather hats dance, while all those drunk guys drool over them?"
"You had me at feather hats," I said as we linked arms.
As we edged through the crowd to get a better look at the women's nearly synchronized dance moves, Jen was admiring the diversity of the crowd.
"I told you this place was hopping. My friend told me this is the best place in Miami."
"It's called Mango's, right?" I asked, my gaze distracted by the endless rain of streamers falling from the sky and the multi-colored disco lights. I had been in such a single focused mindset to find Jen and get a drink in me that I barely noticed what type of atmosphere I was walking in to when I arrived, just that it fit the description Jen had given me about Mango’s.
Jen just patted me again. "I'm going to get you another drink."
As we finished our next round, Jen and I were relaxed enough, and having a good enough time, that we started sneaking furtive looks at the dance floor, jampacked with people.
"What do you say?" Jen asked. "Do you need another drink, or are you ready now?"
I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the throbbing crowd in response. We had to angle our way past small groups of people along the sidelines, but I found that shoving people and then apologizing afterwards was an effe
ctive enough strategy. Most people weren't too upset, if you apologized as you slid by. Then smiled.
At any rate, we finally made it to the edge of the dance floor. Some song by some rap guy pumped through the speakers.
We danced as the red, green, and yellow lights spilled over our bodies and faces, the beat leading us on.
We gyrated, bumped hips, and did some funny moves from when we were kids—such classics as the shopping kart and disco-ing.
The alcohol sure had loosened my hips.
Then, I felt hands slip over my waist.
Um, hello?
There was something about that hold, those strong arms that...
I shot Jen a questioning look, but she'd just made the acquaintance of a tall, tan guy. That was wing-woman rule number one, don't interfere unless your friend wants you to, or the guy seems like a creep. Apparently, neither applied here.
Turning around, my breath left me.
Giovanni?
He twisted me back around and guided my hips to the beat.
My brain was pounding along to the song, unable to form a coherent thought.
Damn it, I shouldn't have had four drinks. Two was enough to get me tipsy, three was enough to have an awesome time. Four... That was when I started doing stupid things, like seeing Giovanni when he wasn't there.
Shaking my head furiously, I turned around again.
Yep, that was Giovanni.
How was he here, and what weird fucking coincidence kept bringing us together... This was all impossible. The thought left my mind quickly as I accustomed to the feel of his body pressed against mine, leading mine, the swell of his building erection pressing against my ass, his hands strong but gentle.
It felt good.
I was a slave to the rhythm. The beat demanded movement, every single body part moving in sync with the deep bass. I hated how good Giovanni’s hands felt, how safe I felt...
The beat made our bodies merge, sliding against each other as we moved to the music. My hips swayed back and forth. Giovanni's hands and pelvis moved up and down my body, in perfect time with the music, building toward something inevitable.
I caught Jen’s eye, and she came over.
“Call me tomorrow?” she asked.
“But…” I began.
She just shook her head, smiling. The Latino guy was gone, but she’d met up with a few other girls I vaguely recognized as her other friends.
“You sure?” I asked.
She nodded. Then, leaning in, she said, “Have fun.”
I sank back into the song and Giovanni’s arms.
Then the song changed, and Giovanni turned me around and pressed his face to mine.
Now, I understood.
This. This was what it was all for. Our lips moved in time to the beat.
By the time I remembered what I was doing, who this was and what it meant, our lips were already twisting together. There was no going back. It felt so damn good. Around us, everything fell into a muffled din: the noise, the voices, the music. Bodies moved, people sang, and we danced, danced, and danced. Our lips and tongues danced. Even my thoughts seemed to sway, twirling with what was going to happen next. To where this was all leading, to where it had led before.
Fuck, it felt good. Right.
Then he was leading me out, away from the beat toward the cool night air.
One breath of fresh air and I realized my mistake. I stopped moving. Giovanni paused.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
Giovanni's face was apologetic, though he didn't speak.
"I'm serious," I insisted.
"I have a friend who has booths all over," he confessed. "James," he said. "He has people stationed all around the city. I sent him a picture of you, explained the situation, and—"
"So what?" I asked, irrationally mad. "It's just open season now and you can tell whoever you want about this, but I have to check with you before I do anything?"
"Let's get real," Giovanni said, a tone of finality in his voice. "That friend of yours over there, you did tell her. Didn't you?"
"Your point?" I spat back.
"My point is, there are no hard and fast rules. If you really want to tell someone about us, just ask. It's not that big of a deal."
"But it is," I said. "That's the exact issue. Everything ends up a big deal! Navigating this is like trying to find my way through a maze, but the walls keep changing. One minute, it's all business. The next minute, you're cuddling me—"
My words finally broke through the cold veneer.
Giovanni's head hung slightly. "You're right."
Why didn't that make me feel any better?
"You're right," he continued. "I've been going back and forth. But not just with you, with myself, too. I don't know what to make of this. I genuinely like spending time with you, but..." He trailed off.
"But what?"
I wasn't sure what I wanted him to say, just that I needed him to finish his sentence.
"But I don't know what any of this means,” Giovanni said. “I only know one thing." He took a step toward me, closing the distance between us. His charcoal gaze dipped to my lips. In the moonlight, the arch of his cheekbones, the dusting of stubble on his chin and cheeks, the sparkle of his eyes... He looked unearthly, beautiful.
"Oh yeah?" I found myself saying.
"This." Then he gave me his answer: he kissed me.
Mouth to mouth, we started moving together again.
That kiss took over everything. All sound, all sense. Everything melted away. We kissed our way to a car. I bumped into it as he backed us up. Then, he backed me into it.
We separated for air when the vehicle began to move, and I realized that this wasn't a car. It was a limo.
Giovanni shut the screen separating us from the driver with a significant look my way.
"I told him to take us anywhere, anywhere far. Just so I could have more time with you."
I stared at him.
Talk about a harlequin romance—and my pussy was buying into it. All of it.
And if he snuck his fingers down there, it’d be impossible to deny just how wet I was.
Thankfully, he was too busy sucking and nibbling on my throat. I groaned.
"Giovanni, don't. You'll..."
"What?" he chided me. "Leave a mark? Show people you're mine?"
I pushed him away. His eyes flashed, probably a reflection of mine. "Don't say that."
Giovanni just stared at me. "Or what?"
Amidst the suffocating heat of my attraction, anger flared up. I opened my mouth, then closed it, struggling to voice the different emotions battling in my mind—the contradictions.
"That's what I thought," he said, clamoring over me, pinning me down, his lips moving over my collar bones.
I shoved him away with my knee. "Fuck you."
He pulled up my dress. "If you're lucky."
I wanted to knee him again, push him off in frustration, my anger boiling but… His lips connected with my inner thigh.
Oh... Fuck.
God. I hated knowing this frustration, my infuriation with him would only be appeased by…
His soft, demanding lips, his insistent teeth and scratchy stubble playing over my upper thighs, his lips trailing over my sensitive skin, distracting me. I needed this. He was so damned skillful. The bastard.
My hands slid through his soft chocolate strands, holding on as his lips moved on toward where I was flushed the most. My panties were still there, though. Yes, Giovanni knew that all right. His tongue swept over the fabric and I let out a groan.
That asshole. He was teasing me.
By now, my clit was begging for his touch. Begging for release.
But Giovanni was taking his sweet time. He pressed his kisses toward the wetness, our combined moisture making the fabric feel almost invisible.
Fuck, I needed him there. No more layers between us, his lips, my clit. His fingers, my pussy. I needed it.
I arched my hips toward him, p
ushing into his face so I could feel his breath on me. He slipped my lace panties to the side and dipped a taunting finger into me, his eyes fixated on me with a glint that made me want to slap him. I did.
He caught my hand mid-air. "Careful," he said.
"Or what?" I groaned as his fingers gently stroked the skin under my panties, the top of my landing strip.
"Or I won't do this," he said, shoving a finger in.
"Or this," he added, beginning to pump into me.
Then faster. "Or this." He added another finger.
A moan escaped me again.
Fuck.
Now the flush of my pussy was spreading down my legs, a delicious, warm numbness that annihilated all thought. Everything.
All I wanted, all I needed was...
"More," I croaked. "Giovanni. More."
His smirk was enough to make me want to slap him again. I wanted to disobey him, deny him, but I also wanted him to continue.
"I didn't quite catch that," he said cruelly, upping his pace.
Fuck. If he continued at this rate, I'd... I came, shivering and groaning, clasping. Losing myself all over his fingers.
Giovanni paused. He dipped his forehead to mine, the embers of his eyes staring deeply, insistently into mine. "Say please," he commanded.
That asshole.
But my whole body tingled with the anticipation, the need. My body was ablaze with arousal that wasn't anywhere near sated.
I shoved my pelvis closer toward him then as I grudgingly mumbled, "Please."
"That's my girl," he said, sliding his fingers back into me. He didn't hesitate to continue where he'd left off, my sensitivity exploded as his fingers moved deftly inside me. This time, he was building me even higher, moving his other hand to palm my ass and slap it. His lips dove back down. They lapped, kissed, and nibbled, while his stubble scratched along my upper thigh.
His mouth finally moved to my apex, his tongue beginning to make smaller and smaller circles around my clit until... His lips suctioned down.
Oh. Fuck. Yes.
His lips and tongue got to work, suckling me as his fingers continued to pick up the pace. In and out, and around, faster, his fingers slid into me. His tongue and lips thrummed over me, suckling and lapping, his breath hot on my skin. I writhed with glory and bliss I didn't even know were possible.
Playing Pretend Box Set Page 28