“Another time,” I say in a tight voice.
“What happened? Little Miss Violinist is too much of a tight-ass for the likes of you? She didn’t offer to blow you in the corner? Wouldn’t let you pluck her strings?” Tommy doubles over with laughter as I swallow the expletives on the tip of my tongue.
Those words I spoke to Julia just minutes ago, trying to convince her I’m a good guy who wants more than just a quick lay…I’ve said them before, at least a million times to other women.
But before now, it was all bullshit. I never meant a single word.
The words served their purpose and got me what I wanted.
I guess the shoe’s on the other foot now.
And I don’t fucking like it one bit.
Chapter Three
Julia
I made the right choice.
I don’t know how much time passes as I sit and stare at the artificial ficus tree in front of me. I raise my wine glass to my lips, sip the cool liquid, and picture the pained expression on Antonio’s face just before he walked out of the lounge.
And my life.
What I said was true.
He’s not the kind of guy who’d sit around and wait for me to return from my tours.
There would be too much temptation, too many women who’d catch his eye while I was away. I’m sure of it.
I let out a frustrated sigh.
Yeah, because my dating experience is so extensive, right?
I wish I could believe that I’d be enough for him, but I saw how the women in this lounge alone eyed him up and down like predators stalking their prey. He must get that reaction from the opposite sex all the time.
How could I possibly compete with that?
The connection between us…I take another sip of wine to cool the heat swirling in my belly at the thought…it was like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
But was it real?
Would I even know?
I’ve worked so hard to achieve this level in my career. I gave up a lot, yes, but I did it for a reason.
I can’t risk it all on a guy, no matter how insanely delicious he may be.
Besides, if he knew who my father was, he’d probably stand down anyway.
I am untouchable.
And not in the good way.
But it’s the life I chose and it’s the only one I know.
I’ve never regretted my decisions.
For the first time, though, I question them.
Was this supposed to be a wake-up call for me? To give me a glimpse of what it could be like to really live and to not use my violin as a shield against the world because I’m afraid of getting hurt?
I guzzle the remaining wine in my glass and set the goblet on the table.
I lost it after thinking Antonio had ditched me, and we’d only just met.
How would I react if the circumstances were different…if I’d have given him my completely naïve heart and he cut and ran?
I’ve never lost anyone close to me, but the fear is ever-present, especially with the line of work my father is in. I know there are threats. I know the risks.
Maybe it’s why I keep my circle so small. The fewer people who get close, the less chance I have of being left behind.
Jesus, do I have issues?
I can’t lose focus now, anyway.
I’m so close to reaching all of my goals, to making my music foundation a global force, to becoming a musical icon in my field.
Yes, let’s use my goals as an excuse for turning my nose up at a chance for happiness with another person. Another sexy, seductive, and charming person who took interest in me before he even knew who I was or what I could get him.
It was a nice change.
Another reason why my circle is so damn tight.
I tap my fingertips on the side of the glass, unable to erase Antonio’s face from my mind.
His deep, soulful eyes, his mischievous smirk, his chiseled jaw, the thick hair that flopped over his right eye…
Dammit.
Did I make the right choice?
I rub my temples and my phone bleeps from the depths of my handbag.
My heart jumps, and I grab for it, silently berating myself for being so anxious. It’s not like he has the number. I casually look over at the entrance to the lounge and roll my eyes. As if I really expect Antonio to burst through the doors, fall to his knees in front of me, and profess his undying love, begging me to reconsider after we shared only a sliver of time together.
I stab the Accept button.
“Julia! Hi! Marco is on his way to the lounge to escort you to your gate, okay?”
I smile. “Thanks, Marisa. I appreciate it.” I barely thought about my concert stalker while Antonio was with me, but maybe having my own security by my side as I navigate this terminal isn’t a bad idea.
“I can’t get in touch with Pietro,” she continues. “I’ve tried every number, as well as his home, but nobody has heard from him at all. Did you hear anything?”
Marisa is a bit of an alarmist and she also answers directly to my father with regard to my security, so I really didn’t want to rehash my experience at the concert venue earlier. My dad would probably have guys combing the streets of Palermo looking for the stalker, as well as Pietro.
And neither would have fared well if found alive.
“I didn’t,” I say. “And I’ve tried plenty of times myself.”
“Your father won’t be happy to hear about that,” Marisa mutters. “God, I hate being the messenger.”
I chuckle. “I’m sure that’s a shared feeling between you and everyone else who answers to him.”
Marisa laughs. “Okay, sweetie. Well, have a great flight, get some rest, and I will see you soon!”
“Thanks, again, Marisa. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” And it’s true. She’s my closest girlfriend. My only one, really.
“Likewise!” she sings. “Love you!”
“Love you, too.”
I end the call and settle back against the couch cushion until my phone pings again with a text from Marco. I pull myself up with a sigh and grab my things. When he appears next to me wearing a warm smile, holding out his hand for my violin case, I shake my head.
He shrugs. “I’ll always try.”
“And I’ll always decline, but I’ll still be grateful you cared enough to ask,” I reply with a wink.
We walk toward the gate which is, of course, at the opposite end of the terminal, and since I don’t have sneakers stuffed into my handbag, it’s slow going. I smooth down the front of the I Love Palermo t-shirt I’m wearing as we trudge to the gate. I’d better rethink this whole change of clothes thing while I’m on break.
My eyes flit in all directions, but Antonio’s face never appears in the crowd. I bite down on my lower lip, a dull ache in my belly.
He’s gone.
And I made it so.
A pang in my chest jolts me since I thought I’d already come to terms with my decision. The thoughts popping between my temples tell me otherwise.
He was the first person to take interest in me as a person, not as a famed musician.
He told me I was beautiful with no angle or agenda.
He handed over a prized possession, asking nothing in return except my time.
Is it really his fault he looks the way he does and that women want to lick him up and down?
Hell, I know I do.
A frustrated sigh escapes my lips.
I slapped Fate in the face a little while ago and basically told her to fuck off when I sent Antonio away.
I thought she gave me a gift…that being a glimpse into what I want for my life.
Not the person I would share it with.
But Antonio left a mark, one I can’t seem to erase, and that makes me think I let him go too soon.
Before tonight, I didn’t think I wanted more out of my life. I thought I had it all. A perfect bubble of a life where things are safe and organized and free
from angst and drama.
Perfectly boring.
And all it takes is one tiny prick to see it all explode, seeping out into the unknown.
That used to scare me.
Now I crave it…I mean, him.
Fate isn’t the real bitch.
Irony is.
I made the wrong choice.
* * *
I awaken the next morning, snuggled under my plush comforter, breathing in the scent of lavender, courtesy of the essential oil diffusers I set up once I got home last night. My muscles were tight from the short flight, my feet aching. I fell into my bed, resisting the temptation to set my alarm, and slept peacefully with no regard for a schedule or commitments. For the first time in months, I felt free.
And I like it.
I take a deep breath, letting the sweet scent infuse my senses. Sunlight streams in through the slits in the full-length curtains hanging over the windows in my bedroom. The whole room is decorated in soft cream with hints of gold accents. It’s bright and airy and soothing, more so with the morning light glimmering along the surfaces of my furniture.
I peek over at the clock on my night table and let out a moan, stretching my arms overhead.
Eleven o’clock. And I’m starving.
I pick up my phone and see that the texts from Mama started to come in a few hours ago. I smile, knowing full well what kind of lunch spread will await me at my parents’ home. If my mother has been texting for hours, she’s been cooking for just as long.
And who am I to make her wait?
My mouth waters just thinking about it. I can almost smell the fresh basil-infused gravy bubbling on her stove.
A loud rumbling in my stomach makes me grin.
Yes, it’s definitely time to wake up.
I shoot off a text to Mama letting her know I’ll be over soon. Papa and I have a lot to discuss about the foundation — appearances I will make, lessons I will give, and music schools I will visit while I’m on break from my tour. It’s always been close to my heart because I remember how much my parents sacrificed to help me grow as a musician and do what I loved. There are so many children out there who have the love and the raw talent but don’t have parents who can sacrifice a single cent for their future. Those are the kids I want to help. They have the desire, they just need the means.
I scrub my face in the bathroom, seeing Antonio’s face float in front of me when I told him about how much my parents had given up to help me achieve my dreams. I remember his words…how genuine and heart-felt they were.
“Argh!” I yell into the towel. I let him go! Is this the universe out to torment me for making a shitty decision? Will I ever be able to forget the way his eyes melted my insides and awoke a swarm of butterflies in my belly that I hadn’t even known were taking up residence because they’d been still for so long?
For forever, basically.
I pull my hair into a low ponytail, pull on a pair of black leggings, and an oversized sweatshirt. We’re finally moving away from winter, but there’s still a chill in the air that requires layering of clothes. I send a text to Carmine, my driver, and moments later, he replies that he’s out front.
I hate to drive, especially here in Rome. People are insane, maneuvering their cars to dart in and out of lanes, swerving all over the congested roads. I was in a bad accident once, not long after I got my license. My car was railroaded by a guy who’d had a few too many glasses of chianti, and I was hospitalized for almost a month with internal injuries. By some miracle, my hands were completely unscathed. Once I recovered, I swore I’d never get behind the wheel again. Papa got me a driver soon afterward, and I’ve been very happy ever since then, riding in the backseat of an expensive car as opposed to driving it myself.
I flash a bright smile at Carmine, who holds open the back door for me and my violin.
I never travel without it.
And Mama always loves when I play, so I figured I’d bring it and give her a sample of the new set I performed in Palermo.
I slide into the backseat and lean against it, my eyes fluttering closed. The leather is so soft and buttery under my fingertips, and the temperature is a perfect twenty-four degrees Celsius.
Not that I’m a princess or anything.
“How did you sleep, Miss?” Carmine asks. I’d practically been comatose when he dropped me off last night.
“Like a rock,” I say with a laugh. “And I didn’t set a single alarm. It was bliss!”
We make small talk about the tour as the car zips down Via Nazionale. Horns honk and cars cut off other cars around us, but Carmine keeps his cool.
I, on the other hand, am close to suffering an anxiety attack back here.
Minutes later, Carmine pulls up in front of a large, brick-face townhome, the arched entryway decorated in thick evergreen.
I smile up at my childhood home, taking a second to reflect upon my charmed life. Everything I have, everything I’ve become is all because of my parents. They’ve always worked so hard to provide for me and to give me opportunities others would kill for.
God, I’ve missed them over these past months.
I clasp my hands together as Carmine pulls open the back door. I grab the handle of my violin case and step out onto the sidewalk, my heel skidding a bit on the slick cobblestone road. Luckily, he grabs my elbow before my foot flies out from under me. I grasp his shoulder, letting out a breathless giggle.
“Be careful, Miss.” Carmine smiles, his bright blue eyes twinkling in the sunlight.
I grasp the handle of the case and take a few cautious steps toward the front door, clutching the railing as I ascend. “Thanks, Carmine! I’ll see you later!” I reach out to click the brass door knocker, but before my fingers graze the metal, the door swings open and my mother pulls me in for a warm hug.
“Mi amore! You look beautiful! You are glowing!”
I let out a breathless laugh. “No, Mama. That’s just from the cold.”
“Ah, it’s so wonderful to have you home, tesoro!” She pulls away a slight bit, her smile reaching to her dark, tear-filled eyes. “I’ve missed you so much.”
I squeeze Mama tight once again, kissing her on each cheek. “I love you so much. And I’ve missed you and Papa, too.”
Mama links her arm with mine, leading me into the kitchen. I look around my childhood home, breathing in the mouth-watering scents of her specialties. My stomach rumbles with each step closer to the stove.
“Mama, your cooking is going to fatten me up! How do you expect me to fit into my costumes during the next leg of my tour?”
She shrugs with a mischievous smile on her round face. “You’re off to St. Petersburg first, yes? You’ll thank me when you land in Russia.”
I giggle, tearing off the end of a freshly baked loaf of bread. A loud moan slips out of my mouth as I savor the still-warm slice. I dip it into a bowl of olive oil and the flavor damn-near makes me swoon.
Give me some home-baked ciabatta and I melt into a puddle of goo.
“So,” Mama says, wiping her hands on her apron before stirring the marinara sauce bubbling on the stovetop. “The concert last night was a big success? Standing room only, Marisa said?”
I nod, munching on a rosemary-infused breadstick. “Completely packed. I guess I need to do more shows in Palermo. There seems to be big demand there.” More shows, more opportunities to find the one whom I let slip through my fingers…
Maybe Fate will give me a second chance?
I swallow a groan. I really am hopeless.
Mama smiles. “They have always loved you. Besides, people know the work you do off-stage, as well. You have a good heart and people can relate to that. You still remember what’s important, mi amore.”
I grin, grabbing another breadstick. “It was an amazing experience, but I’m so glad to be home. I really need a break and time to focus on my other projects. Besides, you need time to recreate a new costume wardrobe for me.”
Mama laughs and stirs the sauce. “Should
I take your measurements now or wait a bit?”
“Now, of course. You have to hold me accountable or else I’ll let myself blow up like a balloon!” I walk over to Mama and put my arms around her waist. She’s a little thicker around the center since the last time I saw her, but she still glows like a candle in the moonlight. Absolutely beautiful, inside and out. I lie my head on her shoulder. “I’ve missed you so much,” I murmur. Touring is amazing, but being without any family for such long stretches is hard. I mean, thank God I have Marisa with me in certain locations, but I’m usually on my own with my crew. Sometimes a girl needs her mother.
Like right now.
Mama puts down the long wooden spoon and grabs a bottle of chianti from the granite countertop. “Okay, now the party really begins.” She grins, pouring two glasses for us and I take one of them, inhaling deeply. “It’s after noon, so we are good!”
“So good,” I whisper, taking a long sip. “Mm, that’s delicious!”
Mama nods and joins me in a sip. “It’s from a vineyard Papa just invested in. We have cases coming almost daily.”
I giggle. “I guess I know where I’ll be spending most of my break then!”
“Drunk on my couch?” Mama quips. “How proud I will be!”
We laugh and laugh and I remember how much I love our relationship and want this for myself. A daughter, a husband, a family of my own.
I know Mama wants it for me, too.
Maybe someday.
A pang assaults my chest.
Oh my God, Fate, would you please just piss off?
“Tell me how the new costume worked out during the show. Were you able to move around well enough?” Mama asks.
“Yes, it was perfect. I loved the colors and the sparkle!” Mama is an amazing seamstress and insists on making all of my costumes. Since I present choreographed violin performances, there’s a lot of dancing and I need to be nimble as well as fashionable. And according to my mother, glitz is an absolute must.
“I’ll bet there were a lot of fans waiting for you after the show.” Mama smiles, drinking more of her wine. “News of your return to Italy has been in the newspapers for weeks and people are so excited about all of the work you’ve been doing with the music foundation.” She pats my hand. “We are so proud of you, cucciolo.”
Coveted: Men of Mayhem: Book Two Page 4