If I ignored her, she’d only pout and refuse to do any real work. May as well deal with her right then and there. I inhaled once, swiveling my chair to face her, my hands resting in my lap. The glare I shot at her did nothing to deter her, so I gave up, figuring I’d give her what she wanted and be done with this conversation.
“What would you like to know?”
Indra sat up, and if I didn’t know her better, I’d say she was tempted to clap or do a little happy dance. But she composed herself enough to sit on one foot, getting comfortable before she faced me. “He kissed you?” I nodded, pulling Indra’s smile wide. “Tongue or no tongue?”
I exhaled and rolled my eyes, feeling a tension headache already building. “Tiny bit of tongue, but nothing pornographic.”
She copied my eye roll. “You could use pornographic, if you want my opinion.”
“I don’t. Anything else?”
“Duh. Details.” She moved her chair closer, glancing once over her shoulder toward the wall of glass that separated the lobby area and the rehearsing student musicians before she returned her attention to me. “So, did he just go up to you and kiss you, or was it smooth? Did he have moves? Tell me how it happened.”
A quick flash of that kiss rushed into my mind, and I suppressed the memory. It was a good kiss. Too good, but I couldn’t let myself get caught up in what I knew was an impossible situation. Johnny wasn’t a good man. He never would be. It didn’t matter how good of a kisser he was. Or that he was even better at it as a man than he had been as an eighteen-year-old kid.
Nothing would ever happen between us.
But I couldn’t tell Indra that. She stared at me. Her hopeful, romantic-comedy, Hallmark-movie-loving, doe eyes watching me like she fully expected me to tell her something fit for a goofy Christmas romance movie. I couldn’t disappoint her, but I wouldn’t lie either.
“It was a great kiss. But it was all pretend. The Garcias asked how we met, Johnny told the truth and then lied by saying I was giving him a second chance.”
“I’m not sure that’s a lie, Sam.”
“Anyway,” I said, ignoring the stupid grin on her face and her assumption. “They insisted he kiss me. End of story.”
“Well, that’s disappointing.” When I didn’t argue, Indra’s attention returned to me. “What’s that look? You were disappointed?”
“Not exactly.” Even I couldn’t recover that quickly. Indra knew me well. She could make out when I was trying to hide what I thought or when something disappointed me. Even if I knew nothing could happen between Johnny and me, it didn’t mean I wasn’t sorry the kiss had ended so quickly.
“It’s not that… Later on, he tried to make me believe he actually had plans for winning me back.” Indra smiled, and I almost hated to disappoint her with the shake of my head. “Sorry, no. Not going to happen. Besides, I messed that up pretty badly. I told him he had no honor, and for someone like Johnny Carelli, that’s below the belt.”
“But not untrue.”
I let loose a low laugh, but it held no humor. She couldn’t know how accurate her words were, and I had no intention of ever telling her. Indra knew enough about me. But not everything. “No, not entirely.”
“So, did you apologize?” I nodded, and Indra seemed satisfied.
“And then he tried to convince me I’d let him date me.”
She relaxed against her chair, her smile easy, satisfied as she moved her fingers over her mouth as though she were thinking about something that pleased her greatly. After a few seconds, Indra nodded. “He’s got balls. I think I might love him. You need someone like that.”
“I’ve been there with him before,” I told her, turning my chair to focus on my laptop again. “It didn’t end well.”
“But still. You were attracted once.” She ignored my body language and the way I tried to appear busy by scanning through my unopened emails. Indra moved her chair next to me, still talking, seeming not to care that I was ready for this conversation to end. “And it stuck with you if you’re still a little sweet on him.”
“I’m not.”
I hated her laugh, how quick it came, how it made me feel like an idiot.
It only quieted when I jerked my gaze to her, my features going tight. “He broke me.”
Indra went quiet. I hadn’t meant to make her feel bad, but by how silent she’d become, my confession had made her understand that I wasn’t ready to give Johnny Carelli any second chances.
After a minute, she touched my hand, squeezing it once, only relaxing again when I returned her smile.
“It’s fine. It’s really not that big of a deal.”
“You say that,” Indra started, her voice cautious, “but I’ve never seen you get so uneasy about a guy. Men throw themselves at you all the time. Gorgeous men. Powerful men. Well-connected men. And you brush them off like they’re nothing. This one, though. This one rattles you, and inside a few weeks of reconnecting with him, you’ve agreed to an arrangement with him and let him kiss you. I guess I just have to wonder why. What is it about him?” Indra tilted her head, her focus sharp as she looked me over. “Are you really over him?”
He had soft, wet lips and held me so close. His breath was warm, smelled like mint and wine. I thought he might devour me. I thought maybe I wanted him to. Just for a second, only for a second, I thought I wanted him to ravish me like he had before.
Before…before he destroyed me and left me with…
I blinked, squashing the heartache, trying to remember what came next. The sweetness. The joy. There was so much of it that had nothing to do with Johnny. So much more to come. I’d stopped hating him a long time ago, and it was because of who I became after he left me behind.
He changed me, and part of me loved him for that.
But that didn’t mean I could ever let myself be in love with him again.
I forced a small smile, dismissing Indra’s laugh as I went back to my email, clicking through one message after another. “Of course I’m over him,” I told my friend as I set about my work.
* * *
Four hours later, Indra had gone to fetch our lunch. The kids were still in the middle of their impromptu picnics in the rehearsal space, ditching their instruments in favor of singing a cappella rounds of mash-up songs most of the clergy they performed for likely wouldn’t approve of.
I tidied the office space, ignoring the flowers Indra had returned back to the receptionist’s desk even after my second and third attempts to chuck them. Despite the small irksome feeling I had for Johnny for sending me such an obviously expensive gift, I couldn’t help but appreciate the bouquet. They were beautiful, and their scent filled the entire lobby area. The petals were soft, delicate, and I touched one, rubbing the rose in what could only be described as a lapse of good sense, just as the front door opened and a deep voice said to my right, “Good. I’m glad you got them.”
Of course, he’d show right then.
I jerked around, lifting my chin to face him like a soldier readying for battle. Why did I always feel like I had to be on my guard with this man?
Ah. That’s right. Because he’d conquered me once already.
“Johnny,” I greeted, not bothering to acknowledge the flowers at all. “What are you doing here?”
His gaze shifted to the bouquet, then back to me. I spotted the small twitch moving his thick lips. It surprised me that whatever sarcastic comment I was convinced he wanted to make stayed clamped down behind his mouth. “Ah, there is a designer I’d like you to meet. He’s down the block at another appointment and could squeeze you in this afternoon if you have time.”
“You couldn’t call?” I asked, not convinced that was the real reason he’d stopped in. Folding my arms, I waited for him to answer me. I was surprised when he looked away, scanning the room, caught sight of the kids, and stepped away to look down the hallway to the back of the area. “Johnny?”
“Sorry, bella,” he said, returning to me. “I confess, I wanted to see ho
w everything looked and make sure you got settled in okay.”
I wasn’t buying it. “No, you wanted to make sure your little cousin did everything she promised she’d do.”
Johnny furrowed his eyebrows, and a deep line formed between them. But as I went on staring at him, not removing the knowing frown from my lips, he relented, laughing. “Fine. That too. But, oddio, she’s charging me through the nose. I want to make sure she’s giving me what I’m paying for.”
“Do you want a tour?” I offered, waving a hand toward the hallway.
He frowned before he looked down at his watch. “No, but thank you. I don’t want to disrupt your day any more than I have. But I did mean what I said about Rico coming by. Is this afternoon okay? Maybe around four?”
“We don’t need a designer, Johnny. That’s not what the center is about,” I told him, pulling my arms around my waist when he stepped closer to me.
“He’s not that kind of designer, bella. His focus is on developmental education and urban community centers. You think I’d send some bougie asshole into your center to make it look ridiculous?” He glanced toward the kids when the a cappella singing grew louder. They’d begun to add claps and a few foot stomps to provide more rhythm. “I want your kids to feel comfortable.” He faced me again, a small smile stretching his mouth. “And I want you to be happy.”
Damn you, Johnny Carelli.
Why did he have to say things like that? I dropped my arms but balled my fists, trying to keep from reaching up and hugging him. It would send the wrong message to my kids…and to him, but saints preserve me, that was the nicest thing he’d ever said to me.
“Johnny…” I tried, a little embarrassed when my words came out clogged and thick.
“Bella,” he interrupted and took my hand. “I’d do anything for you. Anything at all.”
I could only stare up at him. My mind went blank of anything but the glint in his eyes and how dark the pupils were. My God, he was beautiful and his mouth looked so soft, so inviting. He was a scoundrel, and he drove home that point by choosing that exact moment to tuck the center of his fat bottom lip between his teeth. Something I’d seen him do a thousand times as a kid. Something that never failed to elicit an automatic primal reaction from my body.
I swallowed, pulling my gaze upward, and without really knowing why I did it, I took a step toward him. Like I was drawn by something I couldn’t name, wanting him with a fierceness I hadn’t felt in ten long, long years.
“I…want…” It was all I could manage before I remembered where and who I was. Then I stepped back, blinking, bumping into the receptionist’s desk in my hurry to put space between us. The action was so fast that the bouquet of flowers began to topple, and Johnny lunged for it, shooting out one of his long arms to catch it.
He held himself close, with one hand on the vase of flowers, the other near my arm on the desk. “Got ’em,” he said, looking at me, his breath heavy and warm over my forehead as he spoke. God, he smelled good. So good, in fact, that I had to close my eyes, helpless to do anything but inhale that rich, decadent scent of his expensive cologne. “You good, bella?”
“Yes,” I answered, opening my eyes when I felt the soft touch of Johnny’s thumb smoothing down my cheek. “What are you…” I frowned, straightening where I stood.
“Sorry.” He stepped back. He didn’t put much space between us, but it was enough that his scent didn’t make me feel drunk. “You know,” he started, the humor back in his voice, “you never told me what the second thing was.”
It took me a moment to understand his meaning, but the memory of the last time we saw each other came back to me and so did my hurried explanation of why I’d fallen for him to make an excuse for saying he had no honor.
“I didn’t.”
Johnny’s smile was wider now and more relaxed, as though he was happy I was playing along with him.
“And I’m pretty sure I never promised I would.”
He jutted his chin, motioning to the flowers. “Those were pretty expensive, and I did rescue them. Humor me. What was the second thing?”
He laughed when I shook my head. “You are in need of constant affirmation, aren’t you?”
“What can I say? I’m a needy guy.”
“Oh, that is without a doubt.” Again, I crossed my arms, pretending I was more annoyed with his question than with him before I released an exaggerated breath. “Fine, if you must know. It was…your eyes.”
Johnny squinted, as though he didn’t trust my answer, head cocking to the side. “My eyes?”
“That’s what I said.”
“My dark, boring eyes? Dario says I have shit-brown eyes.”
Helpless to hold back, I laughed, remembering Johnny’s cousin and how often the kid I knew would say and do whatever struck him. He never gave much thought to anything at all. No wonder he’d landed in prison.
“No,” I told Johnny, remembering all those stolen nights away from my uncle, away from both our families and the lives and responsibilities forced on us. “Dark and fathomless. Endless. I remember wanting to stare forever into those dark eyes to see just how lost I could get in them.”
He watched me for a few seconds, mouth opening and closing like he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say or how to get the words out. Finally, he inhaled and spoke on a soft, exhale of, “Why, bella?” His voice was gentle, tone a little breathless.
“Because, Johnny.” I looked him in the eyes, lost now in the memory, in the same color, the same depth that had never failed to intoxicate me. For a second, I forgot where I was or why I was admitting anything to him. “I thought maybe if I got lost and you got lost, we’d find a way to anchor each other.”
The second the admission came, I realized I’d said too much.
It was too honest.
Too real for the moment.
The heartache was always there, waiting for one of us to uncover it.
I’d managed a decade with it buried in a shallow grave. It was always just below the surface. From the expression on his face, I got the impression that wound had been exorcised, buried so deep, only God could resurrect it. And with one small admission, I’d done what only the Almighty could.
“Bella,” he started but stopped when I looked away from him.
Too much. Too real and we both knew it.
“Well,” he tried again, clearing his throat. He pulled my attention back to him by grabbing my hand, forcing me to look up. I was sure he’d kiss my knuckles. He had the night after our dinner with the Garcias. But it seemed Johnny was upping his game. He was sweetening the pot. “I hope you enjoy the flowers, Sammy. They aren’t nearly as beautiful as you.” Then he leaned forward, touching his lips to my cheek. Maybe he would have stayed there, just kissing my cheek, pressing his chest to mine, his palm to my back, moving us together like it was the most natural, necessary position for our bodies to be in. Maybe he would have gone in for another kiss, making a play for my lips. But just as I looked up, a loud roar of laughter sounded at our side, and my kids released a resounding squeal of noise that sounded like a perfectly pitched chorus of “Woo-hoo!”
Johnny stepped back, laughing at their catcalls and a few refrains of “Oh, Miss S!” and one even louder, “He don’t look like Jesus!” before they were pushed back into the conference room.
“You should go,” I told him, my face flushing hot as the kids went on hooting at us through the glass wall.
“Yeah,” Johnny said, pointing at a few of the boys. “I think I will.” But before he left, the man took my hand and kissed it, squeezing my fingers before he turned to leave. His steps were swift but calm. His stride was easy, but his back was stiff, his shoulders tight, and I felt somehow guilty for making him look so on edge.
He was almost to the door before he stopped, glancing at me one last time. “You know, Sammy, you weren’t the only one who found an anchor.”
And then he was gone, leaving me with nothing but the hooting and hollering of those teas
ing, giddy kids and the memory of something I wasn’t sure could ever be repaired.
6
Johnny
Sofia, my sister Cara’s high school friend, ran Così Buono like it was her home kitchen and not a five-star restaurant. The food was the best in the city, the wine was the richest, and there was always a private table waiting for our family anytime we wanted to celebrate. Tonight, we had a reason.
Dario was home.
I sat with Cara and her husband, Kiel, along with our cousins, around a large table at the front of the place, drinking too much wine. Smoke, or Dimitri, as my aunt and uncle named him, and Dario argued with their sister Antonia about which of them had been the first to successfully sneak out of their father’s palatial mansion without any of his guards or their perceptive mother ever finding out.
“It wasn’t you, mimma,” Dario told his little sister, his voice low with gravel in it that hadn’t been there five years before when he’d been sent to Rikers. Doing time had worn him down a bit, but now Dario was back. And, God willing, being back and staying out would take the edge from him.
This dinner, Smoke had told us, might be the start of it. He wanted things to be normal for Dario.
Guess that meant making him feel as though he hadn’t spent a day away from them.
Antonia was doing her best with that. “You chooch, it was me,” she told her brother, the frown showing everyone around the table that she was offended by his statement. But she said it with a laugh in her tone, something she always did. “I’ve got the scar on my leg to prove it!”
My little cousin was beautiful, like all Carelli women, and no one ever really took her seriously—until they were across a desk from her, negotiating a contract. Something I found out a few weeks back when I tried to sweet-talk my way into a lower rent for the space Sammy needed while her center was being renovated. Antonia had turned me down flat. “I love Sammy, but friends or not, family or not,” she’d informed me, “business is business. Pay me what I ask, or I’ll rent the space to someone else.”
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