by ANDREA SMITH
“Questo e il nostro segreto per ora!” Trey instructed.
[That is our secret for now!]
“Non vie alcun segreto, baby e tutto il tuo volto!” she shouted, happily.
[There is NO secret baby; it is all over your face!]
(Holy shit, are they arguing?)
[Santa merde, sono state discutendo?]
“Trey, is there a problem?” I finally asked puzzled by the loud exchange.
‘No, I’m just asking if we might have a table in a corner.” he responded.
(All that for a table in the corner?)
I was glad that English didn’t require so much loud and heated verbiage for such a simple request.
Carmelita grabbed a couple of menus and led us to a table for two in a secluded area of the restaurant. It was quaint and very Italian looking with the red and white checkered tablecloths. Soft Italian music was being piped in. It was nothing extravagant, but it was quaint. It was the first restaurant I had ever been to with Trey. It was kind of our first official date at least in my mind.
Trey ordered a bottle of Chianti for us. I raised an eyebrow as I look from him back to the menu.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said, smirking, “I just recall how infuriated you were with Clint because I was drinking at the bonfire Luke had the night of my . . . accident.”
“Who said anything about you drinking tonight?” he replied giving me his cocky smile.
“Well, I suppose then that I am the designated driver?” I inquired sweetly.
“No way, baby,” he laughed. “I don’t think you can handle the horsepower.”
“What is good here,” I asked, purposely ignoring the last jab.
“Really, there is nothing bad here. I like the baked ziti,” he said.
“That sounds fine, to me.”
Trey ordered for both of us; baked ziti and salads. Carmelita brought fresh bread on a cutting board to the table, and filled our water goblets. Trey poured two glasses of the Chianti, handing me one.
“This is your one and only glass,” he advised.
(So bossy…so controlling….so….yummy!)
“Cheers,” I said, raising my glass and taking a sip.
It was good; kind of a heavy wine. Trey sliced the bread, putting a thick warm slice on a small plate and passing it over to me.
“You might want to try this with the olive oil that is on the table, it is really good.”
I took the olive oil dispenser that had a small spray nozzle and lightly spritzed my warm bread. Taking a bite I moaned audibly, catching Trey’s attention in an instant.
“Ohh, this is s-o-o-o good,” I said, in a very sultry tone.
I licked my lips, and took another bite, teasing him with my sensual enjoyment of the bread, licking my fingers when I finished. He rearranged himself in his seat a bit and pretended not to be affected. I sipped some more Chianti, enjoying the slight buzz I was getting. Our salads came, and as we started in, Trey made it a point to bring up the subject of Clint.
“You know, Tylar,” he said, “You were right about one thing. I had no right to be so hard on Clint over the incident at the pool that night. I suspect I may have had more of an issue with him than your inebriated state.”
I eyed him warily; what was he up to with this?
“Oh, I get it,” I said, “You’ve made nice with Clint now that you’ve turned him into your own personal nark,” I blurted.
(Oops -That came out a bit harsh.)
I refilled my glass with more Chianti, watching Trey give me a slightly reprimanding look.
“I don’t have a clue what you are talking about,” he replied.
“Oh, come on, Trey. I know that it was Clint that called you the evening of the race and told you that I was riding Jezebel in the fourth. You’ve put the fear in him, it is plain to see. I don’t have any desire to remain friends with someone that would nark me out like that.”
“I see,” Trey responded. “Did it ever occur to you, Tylar that perhaps Clint, too was worried about you racing so soon after you were released from the hospital?”
“Maybe,” I said, a bit snidely, “But answer me this, Trey. If Clint had not called you in Atlanta to let you know so that you could bust ass back to Bristol and scratch me out of that race, who would you have been more pissed at when you discovered on your own that I had rode me or Clint?”
Trey was thoughtful for a moment, before answering.
“I suppose I would have been equally pissed at both of you,” he answered.
“Clint is not my keeper, any more than Ray, or Luke or Rodney. I get that you want to keep me safe, but in the process, you are kind of alienating me from my co-workers, and friends. You are making it very lonely here for me.”
“I won’t be second-guessed, Tylar. I did what I did because as I explained to you, I have the need to keep you safe. I won’t allow you or anyone else to put you in harm’s way.”
It appeared that I was not the only one with issues.
I knew Trey’s motivation, now that he had a snitch in hand. He wanted to continue using Clint in an effort to keep tabs on me. Trey started to say something, but stopped when Carmelita brought the tray with the baked ziti to our table.
Trey was right, it was delicious. I cleaned my plate which surprised Trey, along with polishing off another glass of Chianti, which irritated Trey.
We ate in silence, partially because we were both so hungry, and partially because it was a bit strained after the topic of Clint came up.
Carmelita came over to take the empty plates off of our table, noticing the silence between us.
“Signor Trey, credo chevoi e il vostro amore bisogno di dolcezza, no?” Carmelita said.
[Mr. Trey, I think you and your love need some sweetness, no]
“Concordo Carmelita. Che cos a vi suggerisce?” Trey asked.
[I agree Carmelita. What would you suggest?]
“Vl faro qualche Tiramisu Signor Trey. Ti alimenti e per il vostro amante. Essa ha bisogno di un po’
[I will bring you some Tiramisu Mr. Trey. You feed it to your lover. She needs a little fattening up, eh?]
“It seems we’re having dessert, Tylar,” Trey said softly, his eyes dancing.
He pulled my hands into his, rubbing them softly, gazing into my eyes.
“I’ve had a really nice afternoon with you. I have to leave on a flight to Atlanta tomorrow morning. Our firm has a class action trial starting on Tuesday, so I have to go. Will you be alright?”
(No. I don’t want you to go!)
“Of course I will,” I answered nonchalantly.
“Well, Ray should have the locks on your cottage changed by now. Ray is going to make sure that the key he has is not hung on the hooks with the other master keys to the cottages. Does that make you feel any safer?”
(I only feel safe with you wrapped around me, Trey.)
“I never really felt unsafe, Trey. It’s just been creepy in the cottage since then, you know? I mean it’s not like anyone has threatened harm to me or anything like that . . .”
“You don’t have to stay there, you know?”
(Really?)
“Where else would I stay?”
(Perhaps I can stay in your room with you?)
“Well,” he said, hesitantly, “You can stay up at the main house if you wish.”
(Give me a minute to pack…)
“Oh, and that would look real good, wouldn’t it? I can just imagine the snickers and comments from the rest of the staff on that one.”
“Tylar,” he said impatiently, “I don’t give a rat’s ass how it looks or what people think. The fact of the matter is I will be gone for the week and I don’t need the additional stress of worrying as to whether you are safe in that cottage. There are servants at the house. No one would dare bother you there that’s all.”
“I’m a big girl, Trey,” I laughed. “I can take care of myself, and if something starts creeping me out, I’ll make sure I call Ray or Deni
se, how’s that?”
I could tell Trey felt a little bit better, but I was certain that having me stay at the manor would have made him feel even better.
Carmelita brought over a plate with a large piece of Tiramisu on it and two forks. I loved Tiramisu. She winked at Trey as she removed his dinner plate and scurried off. I reached for one of the forks, but Trey stopped me.
“Here, let me,” he said in his soft, silky voice.
He lifted a fork, and cut a bite-sized piece of the cake, dipping it into the small cup of warm chocolate sauce that was on the plate. He raised it slowly, teasingly up to my lips, cupping his other hand underneath it to catch any dripping.
His eyes never left mine. I parted my lips slightly, and felt the warm cake as it brushed past my lips and reached my tongue.
A small drop of chocolate dripped onto my bottom lip; Trey leaned over and grazed it with his tongue, licking his lips sensually.
(Oh wow!)
We continued this ritual until the cake was gone, taking turns feeding each other. It was totally erotic and delicious. I excused myself to use the restroom as Trey was taking care of the bill.
As I washed my hands at the vanity, I reflected upon our day together. It had been nearly perfect. I was in no hurry for Trey to meet my mother. I put that out of my mind for the moment.
Trey was waiting for me when I came out. Carmelita had a huge grin on her face. She came over and gave my cheek a gentle pinch.
“Prendersi cura di Signor Trey il cuore dolce, lui vi portera indietro presto!”
[Take care of Mr. Trey’s heart sweet one; have him bring you back soon!]
I looked at Trey quizzically for translation.
“She said to take care and that she hopes you come back soon,” he interpreted for me.
I was pretty sure I could say thanks in Italian.
“Grazie,” I responded smiling. I gave Carmelita a quick hug.
She beamed and turned to Trey.
“Ah questo e un modo molto meglio rispetto alla femmina Charlotte, amico mio!
[This one is so much better than the bitch Charlotte,
my friend!]
Trey got a funny expression on his face, quickly giving Carmelita a hug and a peck on her cheek and we were out the door. I didn’t say anything letting him think Charlotte’s name in Carmelita’s last exchange was lost on me.
He pressed the electronic unlock button to his car, and opened the passenger door for me, helping me inside before closing the door. I fastened my seat belt, as he climbed into the driver’s side. Putting his seat belt on, he fired up the engine, and backed out of the parking space.
“Thank you for lunch, Trey, that was really delicious,” I said, smiling over at him.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Tylar. Carmelita is quite the character, and very fond of you I can tell."
“I am impressed by your command of Italian. I had no idea you spoke so fluently.”
“I studied abroad during high school and college,” he replied, “It’s quite common to be multi-lingual in Europe.”
“Trey, can you translate something for me?” I questioned innocently.
“I’ll try,” he laughed, rubbing my knee with his right hand.
“Okay, what does ‘Charlotte’ translate to in English?” I asked, batting my eyelashes at him.
“Oh, you caught that, huh?”
“Well….yes.”
For all of his denial of having any type of relationship with Charlotte, it certainly appeared as if they made their rounds as a couple.
“Carmelita reads too much into things,” he said impatiently. “I took Charlotte there one time weeks back for dinner. Carmelita thought she was a royal bitch, which she can be. Charlotte insulted the Carpineta Fontalpino wine we were served. She told Carmelita it tasted like Tuscan vinegar spiked with battery acid. You can imagine how that went over with Carmelita.”
“How did it go over with you?” I asked.
He slowed for a traffic light and looked over at me, taking my left hand into his right one, raising it to his lips.
“I’ve told you before, Tylar, there is no relationship whatsoever between Charlotte and me. As far as that particular incident, it was embarrassing for me."
The light turned green; he kissed my hand before setting it back in my lap, shifting gears and getting back to speed on the highway leading back to his estate.
(God I wish he would just do me!)
As we pulled into the long winding drive leading up to the mansion, Ray’s truck was parked near the pool. No one was swimming, but Ray looked to be checking the chemical levels, probably killing time waiting for Trey to get back.
I didn’t wait for Trey to open my door. I felt a little funny wondering what Ray made of the fact that I was hanging out with, well, with one of the owners of both of the estates. I cared about what Ray thought of me. He was probably the closest thing to a father figure even though I had only known him for a few weeks.
“Hey Ray,” I said smiling.
“Hey Ty, you doing alright?”
I nodded.
Trey walked over to Ray.
“Did you take care of what I asked you to?”
“Sure thing,” Ray answered.
“Here you go,” he said, handing something to Trey. “I’ll keep my key on my personal key ring. No one else will have access to it as you instructed.”
“Thanks, Ray.”
Ray turned back to me.
“Mrs. Johnson is expecting you tomorrow morning, Ty, at the main office. I think she has a special assignment for you. Hopefully, you won’t be too bored. Nine o’clock, over at ‘the Belle.”
“Got it,” I said. “I’ll be there, don’t worry, Ray.”
We exchanged smiles and Ray took off to his truck.
“You’ll like Rebecca,” Trey commented.
“She and Ray are probably my two most trusted employees. I know my parents feel the same way.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Rebecca – Mrs. Johnson,” Trey clarified. “If I know her, you won’t be calling her ‘Mrs. Johnson’ for long. She doesn’t go in for a lot of formality and pretense. That’s why I know you will like her.”
He gave me another one of his award-winning grins, and placed his right arm around my shoulders.
“C’mon you,” he said, softly, “Let me walk you to your cottage. I want to make sure everything is secure and that you get settled in for the night.”
“It’s not even dark yet, Trey,” I whined. “I’m not ready to call the day over.”
“I don’t want to either, baby,” he said gently, “But I’ve got work to do this evening reviewing the case before the trial starts on Tuesday. I will probably touch bases with Ray again, going over stuff that needs to get done here this coming week, pack, shower, all that good stuff.”
“Plus”, he continued, squeezing me closer as we made our way up the path to the bank of cottages, “I want a few minutes alone with you before I leave, to make sure I give you a proper good-bye.”
The stomach butterflies were swarming. My cheeks were warm and flushed.
We were at the cottage and Trey fished in his pocket, pulling out the two keys that Ray had given him. He handed me one of the keys.
“Put this on your key chain,” he instructed, “And pitch the old one."
I nodded affirmatively.
“What about the extra key?” I asked, nodding toward the one in his hand.
He grinned at me.
“I thought you might feel safer if I held onto it, just in case.”
“In case what?” I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“In case you lose yours, you know reasons like that.” He glared at me, feigning insult that I could think anything other than honorable thoughts about him. He was kind of complicated I thought. I shrugged. It did not bother me a bit him having a key. Hell, he owned the place. As far as I was concerned, Trey had a right to anything here, with the exception of any other woman apart from
me.
I looped my arms around his neck and stood on my tip-toes, giving him a big wet kiss on the mouth.
“Oh no – you can and will do better than that, Ms. Preston,” he laughed, chasing me up the couple of steps onto the porch.
I struggled from his grasp, playfully, and then saw that a small shopping bag had been hung on the door handle of the wooden door inside of the screen door.
“Hmm, looks like someone left me a gift,” I teased. “Is that why you wanted to escort me to my cottage Mr. Sinclair?” I asked coquettishly. “You do spoil me, don’t you?”
Trey’s facial expression had lost the amusement of just a moment ago.
“That’s not from me, Tylar,” he said, his tone serious, dropping his arms from around me.
I tried to lighten the mood; I was not into getting creeped out again after having spent such a wonderful, non-creepy day with my man.
“I’m sure it’s probably just some tacky Fred-X of Follywood underwear from Jenna.”
I was not going to let Trey spoil my mood.
I opened the screen door, and lifted the shopping bag off of the door knob. I looked inside and saw a small pile of plum silk material.
“See, I told you,” I said playfully, removing the articles from the bag.
I dropped the bag to the porch, along with my purse. I unfolded the articles of clothing, holding them up. Suddenly I recognized them. The realization hit me hard. Oh my God. I remembered them from my dream. It was the plum silk pajama shorts that were ripped off of my thirteen year-old body; the matching camisole was with the shorts. It had been cut in half. That part was not in my dream. There was a typed note on a piece of paper pinned to the camisole. It read:
I believe these belong to you, Sissy.
“Oh my God!” I screamed, hysterically. “Oh my God, no!”
Someone was next to me, holding me in that instant. The hysterical voice that was yelling ‘don’t touch me, let me go’ couldn’t possibly be mine could it? I felt strong arms around me, lifting me, trying to calm me. Somebody came running up on the porch. It was Clint the Nark. Did Clint think that I needed help? Was that why he was on my porch?