Thin Lies (Donati Bloodlines #1)

by Bethany-Kris

  “Uh, Emma … let me get out of here before you—”

  Calisto’s words and thought process stopped as the mountain of silk and crinoline fell to the floor. Emma stood in the middle of the pile, her shoulders heaving and her back bare, as she sucked in a deep breath.

  Black lace covered her backside, drawing Calisto’s gaze straight down to Emma’s ass. His fingers itched to reach out and run over the swell of her ass, just to see what she would do.

  Would she shiver?

  Shake?

  Ask for more?

  Calisto swallowed hard, trying to come up with something to say. Emma wore no bra, so when she turned with her arms covering her chest, he could see the sides of her breasts peeking out to give a hint of her beauty.

  Wary eyes found him still as a stone. Emma chewed on her bottom lip and avoided his stare.

  She was all skin, curves, and sin, standing there like that. A body that looked fit to be touched, tasted, and explored. He bet his hands would fit perfectly in the dip of her waist while his other disappeared down her panties. The kind of lace covering her sex and ass was just the right material to grab on, pull hard, and rip right off when he had her bent over a flat, sturdy surface.

  This wasn’t good at all.

  “Thank you,” Emma said.

  Calisto nodded tightly. “No problem.”

  “I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”

  How was she being normal right now?

  Couldn’t she see he was fucking struggling?

  “You should put something on,” Calisto said, hoarse and husky at the same time.

  Emma didn’t act like she heard him. “It just caught up to me really fast.”

  “Did your mother leave because you were having a fit?”

  “No, my father called. I panicked after she left.”

  Calisto shouldn’t care; he shouldn’t ask. “About what?”

  “Wearing a dress. Walking down an aisle. It felt real all of the sudden and then I couldn’t breathe, or get the dress off. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  Emma glanced down at the dress. “God, that’s a lot of material for something so ugly.”

  Calisto somehow managed a laugh. Considering the majority of the blood in his body was still owned by his cock, it was the best he could do.

  “Get dressed,” he said again.

  “Haven’t you seen a naked woman before?”

  “Yes.”

  Not you.

  The longer you stand there, the more I want to.

  “Keep your eyes up above the neckline and you’ll do okay,” Emma told him.

  “Funny,” he replied. “You’re fucking hilarious.”

  “Calm down. I’ll get dressed. My clothes are in the changing room.”

  She stepped out of the pile, and moved toward the changing room. Calisto tried not to watch the way Emma’s hips swayed as she walked. For most women, they learned how to move just the right way to draw a man’s eye.

  Emma’s sway wasn’t learned—it was all natural.

  Once she was safely hidden behind the dressing room door, Calisto took a much needed breath. He ran through the alphabet, times tables, the American anthem, his Cosa Nostra oath, and anything else he could think of to get his erection down.

  Anything to get the woman out of his head.

  It didn’t work.

  Cazzo.

  “What did you come in for?” Emma asked behind the door.

  “Affonso called.”

  Emma groaned. “Weren’t his letter and gift this morning enough? He can’t leave me alone for a day?”

  “Sorry, Emmy. Don’t kill the messenger. Didn’t you like the gift?”

  “No,” she said sharply. “It’s another attempt to buy my loyalty and good behavior.”

  Smart girl, he praised silently.

  “He wanted me to check on your shopping,” Calisto settled on saying.

  Honesty was the best policy.

  Emma yanked open the door and glared at him. Her dress hung off one shoulder, barely covering her breasts. She hadn’t gotten the other arm in, obviously.

  Calisto averted his eyes.

  “Are you serious?” she asked.

  “Sì. By the way, the one on the floor is in no way acceptable for his standards.”

  Emma’s lips drew thin. “I should wear it even though I hate it, too, just to piss him off.”

  Calisto was inclined to urge her on, but he didn’t. “Don’t you want to pick your dress?”

  “Not really.”

  “But it is your dress, Emmy, and despite what Affonso doesn’t want you to wear … well, you do have a choice in the matter. Some women like to keep their dresses and have them made into things for their children. Christening gowns or whatever.”

  Emma blinked, her features softening. “My mom did that with hers. I still have the miniature gown.”

  “You could do the same thing. Instead of seeing this as something awful, turn it into something to look forward to.”

  Because children with Affonso was sure to be wonderful. Calisto hated himself the more he spoke. He shouldn’t be encouraging her to pick a wedding dress so she could marry a man he hated.

  “I could,” Emma mused. “But that means I expect to have his children.”

  “Caught onto that, did you?”

  “I don’t think it’s really optional with him.”

  “Probably not,” Calisto admitted.

  “Is he making you ensure I pick the right dress?” she asked.

  “Essentially.”

  “Sucks to be you.”

  “You don’t even know how much.”

  Emma smirked bitterly. “I think I do.”

  Calisto

  “My apologies,” Calisto said, chuckling. “I can only guess how you’re feeling right now, and it’s probably a lot worse than me.”

  “Probably,” Emma echoed.

  She shifted on her feet, and the swell of her breast peeked out from the side. Calisto’s jeans tightened all over again.

  “Would you please get dressed or fix your dress?”

  She quickly corrected her dress, sliding her other arm in and letting the fabric fall down her toned figure. The dress clung to her curves and the skirt swayed when she moved.

  Calisto had to look away.

  Naked or clothed, it didn’t really matter. The woman was still gorgeous. Calisto was beginning to wish he didn’t notice these kinds of things about Emma. It wasn’t helping his dangerous attraction.

  “Well, the good news for you is that I’m done shopping for today. No need to babysit what dress I’m picking out.”

  “Oh?” he asked.

  Emma shrugged. “One panic attack is enough. I’m not interested in shooting for a second.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  But she would need to pick one. She was getting married, the girl would need a dress to wear for the day. Affonso wouldn’t accept Emma walking down in her jeans, or God forbid, a black dress that showcased how she truly felt about the day.

  Calisto’s stomach turned at the thought.

  “I guess our deal is off, huh?” Emma asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “I had a ‘fit,’ as you put it. You said if I didn’t, we could have some fun tonight and I could empty your pockets at the casino. I lost the bet. Hence, no fun.”

  Calisto frowned. “There was no bet. I was trying to get you to do what you were told. We’ll still go. I might have to limit your time at the poker table, seeing as how I like my cash, but we’ll go.”

  Emma’s smile came off brilliant and bright. “Yeah?”

  “Why not?”

  You know why not, idiot, his mind growled.

  Calisto ignored it.

  He’d never pushed aside his gut feeling before. It had never failed him, not once. When something felt like it was off, then it probably was. If someone gave him a bad vibe, they were probably hiding something.

  That was how
he lived.

  By his gut.

  It kept Calisto alive.

  The problem with his gut instinct was that it didn’t seem to be giving him anything useable where Emma Sorrento was concerned. It felt both good and bad—a should and shouldn’t kind of feeling that left him nowhere but confused.

  “Okay,” Emma said quietly. “I have a dinner with my mom and dad later first.”

  “I’ll be around.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  Despite her teasing laugh that followed, there was a sadness in her eyes that she hid well. Calisto still saw it. He knew Emma hated that he was constantly following her. To her, it probably seemed as though he was keeping tabs and reporting back to his uncle on her whereabouts and doings.

  Mostly, Calisto gave Affonso the same info: nothing to see here. There wasn’t anything to report. Emma was, for the most part, keeping a clean nose. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, she hadn’t been out living up the Vegas nightlife since the engagement, and she kept quiet. But even if she did …

  Calisto wasn’t sure he would tell.

  “Miss Sorrento, I’m so sorry that took so—Oh!”

  Spinning on his heel, Calisto found the heavier set, dark-haired woman standing in the entrance to the private sitting room. He had noticed her earlier talking on the phone.

  “Hello,” the woman said, looking him up and down.

  Calisto offered a smooth smile. “Hello.”

  “Calisto, this is Marian. She’s the owner and a friend to my mother.”

  Glancing over his shoulder at Emma, he took note of her unhappiness.

  Ah.

  Well, that explained the half-hidden frown Emma was sporting.

  “I didn’t see Minnie leave,” Marian said.

  “She rushed out after my father called, needing something. I’m finishing up, anyway. Next time, okay?”

  Marian scowled. “But … well, I found a dress for you, dear.”

  Calisto could practically hear Emma’s teeth grind behind him. “I think Emmy wants to head out and finish this up at another time.”

  “One more, please?” the woman asked, brushing Calisto’s comment off. “I promise you’ll love it. Those dresses your mother demanded were not suitable for you, Emma. It’s what she wanted to see you in, not what you wanted to be seen in. This one is perfect, I know it.”

  Emma sighed heavily.

  Calisto passed her another look. “You don’t have to, if you’re not in the mood. We can go. Do this another day, Emmy.”

  “You want her to look beautiful when she walks down the aisle to meet you, right?” the woman asked.

  He damn near choked on his answer.

  “I’m … uh, not—”

  “Get the dress,” Emma said, interrupting Calisto’s stumbling words.

  “Jesus,” he mumbled when the woman was gone. Turning back to Emma, he found her shaking her head and giggling. “I thought you said she was a friend of your mother’s? Doesn’t she know who you’re marrying?”

  Emma scoffed. “Arranged marriage is only acceptable in certain cultures and the mafia. Just because my mother supports my marriage to Affonso doesn’t mean her arrogant, superficial friends won’t stick their noses up at her. She has to save some kind of face. That doesn’t include explaining that my future husband is thirty years older than me.”

  “Damn.”

  “I have to say, I really enjoyed watching my mother fumble for a response when Marian asked earlier where her invitation was.”

  Calisto grinned. “Lost in the mail?”

  “Apparently, it’s not sent out yet.”

  “Smooth.”

  Emma lifted a single shoulder like it didn’t make a difference to her either way. “My mother has always been a good liar. And she knows that if she explains the wedding is happening in New York, the mouths will run that it’s a connected wedding. If you know what I mean.”

  “A mafia wedding.”

  “Mmhmm. She doesn’t want more people talking than what already do. That, or George doesn’t want people talking and making rumors. Dad wants this all to happen as quietly as possible. Mom isn’t the only one who doesn’t want to hear people’s opinions over the fact that he’s marrying his daughter off to someone thirty years older than her.”

  “Doesn’t she read the socialite magazines?” he asked.

  “Probably. It’s like an addiction. She knows better, but she runs to the store every week for the new issues.”

  Strange.

  Calisto dropped the topic when Marian strolled back into the sitting room with a garment bag slung over her arm. It was a much smaller, thinner bag than he expected to see for a wedding gown. Pointing at Calisto with her free hand, the woman barked, “You, out.”

  “He stays,” Emma said quickly.

  Marian’s mouth opened to argue, but she didn’t get a chance.

  “I want him to stay,” she clarified.

  Calisto cocked a brow at Emma. “You’re sure?”

  “Lots of men see their brides in dresses before the wedding. I want his opinion.”

  Calisto clenched his jaw in an attempt to keep quiet. He didn’t want to sit through Emma putting on another dress, but he knew what she was doing. She was likely giving him the chance to see what the dress looked like and tell her if it was appropriate for Affonso’s tastes and demands.

  “Fine,” the shop keeper muttered. “But it’s her dress, mister.”

  “Hers,” he agreed.

  Calisto found the closest chair and sat down. The seat was so plush that the butternut colored leather practically swallowed his lower half. He admired the stitching design on the arm of the chair as the women chatted inside the dressing room. Safe conversation, he noticed. Marian asked about wedding details, and Emma answered vaguely.

  Smart girl.

  The shuffling of a garment bag echoed out to his spot, drawing his gaze up from the leather toward the closed door. He found his reflection in a mirror hanging off the door. Instead of a woman coming out in her wedding gown, he found himself. His impassive, unfeeling self—except he was neither impassive, nor unfeeling in the reflection.

  A curious excitement buzzed in his gut. His gaze burned brightly with interest. He would usually sit in such a way that his side was turned to the room, keeping his posture unavailable for conversation with others. Now, he was sitting forward, ready to be involved.

  This was all wrong.

  How many times had he thought that very thing just today alone? Calisto could hear his mind screaming at him, warning him and taunting him all at the same time.

  What are you doing here? You know better than this. Step back before you fuck this up. There’s a bullet waiting for you. And a seat in hell.

  He pushed his thoughts away. He indulged the bit of attraction thickening in his blood for a woman he didn’t know all that well, but was still unobtainable. He forced back the little voice warning him that he was toeing a very fragile line of acceptable conduct with Emma.

  Calisto had control of this shit. He knew what was right and what was wrong where his uncle’s fiancée was concerned. He didn’t have to give in to the lust still keeping his cock semi-hard, or focus on the image of Emma’s bare back under his palms.

  He wouldn’t feed into this.

  Whatever it was.

  Right?

  The high wail of a phone brought Calisto out of his head with a bang. He straightened even more in the chair and realized he’d been holding so tightly onto the arms that his fingernails had left scratches on the leather.

  “Oh, damn it,” Marian muttered behind the dressing room door. “I have to get that. I’m going to shoot my new girl for not coming in today. Will you be okay for a minute, dear?”

  “Sure,” Emma said.

  Her quiet response caught Calisto’s attention instantly. Her sweet tone came off as unsure, confused, and weighed down. He didn’t have the chance to think on it for long.

  Marian slipped out of the dressing room, cl
osed the door behind her, and gave Calisto a pointed look that told him to stay where he was without even saying a word. She quickly hurried from the private sitting area, mumbling on about her missing employee.

  Calisto fidgeted in the chair, waiting.

  Then, Emma opened the dressing room door and poked her head out. His gaze founds hers right away, and he knew that he was right. The brightness of her eyes was dulled like she had something new on her mind.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he said.

  Emma dropped his stare. “Could you help me really quick?”

  “Sure.” Calisto pushed up from the chair in a fluid motion. “What do you need?”

  “Marian had most of the buttons done up in the back herself. There were just a couple left toward the top. I mean, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Calisto swallowed the words wanting to come out, the ones that would tell her that he minded a great deal. He still wasn’t going to feed into that nonsense, after all.

  “Not a problem, Emmy.”

  Stepping up on the raised platform, Calisto grabbed for the doorknob, and opened the door just enough to slip into the dressing room. Emma already had her back turned, but white lace surrounded his vision from all sides. Mirrors lined all four walls of the dressing room. It was impossible to ignore the beautiful, classic, A-line dress with capped sleeves she wore. From the top of the gown to the very bottom, intricate, off-white lace hugged Emma’s body and curves.

  Calisto forced himself to focus on his task, instead of how amazing Emma looked in the dress. He quickly found the last four pearl buttons on the back, and did them up. It was a perfect fit. Not an inch too big or too small. The pearls made a pathway from the middle of Emma’s back to right above the swell of her ass. It left a peek of her shoulder blades and skin exposed.

  Enough to be tasteful.

  Just a promise of what was below.

  It was both regal and sexy.

  “You look wonderful,” Calisto said, trying to tamper down the huskiness in his voice.

  Get a grip, man.

  Emma sucked in a hard breath, eyeing the gown in the mirror. “She was right.”

  Calisto found Emma’s stare in the mirror, and held it. “Pardon, dolcezza?”

  “Marian. She was right about the dress. It’s perfect. It’s beautiful. It’s very me, I guess.”