He makes me feel like the sun, the world revolving around me, and I'm not ready to invite any others into our universe.
Naz is my very own knight, fearless and chivalrous, although I suspect his shining armor may be concealing a bit of darkness.
Instead of putting me on guard, that thought intrigues me.
I throw on jeans and a soft pink sweater, grabbing a scarf to finish off the outfit, and take time to fix my hair, leaving it down and wavy. I put on makeup, swiping lipstick the same shade as my sweater on my lips. Once I'm ready, I grab my purse, making sure I have my keys and ID and phone on me before heading out.
I keep my head down, not wanting to run into anyone and be delayed. I go outside, walking around the corner to the parking garage just as the black Mercedes pulls in.
Perfect timing.
I don't give him time to get out and open my door for me, climbing in beside him right away. He's dressed as usual, black suit, dark tie, his hair a sexy wave. He hasn't shaved, his facial hair thicker today than I've seen it before. The masculine scent of his cologne fills the car.
"You look nice," he says, cutting his eyes at me as he pulls back into traffic. "Are you hungry?"
"A little," I admit. "You don't have to take me anywhere, though."
"Nonsense. I need to eat, too. What are you hungry for?" Before I can get out a response, he cuts in again. "And don't say 'whatever' or 'anything' or 'it doesn't matter', because those aren't answers."
"Uh, I don't know."
"That's not an answer, either."
"Fine. Pizza."
"Delivery, takeout, or eat in?"
I laugh. "Eat in, I guess."
He nods once, acknowledging me, then drives in silence. I stare out the side window as the city flies by, watching as he takes me straight across the bridge into Brooklyn. He heads deep into the borough to a section I'm only familiar with by reputation, a rough and tumble kind of neighborhood.
Old graffiti covers the outside of some of the buildings as he pulls down a side street and stops about halfway down the block, in front of an old brick building. It looks much like every other place nearby, but people stand outside in front of it and huddle on benches, chatting as they wait around.
Naz parks across the street, right along the curb beneath a tree. I stare at the place, noting the small sign that indicates it's a pizzeria. I didn't expect anything fancy, but this… this doesn't look like somewhere Naz would frequent.
He surprises me, though. He helps me out of the car, pressing his palm to my back as he leads me across the street toward the pizzeria. I realize, as we approach, that the people sitting outside are waiting for tables, but Naz shrugs that off when I point it out to him.
Stepping inside, he pauses and glances around. The place is packed, filled with customers. The inside is a stark difference from the outside, a hidden gem in a seedy neighborhood. Not upscale, but not the dump I imagined from across the street.
It only takes a few seconds for Naz to be acknowledged. A man strutting by just happens to look our way, doing a double take, his footsteps stalling. "Vitale."
Naz nods.
"You need a table?"
Another nod.
"Coming right up, my friend."
I'm flabbergasted. I don't even have a chance to say anything about it before we're led through the restaurant, to a small table that's just now being cleared. We stand there for a second as they rush to clean the area, before Naz pulls out a chair for me. I slip into it, eyeing him peculiarly when he sits down across from me.
He picks up a menu, his gaze wholly focused on it, but the corner of his lip turns up into a smirk, flashing that dimple at me. I've never seen someone look so downright cocky before.
Why is that so hot to me?
"So did you call ahead again?" I ask, picking up my menu. "Cash in another favor?"
He laughs at my question. "No, not this time."
"Then how'd you do that?"
"Do what?"
"You know what," I say. "You didn't even say a word to that man and he seated you right away."
"He knows me."
"I figured that much, Vitale."
He flinches when I say his last name, his expression falling as his gaze abandons the menu to settle on me instead. "Don't call me that."
His tone isn't sharp, but it's most definitely no-nonsense. Not a question, nor is it a request. That's a demand. My skin prickles, that look in his eyes resurfacing as he regards me silently before turning to his menu again. I can tell he isn't reading it. He's staring at it like he's seeing through it.
After a moment, he meets my eyes again, that dark look fading. "They're friends of the family. Nothing more. Having a big family comes with perks. It doesn't just happen at restaurants, either. It's everywhere I go. Get used to it, sweetheart."
"It's just strange," I mumble, picking up my menu. "I don't know that I could ever get used to that."
"You will," he says. "Because it'll start happening to you, too."
I laugh at that. "Yeah, right."
"I'm serious," he says. "Just wait."
Rolling my eyes, I glance down at the menu, scanning through it for something to eat. Unlike the last time he took me to dinner, this I can read.
The waiter stops by while I'm still deciding and Naz greets him briskly, requesting a bottle of 2008 Paolo Bea Santa Chiara. I have no idea what that is, but as the waiter rushes off to retrieve it, I feel a peculiar sense of déjà vu. "Are you trying to get me drunk again?"
"I like to indulge, too, Karissa," he replies. "You getting drunk and loose is just an added bonus."
Laughing, I playfully kick him under the table. He smiles at me, closing his menu as the waiter returns with the bottle of wine. He uncorks it, and Naz takes over, pouring us each a small glass before setting the bottle aside. We order then—a margherita pizza to share. The wine is a strange translucent peach color and has a slight orange tang, going down smoothly.
Naz watches me, his eyes scanning my face as another man approaches our table. He's older, with slicked back black hair and a thick moustache, short and stumpy. He smiles wide, nodding as he greets Naz by name. Last name. "Vitale."
Naz doesn't seem fazed when everyone else does it. "Signore Andretti."
That's the extent of what I understand. The men launch into conversation, the words flowing fluently, but every bit of it is foreign to my ears. Italian, I gather, from the smooth tone and romantic sounding enunciations. They're both smiling, the air around them friendly. Naz laughs after a moment as the other man motions toward me. I'm mid-drink, nearly choking on the wine when their attention shifts.
"Sì," Naz says. That I know. Yes. "She is."
The man's expression brightens as he regards me, rattling off something so fast the words all blur together. He reaches over, grasping my hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Sei incantevole!"
Eyes wide, I watch him carefully. The man lets go of me and turns to Naz, giving him a thumb's up before scampering away.
"You speak Italian?" I ask, surprised.
Naz picks up his wine. "I have a basic understanding."
"Well, what did he say?"
"He said you're lovely."
I'm taken aback. "And what did you say?"
"A lot," he says. "I thanked him for the table and complimented the wine. He's the owner, you see. He asked me how I was and who you were. I told him I was great and you were someone special."
I stare at him, those words sinking in. "Special?"
"Yes, special," he says. "Don't sound so surprised."
"It's just surreal. I keep waiting for this all to be a dream."
He takes a sip of his wine before setting the glass down and leaning closer, his gaze intense. "When I first laid eyes on you, I thought the same thing. How could I be so lucky as to encounter you, in a city so big? I thought I had to be dreaming."
"Because of me?" I can feel my face flushing. "But I'm just… me."
"You're
special, Karissa. I mean that."
Our food comes and I take a bite of the pizza, the crust not too thin, the cheese just rich enough, and the sauce succulent. It's surprisingly delicious for coming from a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, and I now understand why Naz would come here. I devour it as Naz nibbles on a slice, conversation playful, as the wine seems to magically evaporate. POOF.
Before dinner is through, my head is fuzzy, my body tingling, the air between us buzzing like an electrical current.
"You ready to get out of here?" he asks as he once again counts out cash to pay the bill. I sneak a peek at it, curious, and am relieved to see it isn't nearly as much as the last time he took me to dinner.
"Sure." I swallow down the rest of my wine before setting the glass aside. He stands up and takes my arm, nodding in greeting to the waiter as we head for the door. People are still lingering outside, gathering in groups, waiting for tables. "Where are we going?"
He cuts his eyes at me as we cross the street toward the Mercedes. The sky is starting to darken, a pinkish hue shining down on everything. "Where do you want to go?"
"Anywhere."
"That's not an answer."
"Anywhere with you."
He smiles. "That's a bit better."
Unsurprisingly, we go to his house. I expect him to take me upstairs, to pull me straight to his room like the last time we were here, but instead he flicks on the light to settle in downstairs. "You want to watch a movie?"
"Uh, sure."
"There are some DVDs in the den," he says, motioning toward a door past the living room. "Go ahead and pick one out."
Stepping the way he points, I head through the living room, my footsteps faltering right in the doorway to the den. It's only dimly lit from the windows, but I have enough light to see everything. The room is massive, possibly even bigger than the entire house I shared with my mother in Watertown. Unlike the rest of his place, which feels so modern and sterilized, the den is well lived in.
He spends all his time in here, I realize.
The furniture is black leather and well worn, the tables wooden matching the paneling of the walls. There seems to be a divider down the middle, a long trailing rug in shades of burgundy and black running from the doorway to the far wall, dividing it into two different spaces.
On one side there's a fireplace with half a dozen bookcases lining the wall, each one packed with books, a desk right in the center surrounded by chairs. It's an office and home library rolled into one. But on the other side of the divider is an entertainment center, one of the most elaborate I've ever seen, with a huge television and what looks like more DVDs than he has books. It's like a movie theater, set up in front of an array of furniture covered in pillows, cozy and welcoming.
My eyes bounce between the sections of the room. I feel like I just got a peek of Naz's soul.
It's a lot more complex than I anticipated.
I make my way over to the entertainment center and scan the movie titles. I recognize some, but most I've never heard of. He has a lot of foreign movies, a lot of black and white flicks, with a few cult classics thrown in. Not the typical action I expect to see, no Die Hard or Lethal Weapon, no Terminator or Rambo. On the same token, there aren't any chick flicks, either.
And they're all in alphabetical order. Weird.
I'm instantly curious about his books, wondering what a man like him reads, when I hear his footsteps behind me entering the den. I turn to face him just as he unknots his tie and slips it off, tossing it on the end table beside the black leather couch. His jacket is already gone, his shirt no longer tucked in, his shoes missing. He unbuttons his top two buttons before making work of his cuffs and pushing his sleeves up to his elbows.
Jesus, he looks sexy, still dressy but unshaven and unkempt. Ruffled physically, even if nothing can make him that way mentally.
"Find anything?" he asks as he approaches.
I turn back to the movies, sighing. "No Pretty Woman?"
"No." I can hear the smile in his voice. "I'm afraid not."
I scan the titles again as he walks up behind me, snaking an arm around my waist, and pulling me back to him. I relax into his touch, grasping his forearm as he leans down and kisses my neck. My eyes flutter closed, his lips soft and warm against my skin, sending tingles down my spine.
"Just pick something," he whispers. "I don't think we'll be paying it much attention, anyway."
His words prompt me to grab the first movie I see. I don't even look at the name. Naz puts it in and presses play as I settle in on the couch and pull off my shoes. He sits down beside me, relaxing, and wraps his arms around me.
He's right. I don't pay attention to the movie, and I don't know if he does, because I lie there and fall right asleep in his arms.
Darkness cloaks the room when I awaken, except for the soft glow of the television shining on me. It's dead silent, the movie over.
A black blanket covers me, soft and fuzzy, folded in around me like a child tucked into bed. My head is resting on one of the couch pillows, but there's no Naz anywhere to be seen.
Yawning, I sit up and stretch, glancing around, wondering where he disappeared to and how long I've been asleep. There's no clock in here that I've seen. How does this man keep track of time? Reaching for my purse, I sort through it and pull out my phone. Midnight.
I have two text messages from Melody, asking where I am, and a missed call from my mother hours ago. I reply to Melody so she doesn't worry, telling her I'm with an old friend and not to wait up, before putting the phone away and standing up.
I'm nervous as I head for the doorway, hoping he doesn't mind if I go elsewhere in his house. He's not in the living room, not in the kitchen. I ascend the stairs, straining my ears, listening for sounds, but I hear nothing. I creep down the dark hallway, toward the bathroom, past closed doors. There aren't any lights on, no sign of him anywhere up here. Pausing in the hallway, I sigh and start to turn around when movement startles me. I yelp, jumping, when someone grabs me from behind.
Breath fans against my cheek as the soft chuckle rings in my ear. "Did I scare you?"
I can't even answer. I swallow thickly, grasping my chest, as Naz swings me around to him. Through the darkness, I can somewhat make out his face, his body a mere shadow in the hallway. He changed clothes, shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing more than a pair of dark sweatpants.
"Uh, yeah," I stammer, my eyes drawn to his bare chest. "I woke up and you were gone, and it's getting late, so I thought… uh, I thought…"
Jesus, I can hardly think looking at him. Now that I know they're there, my eyes are drawn to his sprinkling of scars, only faintly visible, scattered and veiled like stars in an overcast sky.
He grabs my belt loops, hooking his thumbs in them, as he tugs me toward him, pulling me to his bedroom. "You thought we should head to bed?"
"I thought, uh…" I glance at his face, seeing the serious expression. "I thought I should go."
"You should," he says, pulling me flush against him, so close I can feel the heat from his body warming my skin, "but do you want to?"
No.
No, I don't.
His cocky smirk tells me I don't even have to verbalize that answer. I offer no resistance as he pulls me through his bedroom, his hands quickly and smoothly shedding me of my clothes, leaving me even more naked than him by the time he gets me to his bed.
Yelping, I let out a laugh as he picks me up and places me in the center of his bed, wasting no time before settling on top of me. He kisses my mouth, my cheek, my jaw, his lips trailing down my neck and to my chest. I gasp, my hands running through his soft hair when his mouth finds my breasts, his lips wrapping around a nipple and sucking on it. His teeth graze the sensitive flesh as my back arches from the sensation.
His hands grasp my hips, pinning me onto the bed as he makes his way down my stomach, nipping and licking, small stinging jabs ricocheting across my skin when he sucks so hard I'm sure he's going to leave a mark.
I don't mind if he does.
A part of me hopes he will.
Happiness is a human condition in which...
...what happens when people decide...
...a state of mind if we just...
...bullshit.
Happiness is bullshit.
Just like this stupid essay.
Sighing, I scratch out the line and tear the paper from the notebook, crumbling it and tossing it aside. I've been working on the essay for the good part of an hour, trying to get it written since it's due tomorrow afternoon¸ but that's the best I can come up with.
And I don't even believe it.
It's half past one, and I'm still wearing yesterday's clothes, having just got here sometime around noon. I should shower, and change, but the thought of washing away Naz's scent doesn't appeal to me. I'm exhausted from broken sleep and sore from rough sex, and I want nothing more than to rewind a few hours and go back to the darkness and relive those moments again and again.
That was happiness.
Happiness is being fucked so rough you can hardly breathe, can hardly speak, can do nothing but squeal like a pig as he nails you over and over, pushing inside of you so hard, so deep, that you can feel the man not only with your body, but also with your soul. Happiness is waking up the next morning, barely able to recall your own name, because the only one that mattered in hours was his, screamed so loud your throat is painfully raw, like the name had bled from your lips.
Something tells me Santino won't like that too much.
I rip out that page, too, and toss it in the trashcan, along with the half dozen others I scribbled nonsense on. My eyes drift to the clock, not because I don't know the time, but because I'm wishing it would slow down, each tick leading me closer to Melody coming home from class.
Melody, who texted me all night and all morning, worried despite me telling her not to worry. Melody, who is most definitely going to give me the fifth degree like she is the Gestapo and I'm guilty of treason.
I was worried about it earlier, when Naz drove me home. He asked what was wrong, somehow being able to tell. I said I was worried how I was going to explain myself to Melody, and he merely shrugged and said 'tell her or don't tell her, whatever you want'. I don't have much choice, honestly. He didn't give me much choice.
Monster in His Eyes Page 9