Thin Lines (Donati Bloodlines Book 2)

by Bethany-Kris

  She didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the idea.

  “Do you want to look into that?” Emma asked. “We’d have to get it done soon to get it back in time for Christmas.”

  “What would I put on it?” Cynthia asked.

  Emma stumbled over her thoughts.

  She was going to tell Cynthia to put what she felt for her father—her love, even—but that didn’t seem appropriate. Neither of the Donati girls were very close to Affonso. His distance and lack of interest in their lives pushed them away from him.

  “You could put something simple like the year,” Emma suggested.

  “Lame,” Michelle said.

  “Shut up,” Cynthia replied. “It’s not like you’re helping any.”

  “Put that you love him on it, Cynthia. Something to make him smile. Maybe then he’ll let you go to that college in England you like so much.”

  Cynthia frowned, but quickly hid it by looking down. “That’s your style, not mine.”

  “Whatever. I want a slushy juice. I’ll be right back,” Michelle said.

  Emma let the teenager leave the store, but kept an eye on her as she crossed the small section to the juice stand across from their current spot. Sometimes, the glaring differences between the Donati sisters were as clear as day. One didn’t mind indulging her father while the other was at an age where she had already realized that her father simply didn’t care enough about her life.

  “Okay, your sister is out of eat-shot,” Emma said as she leaned against the glass case. “Talk to me, Cynthia.”

  Cynthia met Emma’s gaze. “I didn’t want to come home for Christmas this year.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because what’s the point? We’ll go back. We’re lucky if we get a call once every couple of months.”

  Emma’s brow furrowed. “Affonso was on the phone twice last month with Michelle.”

  “She causes trouble to get attention.”

  Ah.

  Emma wasn’t included in those sorts of things where her husband’s daughters were concerned. She wasn’t allowed much say with them, or their business with school. Affonso handled it all.

  “But I came anyway,” Cynthia said.

  “I would have been sad if you didn’t.”

  Cynthia laughed. “I know. You and Calisto. I came home for him, too. He always makes sure to call me once a week. And sometimes he texts, just to see how I’m doing.”

  Emma’s heart softened a little more toward her lover.

  “He would have been disappointed had you not come home for vacation, I’m sure,” Emma said.

  “Daddy isn’t going to let me go to school in England, Emma.”

  Yeah.

  Probably not.

  “Doesn’t hurt to ask, though,” Emma said softly.

  “I already got accepted into the arts program for dance,” Cynthia said. “And I’ll have to turn it down.”

  Emma wanted to help her step-daughter, but she didn’t really know how to without irritating her husband. The closer she was to his daughters, the stranger he acted, like she was doing something wrong.

  She was always careful to make it seem like there was a distance between her and the girls whenever Affonso was around. But she had grown to love them in the short time she was able to spend with them. Well, in her own way, at least.

  Emma plucked the golden Zippo from Cynthia’s hand and looked it over.

  “Maybe your sister was right,” Emma suggested. “Let’s get it engraved with something to make him smile. When it comes to men like your father, they need to feel like the most important person in your life. It won’t hurt to try.”

  It was wrong to manipulate a man.

  It was even worse to teach his daughter how to do it, too.

  Emma figured the Donati girls had been neglected enough. They deserved a bit of their own happiness. She would try to help them achieve it however she could.

  “Do you think it will work?” Cynthia asked.

  “No, but it’s a start.”

  “I’m not as good at making Daddy like me the way Michelle is.”

  Emma thought that was terribly sad. A daughter shouldn’t feel like she had to make her father like her. He just should without question.

  “Emma?” Cynthia asked when Emma stayed quiet.

  “Yes?”

  “I wanted to say sorry.”

  Emma’s brow lifted. “For what?”

  Cynthia’s gaze dropped to Emma’s flat stomach. “Daddy said we shouldn’t say anything, just act like nothing was different.”

  Oh.

  Emma’s heart leaped into her throat, almost choking her silent. “It’s okay.”

  “Is it really?”

  “No,” Emma admitted. “But it’s a lot better than it was.”

  “I’m still sorry.” Cynthia turned back to the display case and stared inside. “I need to find something for Cal.”

  Emma did, too.

  “I’ll help you look,” she said.

  Cynthia smiled brightly. “Thanks, Emma.”

  Teenagers weren’t as hard to like as everyone claimed.

  Except for one …

  “Are we done here or what?” came Michelle’s annoyed voice from behind Emma. “I’ve got things to do. Better things. Just get him the goddamn lighter, Cynthia. Daddy will shove it into his drawer like he does with everything else we buy. Stop wasting time on him.”

  The girl was more like her father than she knew.

  Emma didn’t bother to tell her that, though.

  Christmas rolled in quietly for the Donati home. It was one of the only holidays when Affonso didn’t open up his home with a large dinner and parties that went on for hours.

  Emma was grateful.

  She didn’t think she would be up for it.

  The Christmas holiday brought with it a somber mood that seemed to hang in every damn hall of the house. It was unavoidable.

  Emma knew that Affonso’s first wife, his daughters’ mother, had died close to Christmastime. It was probably hard on Cynthia and Michelle. They wanted to celebrate the holiday and enjoy their gifts, but it was another reminder of their grief and losing their mom.

  She understood.

  Emma let the girls do their own thing when they needed to. Affonso didn’t say a word either way. She decorated the home using a mixture of the decorations that had been packed away, and some new things she had purchased leading up to the holiday. Instead of asking if Cynthia and Michelle wanted to join in to help string lights or hang wreaths, she let them come to her willingly.

  But even with the decorations, bright lights, and tinsel all around, the house still felt sad. Like it had its very own heart that was broken.

  So when Christmas morning arrived, Emma didn’t rush to get ready and make her way downstairs. It wasn’t like anyone else in the house was particularly excited, and she certainly didn’t have anything to look forward to.

  Whatever gifts Affonso gave to her would be yet more bribes.

  Something to keep her pleased, happy … quiet.

  Once she was dressed, and her mask made of makeup and fake smiles was plastered on, Emma finally made her way downstairs.

  She was the last one to wake up, apparently.

  Emma was surprised to find her husband, his daughters, and Calisto chatting around the dining room table. The cook had been given the day off, which meant everyone had to fend for themselves if they wanted to eat, or Emma had to cook.

  “It’s about time you woke up,” Affonso grumbled from the head of the table.

  Calisto met Emma’s gaze, his expression passive. The barest hint of a smile graced his lips at her confused look.

  “They’re hungry and incapable of cooking,” Calisto said.

  “I’m not incapable,” Cynthia replied. “Emma just makes things better than I do.”

  “Your opinion,” Michelle said. “But she does make great waffles.”

  Emma smiled at that. “I can make waffles.”

&n
bsp; “Hurry up then,” Affonso said. “The coffee is hot. I’m not so inept that I don’t know how to turn the pot on. We’ll be in the living room opening gifts when you’re ready to join.”

  “Sure,” Emma said, still watching Calisto out of the corner of her eye.

  He hadn’t mentioned that he would be there on Christmas morning. She was surprised to see him. It didn’t help that her first reaction was to rub her thighs together to soothe the constant ache whenever he was near.

  As soon as Affonso stood from his seat, his daughters followed suit and left the dining room. Calisto stood to join them.

  Emma tampered down her desire at the sight of him in one of his all black, tailored suits. The man looked damn fine, and he knew it.

  This was not the time.

  Today was not a good day.

  She went straight to the cupboards, thinking Calisto would follow the rest of his family to the living room where the tree was set up. Pulling out the things she would need to make the waffles, she didn’t realize Calisto had come up behind her until his hand landed on her hip.

  Emma jerked at the sudden touch.

  And sighed.

  He made her so goddamn stupid.

  “Merry Christmas, Emmy,” Calisto whispered in her ear.

  “Merry Christmas, Calisto.”

  “I’ve made it a tradition to join them on Christmas morning and take the girls to Mass afterward. Affonso takes his own car. I’m sure the girls wouldn’t mind if you joined us.”

  Emma’s stomach clenched with heat and need. “Yeah, sure.”

  “I have something for you.”

  Calisto took his hand away, and every single part of Emma felt the loss. She wanted him touching her again, she wanted him closer. It didn’t matter how dangerous and idiotic it was, she needed it.

  She didn’t say a thing.

  Calisto moved beside her, and put a tiny gift box about the size of her palm on the counter.

  “Better I give it to you now,” he said. “No one else will understand.”

  “Your gift is under the tree. The girls picked it out with me.”

  She hoped he liked the black rosary with its silver cross and chain. It reminded her of the one he had given to her. He had yet to ask for it back.

  She made sure to touch it at least once a day.

  Calisto smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind. Open it, and then don’t let anyone see it.”

  Without another word, Calisto caught Emma’s chin between his forefinger and thumb, and pressed a fast kiss to her lips. Before she could react to his kiss, he was leaving the kitchen with a two finger wave.

  Stolen moments.

  Calisto couldn’t possibly know, but Emma clung onto each one.

  Every single time.

  Shooting the kitchen entryway a look, Emma listened to make sure no one was coming back from the living room. She quickly opened the top of the gift box, and froze in place as she saw the small item nestled inside black velvet.

  A casino chip. From the casino where her penthouse had once been. Where Calisto played her right off a poker table with his cocky as hell grin.

  The white chip was embossed with golden dots all around the outer rim. The casino’s logo was emblazoned on the middle along with the dollar value.

  It was a little thing.

  A stupid thing.

  And she loved it.

  Emma laughed under her breath, amused and overwhelmed at the same time. She plucked the chip out of the velvet case with trembling fingers. Her vision blurred as she blinked away the sudden tears gathering in her eyes.

  Somehow, Calisto had either kept a chip from his time in Vegas, or he got one sent to him.

  It didn’t matter.

  It meant the same thing to her.

  His time there had been important enough for him to want to keep something from it. His time with her had been important to him.

  Emma held the chip tighter, hiding it in her palm.

  The simplest things were the best kind of things.

  Emma

  “That’s an awful one,” Affonso said, flicking his wrist at Emma.

  Emma glanced at the dress in the mirror, appreciating the soft colors and smooth lines. It wasn’t housewife enough for Affonso’s tastes.

  “You’ve only seen a few of this season’s collection,” the shop woman said. “Give it a few more dresses and see how you feel.”

  Affonso sneered at the woman. “If they’re all like this one but in different colors, I think we’ve had enough for the day.”

  “Affonso,” Emma chided, shaking her head.

  Shopping with him was unbearable. Unfortunately, it wasn’t something he gave her much of a choice in. Affonso wanted Emma to be dressed in the most up-to-date items when they came into the stores. Both he and she regularly updated their entire wardrobe over the span of a couple of days.

  It bored the hell out of her.

  Affonso just liked to antagonize the ladies working in the boutiques. Emma was sure of it.

  “Fine, we’ll try on another few,” Affonso said.

  He shooed the woman away with a wave, glaring as she went.

  “You don’t have to make this whole thing so awful for them,” Emma said.

  “For the amount of money I spend in here, yes I do.”

  Jesus.

  Emma rolled her eyes, and turned back to the mirror. “I don’t see what the problem with this dress is.”

  “The length, for starters.”

  “It’s only a few inches above my knees, Affonso. I can’t think of a single man who gets turned on by the sight of a woman’s knees. Should I start wearing dresses that hang down to my ankles?”

  “Don’t start,” her husband warned. “Try on another.”

  Knowing better than to argue with him, Emma went back into the changing room. She picked a navy blue dress that would be tight to her curves with a pencil thin skirt, but fell low enough to soothe Affonso’s jealousies. Once she stepped out of the dressing room, Affonso nodded in approval.

  “Better,” he said. “I like this one.”

  “Me, too.”

  Affonso stayed quiet as Emma turned in the mirror, surveying the back of the dress and how it looked at different angles. She couldn’t help but notice how quiet her husband had become. Usually he was full of praise or disapproval when she came out of a dressing room with something new on.

  “What’s wrong?” Emma asked, not bothering to turn around. “You said you liked it.”

  “I do.”

  “You’re too quiet.”

  Affonso sighed. “It isn’t the dress.”

  Emma turned around to face Affonso. “Do you want me to get the dress?”

  “Yes.” He stared up at her, unflinching. “I also want to know if you put any crazy ideas in my daughter’s head about some school in England.”

  Emma blanked. “What?”

  Affonso waved his phone in the air. “Cynthia messaged me not five minutes after her plane landed yesterday. She’s been waiting on a reply from me ever since. Something about a school and dance—in England.”

  Shit.

  Why was Emma’s throat so tight all of the sudden?

  The girls had stayed home for nearly three weeks before they left again for boarding school. Emma was sad to see them go, as they made the New Year’s celebrations leading into cold mid-January a little bit better. They gave her something else to think about, other than the fact that February was crawling closer and closer by the day.

  Her baby boy, the one she buried, would have been due the first week of February. She didn’t realize how much it hurt until it was right around the corner.

  Emma forced the thoughts away. It was better if she didn’t stay focused on the sadness for long. It could eat her alive if she let it.

  “Did she mention it came from me?” Emma asked.

  “No,” Affonso replied.

  “Then why would you think it came from me?”

  “Who else would it come f
rom?”

  “Your daughter who has spent the majority of her life practicing ballet and wants to continue.”

  “In England,” he stressed.

  Emma racked her brain with something to say to calm the anger clouding Affonso’s features even colder and darker than they usually were. This was not good. She planned on slowly bringing this topic up to her husband in little ways, while trying to engage him more in Cynthia’s dancing.

  Clearly, her step-daughter had different plans.

  “She might have mentioned it,” Emma said.

  “And you encouraged it enough that she decided to ask me if I would sign off on the tuition early,” he snapped.

  Surprised at the change in Affonso’s demeanor, Emma refused to back down. He wasn’t fun to deal with when he was pissed off, but neither was she.

  “Actually, no,” Emma said. “I didn’t. I thought it was something she should discuss with you. I never encouraged her to drop the bomb on you about it, however. I told her to give it a bit of time and make sure it was what she really wanted before she brought it up to you.”

  “What is even in England for her? There are dance schools in New York that would die to take her. England is …”

  “Too far from you,” Emma said quietly. “Give her a few years, Affonso. She’s young. Let her be young before you start demanding things from her. She needs to grow up a little bit.”

  Affonso growled under his breath and tossed his phone aside. “You don’t understand, Emma.”

  Emma threw her hands wide. “I don’t understand?”

  “Well—”

  “A year ago, I was Cynthia!”

  Affonso swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. “I don’t think it’s quite the same thing.”

  “It’s exactly the same thing. You’ve already told me how you want to marry the girls off to strengthen your famiglia. It’s no different. I’m asking you, Affonso, to please give Cynthia a few more years before you do that to her. A little more time for her to learn who she is and to let her grow up. She’s just a girl.”

  “She knows what I expect,” Affonso said, brushing off his pant legs like he was over the entire day and conversation.

  Emma’s fury boiled over. She couldn’t have stopped it if she tried.

  “I know she’s less important because she was born a girl, but she is still your daughter,” Emma said, knowing damn well how harsh she sounded. “And if you can’t understand even a tiny bit why it would be better for her to have just a little more time to be young before you force her to be someone she doesn’t want to be, then you aren’t worthy of being her father.”