by Sam Mariano
“No. She’s just not someone I should be involved with.”
“A cop?” he guesses.
Laughing shortly, I say, “That’s about the only way this could be worse. No, she’s definitely not a cop.”
Grimacing, he asks, “Is she young?”
I give him another sound glare. “I’m not a fucking cradle-robber. Stop projecting your bullshit onto me.”
“Jesus Christ. I’m not either. If you’re going to be an asshole, I’m going home. I’d rather spend my night babysitting your sister than sitting here with you.”
I don’t say anything. If he wants to leave, he can go. All I needed from him was this folder; our business here is concluded.
He doesn’t, though. I don’t know why. I would. I’m always an asshole to this guy.
“What’s her name?” he asks, after a minute’s passed in silence.
“Francesca.” I guess I can say that much. She’s not the only Francesca in the world, and I already know Ethan doesn’t like to get involved in this shit, so there’s not much chance he’d ever get dragged into Morelli’s path. He loathes my father, so there’s even less chance he’d ever tell him.
“So, what’s the problem? If you like her and she likes you and you’re both unattached, why can’t you be together? Sounds simple enough.”
I take another sip. Since I don’t know how else to explain it, I lean in closer and tell him, “Francesca Morelli.”
Now his blue eyes go wide, his face freezing, and he looks at me like he’s praying for laughter, for this to be a joke. When he sees it isn’t, he slowly unfreezes, looking down at his whiskey with dread. He throws it back the rest of it, like he needs a drink for me. Then he leans over closer to demand, “Are you fucking crazy?”
I nod once, taking a sip and tilting my glass in his direction. “There you go. That’s the problem.”
He’s bracing both hands on his head now, bearing the weight of my dilemma, for whatever reason. After a minute, he asks, “Is it too late to back out of this thing? It would be a lot easier if you just cut it off now.”
“Probably would’ve been a lot easier if you cut things off with my sister and didn’t cheat on your wife, too, but you didn’t do that, now did you? So how are you going to sit here and tell me to do what you didn’t do your fucking self?”
“That’s literally night and day. There’s no comparison between these two situations. And I did break it off with your sister—it’s just your maniac fucking father decided to blow up my life the same day and she had to ride to my rescue. If not for him, I would still be married and your sister would be fucking Frat Boy Brian right now.”
“Willow’s always saving your ass,” I mutter.
He doesn’t even argue. “Yep. No one’s saving yours, though. I don’t know who’d be more pissed off about this: your dad, or her brother.”
“My dad,” I tell him, without hesitation. “Definitely my dad. He hates her family. Calls ‘em scum. I can’t even be around him lately because I want to fucking defend them.”
Ethan sighs. “Shit, Sal. This is not good.”
“Nope,” I agree. “But I don’t care. I want her, and I’m gonna have her. I already have her, but I’m keeping her.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Mateo’s logical. I think I could get him to come around.”
Ethan doesn’t look as convinced. “And your dad?”
My dad is a lost cause. This is making me more depressed than I was before Ethan got here. This isn’t what I want to hear. I told Francesca I would make this work, so I’m gonna, and that’s that.
“Her brother hired some cocksucker who used her to get to him. She won’t tell me his name. Any chance you could find out who it was?”
“Someone who still works for Morelli?”
“Yeah.”
Ethan shakes his head, but he looks almost apologetic. “Nope. Sorry, I draw the line there. I’m not going near Morelli’s men. How would that help with your dad?”
“It wouldn’t, I just want to kill the motherfucker.”
“Well, I think that’s a bad idea. If you want to make a good impression on her brother, killing his men probably isn’t where you want to start.”
“Cocksucker needs to die, though,” I mutter.
“Maybe your dad would think of her like a trophy,” Ethan suddenly suggests. “Maybe he’d get on board if you presented it the right way, like she’s your spoils of war instead of someone you actually care about?”
I shake my head. “I can’t pull it off. I’m too protective of her. He’d be a dick to her and I’d lose my shit.”
This makes Ethan smile faintly. “All right, I get that. How long have you been seeing each other?”
“Too embarrassing to admit,” I mutter, grabbing my drink.
Now Ethan grins. “Okay.”
“They say when you know, you know.”
Ethan shrugs, like he’s not quite convinced. “I think that’s optimistic. But hey, maybe you stumbled onto something.”
“I’m terrified of hurting her,” I tell him, looking over at him. I damn sure didn’t expect to say that, but Ethan’s got more experience in this arena than I do, with all my shallow-ass relationships. He’s had a real one, a long one, the kind that stood the test of time—until it didn’t.
“How do you mean?” To his credit, the asshole listens like he actually cares. I know he doesn’t. He can’t. I’m such a dick to him all the time.
“My feelings for her have come on so strong, so fast. It honestly feels to me like…” I shake my head, because all the thoughts drifting through my head are soaked in scotch and too fucking hokey to get out. “It feels real,” I finally say. “It’s not like any other woman I’ve ever known, but how do I know it would stay like that? How do I know it would be worth blowing up both our lives to be with her? Not just for me, but her, too. Last thing I’d want is to hurt her. But I get bored. Not with her, not yet, but it hasn’t been long enough and all this shit’s in the way, but the problem is, since all this shit is in the way… I can’t tell if it’s exciting to me because of her, or because of all the bullshit I have to try to overcome to get her. What if we get together and it gets boring?”
Ethan shakes his head, smiling into his empty whiskey glass. “I can tell you the secret to making it real and making it last, but it’s not going to be romantic and you probably won’t like it.”
“What is it?”
“You just decide it is. Love isn’t some magical pixie dust bullshit. The initial attraction, the chemistry, the feelings, sure, you feel that for a while. But it all ebbs and flows. That’s life. It doesn’t mean your relationship isn’t real, it doesn’t mean it should end. Relationships last because people decide to make them last. If you’re an asshole who needs to chase an emotional high all the time, then yeah, that’s going to happen. It’s not if, it’s when. Relationships get hard. They get boring. They hit rough patches. It’s your job to keep investing in it, to keep deciding on that person every day. Love is more a decision than some fleeting, magical bullshit. If you care about each other, if you love her enough to commit to her, then that’s it. If you get bored, suck it up. Do something you did when things were new. Do something you’ve never done before. Take some time together and go somewhere. Relationships aren’t magic. They’re work. As long as you’re with someone who fits you well and you’re both realistic and doing the work, your relationship will be fine.”
“Then why are you divorced?” I ask him, simply.
He levels me a look to tell me he’s not impressed. Here he is giving me all this good advice and I bring up shit like that. But hey, if he’s such a fucking expert, it’s a logical question.
He’s apparently sick of my shit tonight, so he pulls no punches. “Because I took a bad job and had to rape your sister.”
The near-friendly feeling I just had a second ago abruptly evaporates and I suddenly want to kill him again. Not like this is news, but hearing him actually s
ay it makes me want to put a bullet in his fucking head.
“My marriage didn’t fail because it was a bad marriage. It failed because I did something unforgiveable and my wife couldn’t get past it. I also didn’t cheat out of boredom. I would never do that. Only selfish assholes start something like that on purpose. I don’t have to tell you that. Go in with realistic expectations and you won’t be disillusioned. Well, if you can get this thing off the ground to begin with. Odds aren’t exactly in your favor.” He grabs his glass to take a last drink, then realizes he already finished it. Since our business here is complete and we’ve left friendly territory, he climbs off the stool, grabbing his bag off the floor. “Anyway, I’m gonna get out of here. Willow made some awful-looking lentil soup shit for dinner, so I need to grab a burger before everything closes.”
I rotate my glass on the counter, staring at the remaining contents like they might hold easier answers.
Before he leaves, Ethan pats me on the back. “Good luck.”
I give him a hostile look instead of offering back anything friendly, but he doesn’t care. He’s used to me being a jerk to him, and he probably just wants to get the hell out of here.
“I need more than luck,” I mutter to myself, once he’s gone.
Then, like the hopeless motherfucker I am, I pull out my phone to text Francesca.
Chapter Fourteen
“Happy One Month Anniversary!”
I don’t expect to hear from Francesca until later, and I definitely don’t expect her to send that text message, but it makes me smile. I have no idea if it’s been one month—and if so, one month since what? Since I met her? Since we had a drink? It doesn’t matter. If she says today’s our anniversary, today’s our anniversary. I guess I’ll stop and grab flowers on the way home.
“What’s that smile for?”
I glance up at Paulie, about to tuck my phone away. I don’t want to ignore Francesca though, so I shoot her a quick text and turn my attention back to work. I roll my eyes congenially, but he doesn’t really expect an answer. We don’t exactly talk about our romantic pursuits over mojitos, Paulie and me.
When I get another chance, I take out my phone and see that Francesca has already responded, asking what I’m up to.
“Thinking about what I’m gonna make you for dinner,” I shoot back.
She sends me a smiley face with hearts for eyes. “You’re an actual prince, Castellanos.”
That makes me laugh, which gains me a funny look from Paulie. I should put my phone away, but I just want to keep talking to her since she’s responding so promptly.
“I hope you’re ready for the final season of Entourage,” I tell her, grinning all the while.
“Ugh,” she sends back, along with an emoji of a frog face. A moment later she adds, “Mark said he has no knowledge of these plans.”
“Mark isn’t invited,” I reply.
“Mark says he did not sign up for this shit.”
Still smiling, I type back, “Tell Mark to get his own girl.”
“I think it’s your company he’s longing for, not mine.”
“Nah, it’s Emmanuelle Chriqui.”
“Understandable. She’s pretty hot,” Francesca sends back.
“She’s got nothing on you.”
“Lol, I knew you were going to say that.”
“I must be getting boring and predictable,” I type back.
“Never.”
---
All day I’ve been looking forward to Francesca coming over tonight. Her brother has a poker game so he won’t be home. For the first time since New York, we get to spend the night together.
I’m hoping things go a little smoother this time. Despite apparently being in this relationship for an entire month, I still have not slept with Francesca. In fact, after she traumatized me with her story of her own trauma at the hands of whoever the fuck her ex is, I haven’t even wanted to. I mean, I want to, but I realized we needed to take a step back and act like teenagers again. It’s a little redundant to me, easing into a relationship, taking baby steps instead of behaving like a sexually active adult, but it’s made her more comfortable, so I’m happy to do it. Besides, I like cuddling on the couch with her while we watch TV and eat snacks. I like messing around with her, but keeping things light. I love making her come—if it’s this much fun with just my hand, I surely have a lot to look forward to once my mouth and dick are invited to the party.
I’m not in any hurry.
Not like we have an actual destination right now.
At the same time, I’ve never felt more done with literally every other woman in existence before. My relationship with Francesca is exactly the opposite of every other relationship I’ve ever had. I don’t know if that means she’s the one I’m supposed to be with, but I don’t know what else it could mean. Maybe I was going out with the wrong kind of girl my whole life. Maybe I didn’t know my own type. Maybe I just didn’t want to, because I didn’t want anything serious.
Right place, right time.
Much as I hate to give the bastard credit for anything, Ethan’s advice bounces around my brain from time to time. I’ve only been in this relationship for a month, and I’ve already thought of the ultimate relationship end game on multiple occasions. Marriage. It might only sound so appealing because it’s literally impossible, and I do like to chase things I’m not allowed to have. Obviously I would never bring it up to her at this stage. She’d think I’m crazy. I kinda think I’m crazy, but knowing it’s impossible makes it more of a casual thought. Not like I’m planning to jet off to Vegas with her anytime soon—or at all. It’d just be nice if it was on the table down the road.
She asks me if I’ve heard anything from Adrian every couple of days. She’s so eager, wanting him to uncover Dante’s treachery. I know she thinks if Mateo would okay it, that would be the biggest hurdle, but that’s because he calls all the shots in her life. She doesn’t even know what it’s like to have an actual father, so I can’t blame her for not understanding my relationship with mine.
If it does turn out Dante and Delmonico are working against Mateo, I’ll have to double and triple my efforts to broker peace with my dad. I just don’t see it happening. He could be reasoned with if his reasons for hating Mateo were rational, but they’re emotional. As I’ve seen since meeting Francesca, emotions are a whole different thing. There’s no reasoning with those sons of bitches.
My doorbell rings, and I grin in reaction. It makes me feel so damn happy just knowing she’s here, that in a moment’s time, Francesca’s body will be pressed against mine, the scent of her shampoo wafting to my nose, her face pressed to my neck.
Abandoning the ingredients I was messing with in the kitchen, I head for the door, yanking it open to greet her.
Only the wrong woman is standing on the other side.
The smile falls right off my face when I see Vivian, still blonde, offering me a close-lipped smile. “Hey, handsome.”
It’s not at all like her to show up unannounced. I haven’t even talked to her since that night I couldn’t stop thinking about Francesca, so I don’t know what the hell she’s doing here.
“Uh, what are you doing here?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.
Her eyebrows rise, and instead of answering, she grabs her phone, flicking the screen a few times and holding up a picture of her on social media for some reason. I hate agreeing with my dad about anything, but sure enough, half of her cleavage is on display. She even cut off part of her forehead to get more cleavage in the shot. Never thought about it before, but then I don’t have any kind of social media to fuck around on.
“Nice picture?” It comes out like a question, but I’m lost as to why she’s showing it to me.
“Keep looking,” she says patiently.
“I think I’ve seen all there is to see,” I point out, raising an eyebrow.
Frowning, she turns the phone back to her. “Oh, I didn’t scroll down.” She shoots me a look I know is sup
posed to be innocent, but I don’t buy it. She just wanted to me look at her picture. Like I don’t already know what she looks like.
Now when she shows me the display, I see what’s wrong.
“Oh, God, she didn’t.”
Vivian nods, her smile turning to an all-out grin. “Your mom is so freaking adorable, I can’t even stand it. She obviously has no idea how to send messages, so she just comments what she wants to say on my pictures. All of them. At random. Pieces of conversation are all up and down my feed. I’m not even entirely sure what she’s trying to say to me, but this one was very clear.” Now she puts her phone away and glances back up at me. “Imagine how surprised I was to hear we had plans tonight.”
Well, fuck.
“How did my mom even find you on whatever the fuck that is?” I ask.
“Your dad’s creepy friend Paul follows me.” Rolling her eyes, she moves closer. “You gonna invite me in?”
“I—No. I’m sorry, I can’t. I actually do have someone coming over.”
“Another Vivian?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Of course that’s when Francesca pulls in. I don’t think there’s any reason Vivian would recognize her, but I really don’t want to take the chance. I’ve never known Vivian to be excessively scheming, but then why would she ever show me that side if she was? She wants me to find her attractive.
Francesca is understandably confused as she walks up my driveway. Her gaze lingers on Vivian, her blonde hair and tight white coat wrapped around her slight form. Her jeans are tight as fuck, with stylish boots.
Turning with a bright smile as Francesca approaches the front porch, Vivian offers her hand. “Hi. You must be Vivian Two.”
Francesca frowns slightly, glancing at me for direction.
Since it’s the only thing that makes any sense, I step forward, grab Francesca around the waist, and give her a long-ass kiss. She softens in my arms, any apprehension melting right out of her, and her arms go around my neck as she kisses me back. Suddenly I’m calm. All is right in the world. Unwanted visitors don’t matter. Our family feuds don’t matter. This is all that matters. As long as we have this, the rest of the world can go to hell.