by Gina LaManna
“Could it have been Joey?” Anthony asked.
“Joey?” I paused. That was a good thought. I kinda wished I’d had it myself.
But then I remembered our arrival, and I sighed. Dead end. “No, it couldn’t have been. We’re sharing a room. I got to the room first and took a shower. He hadn’t even been in the room before I got out. I found him outside the front door with three elephant-sized suitcases, struggling to figure out how to use the card key.”
“Who else had access to your room, anyone?”
“No. Except for you, probably. You tend to have a way of showing up places you don’t belong.” I crossed my arms. I was starting to feel a little bit tired of being interrogated like I was the criminal here.
A clinking noise signaled the start of spoons getting banged against wine glasses, a call for a kiss and a reminder to me that I should be joining the dinner party.
“I’ll help you in any way I can, Anthony. But right now, I really have to go celebrate my cousin’s wedding.” I turned and strode from the room, proud of myself for not looking over my shoulder.
A firm hand clasped my wrist and I whirled backwards, spinning like a ballerina. Or at least that’s how graceful I pictured myself in my mind. In reality, I came to a crash landing against a warm, hard body and the scent of manliness and clean linen.
Anthony’s warm breath cascaded over my hair; I was trapped against his chest, one hand in his, the other wrapped around his waist, though I couldn’t remember how it’d gotten there. “I’m pissed at this guy, Doll. I’m pissed because everyone here is in danger, particularly you. That means I’ve got to be on my best behavior and keep an eye out for you at all times.”
I rested my head against his chest, feeling tired suddenly from the day’s events. I wanted to skip dinner and go lie down in my own, clean bed. “Is it so terrible, watching over me?”
There was a moment of silence, and it felt like we were frozen in place, a silent dance between two lovers. “Watching over you isn’t the trouble, Doll. I just don’t want to be distracted from watching you.”
My breath came in short bursts, and I tried to calm my fluttering nerves before they gave me away. I wanted to pull back and stomp off to dinner like I’d started to, but I couldn’t do it. I’d never felt like this before, and I was beginning to think I liked it. Wrapped tightly in arms that were strong and secure, held by a man who was charming and sexy, even if I wasn’t exactly sure about his morals when the sun went down. I think I preferred not to know the full extent of his job.
Then his lips brushed the top of my hair one more time and he released me from his grasp, my skin feeling suddenly cold where it’d been flaming hot only moments before.
“Ready?” His eyes shone bright for the first time since he’d dragged me out of the dinner.
“Do I look ready to you?” I hadn’t meant my comment to sound sarcastic. I actually meant it.
“You look perfect.” He nodded, eyeing me from head to toe. “Except I’m not sure where you got that dress. From a nun at Church?”
And then my anger was back to its normal levels, my frustration boiling at the surface. “I did not get this dress from a nunnery, okay?”
Anthony winked. “Don’t think I don’t understand your games. Clothing only goes so far as a deterrent, Doll.”
The words that’d been on the edge of my tongue, prepared to lash out a retort, suddenly dissipated. I swallowed, my mouth going dry as sand.
I finally made my entrance back into the dining room just as the champagne bottle was popped, the ensuing cheers thankfully masking my appearance, giving me a level of discretion I hadn’t counted on.
I slipped into my chair and clapped with the rest of them, whistling with my two pinkies in the corner of my mouth, trying to ignore Anthony as he stepped inside the room and surveyed the space, business as usual.
I barely noticed the man of the hour make his appearance just as the cheers were winding down and Vivian was preparing to gulp her (second, third or even sixth) serving of alcohol. The boring banker made his way to his chair just a little later than everyone else.
Then again, if I’d been getting married to Vivian, I just might not have shown up at all. I gave Vivian a little credit: where Joey was orange, the banker was pale, where Joey had muscles blown up like a pufferfish, the banker was averagely flabby, and where Joey was crazy and psycho, the banker seemed utterly normal and, well, average.
It looked to me like Viv had done a complete 180 on the man she’d chosen to spend the rest of her life with, but that was quite a good thing. The banker reached over and touched Viv’s arm as they sat down together, whispered something in her ear and then immediately took up staring at his empty plate, as if wishing food would appear. I happened to share that fantasy.
Vivian ignored her husband-to-be, choosing to take shots with her maid of honor instead. I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what the banker saw in my cousin, but who was I to argue? I raised my glass with the rest of the room, and toasted the happy couple.
Chapter 7
Dinner proceeded at an incredibly loud and obnoxiously slow pace. Vivian had killed half a bottle of champagne by the time salads arrived, and after the first plate of pasta she was slurring her words, drinking from a bowl, and using her spoon to spread butter.
I’d been moved halfway through dinner by a not-so-subtle request from Vivian, to sit next to the bride to be. It appeared that my new job for the rest of the evening was assisting Vivian in remaining upright in her seat and not spilling entire bottles of wine.
The bridesmaid that had originally been in the seat next to Vivian was just as drunk and at least four times as loud as the bride. This woman screeched when she laughed and cackled when she sighed, and her singing was abominable. She’d tried to climb Anthony twice, in order to kiss his ‘adorable’ cheeks. When that had failed, she’d taken to complaining non-stop about how her manicurist had destroyed her pinky nail by forgetting a teensy tiny little gem in the corner.
To make matters worse, her name was Katie and she insisted on being called Kiki. I couldn’t tell you why, because her words were more jumbled than scrambled eggs. Instead of helping Vivian enjoy her day, Kiki was shirtless by dessert and crying when the shots of Grappa arrived.
I looked around frantically for the banker, hoping he’d take care of his soon-to-be wife, but he was nowhere to be seen. Probably off smoking a cigar, I thought jealously.
“I’ll never f-f-find love,” Kiki wept into her glass.
“Me neither,” sobbed Vivian. “I’m marrying a b-b-banker. That’s not romantic.”
“But you’re m-m-marrying somebody.” Kiki collapsed.
I looked around the table: the men had long since departed, and the few bridesmaids that were in a state of semi-sobriety suddenly became intrigued with their desserts and shoveled massive quantities of gelato into their mouths.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Vivian, don’t say that too loud. You’re getting married tomorrow.”
I looked over at Anthony for some help. He remained standing in the corner, stoic as usual, nothing betraying his annoyance except for a steady twitch of his jaw.
“There, there.” I patted each of their backs in turn, glaring over Kiki’s shoulder at Anthony.
His lips tightened and he gave an imperceptible shake of his head, signifying, ‘There’s no way they pay me enough money to do this shit.’ And I couldn’t be one hundred percent positive, but I was pretty dang sure Anthony made good money.
In the two moments that I’d been exchanging an eyeball to eyeball silent conversation with Anthony, I hadn’t realized that Kiki slipped out from under my arm and went to Vivian’s side. They were very animatedly comparing breast size, with Kiki lamenting how her DD cups should be enough to get a banker if Vivian’s measly D’s could secure one.
I glanced down at my own, much smaller versions, and wondered if that was the reason no banker had proposed to me yet. I shrugged. Better off not to think abo
ut that now.
I focused on ignoring everything happening around me. Why couldn’t I have been born a boy? I’d be off in an obscure hotel room, locked away with Carlos and the other men playing poker, smoking cigars with beefy, scary guards watching the door. But no. Instead, I was trapped between a weepy set of bridesmaids fighting over an average husband and a sexy man I couldn’t have—and who wouldn’t help me out with the whole sobbing mess that had started off as Table 1.
Two seconds later, the two women were cat-fighting—kind of slapping each other, but too afraid to actually hit each other hard. That totally ruined my concentration on ignoring everything, and I made a small move towards the two ladies. However, they weren’t really in danger, as neither wanted to break a nail or have a visible bruise for the photos tomorrow, so I didn’t feel all that inclined to do much helping. I did more watching, feeling impressed at how aware even their drunken subconscious was about their physical appearance and ability to punch each other in places that wouldn’t leave marks. Or visible ones, at least.
Anthony, however, rushed over and in three seconds flat he had the women separated, their heels splayed at awkward angles against the ground. Anthony turned his head away from a nearly naked Kiki, her shirt still discarded at the dinner table and her skirt hiked up past the appropriate level, making it more of a halter top without a halter.
I got the better end of the deal, pulling my cousin away. Luckily, Vivian sat down abruptly and slumped into unconsciousness.
Anthony looked at me over the two women. “Don’t you dare move a muscle. I’m going to deposit… this,” he nudged Kiki. “I will come back in two seconds. I expect you both to be here when I get back. Alive.”
“I’m good. I got a weapon.” I picked up a fork leftover from dinner.
Anthony rolled his eyes and left the room with Kiki hung over his shoulder like a log.
I leaned over Vivian and lightly tapped her cheeks. “Vivian, honey, you’re getting married tomorrow. Wake up!”
“Joeyyy,” she mumbled. “JOE.”
“No, wrong man. You’re getting married to…” I stopped. I didn’t actually know his name. “A wonderful banker. Where is he tonight, by the way? People were asking.”
“He’s not feeling well.” She blew out a long breath. “All because of Leo. If Leo hadn’t fucking died…”
I perked right up, setting my fork down on the ground next to her. “Leo—what about Leo dying? Who did it?”
“Jealous, wanted job… Mafia…” Her breathing patterns were shotty and her breath smelled like a dive bar.
“Was it Alfonso?” I asked. “Alfonso wanted a job in the Mafia, that’s why he killed him?”
“Mmmm,” Vivian said.
I slapped her cheeks again, just a teensy bit harder. “Vivian. Help me out.”
Her eyes focused for a brief second, and a flood of hope washed through me. “Leo. He died… before the wedding. All his fault.”
“What is all his fault?” I asked. “Why does it matter that he died before the wedding?”
“Who died?” Anthony strode into his room as Vivian lay back on the floor, eyes shut firmly. I had a feeling she had to do some snoozing before we’d get any more answers out of her.
Anthony swung her over his shoulder and I debriefed him on Vivian’s nonsensical mumblings.
“Hmm,” he said.
“Do you think it means anything?” I asked.
“I think we should ask her more about it tomorrow. Right now, there’s nothing that she’s gonna tell us for a few hours at least. You need some sleep, too.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I kicked the floor. “Not sure if I’ll be able to sleep after the events of today.”
“Be careful what you’re asking,” Anthony said, turning around.
I clasped a hand over my mouth. “I didn’t mean that. It wasn’t an invitation.”
“All right, then.” Anthony swung back around, Vivian in his arms.
We rode the elevator in silence this time, the smell of booze overpowering any romantic vibes from either of us. We tucked her safely into her room, where she’d stay with her parents, and then Anthony walked me to my door.
“Well, thanks for your help.” I looked up through my eyelashes, feeling a little bit shy for the first time all day. “I bet you’re ready to toss those two into Lake Michigan with a new pair of shoes, huh?”
“Who’s to say I won’t tonight?”
I opened my mouth to retort, but a low groan emerged from Anthony’s throat, and my voice vanished. He swooped a hand around my back and placed the other against the door frame, resting both of our weights against the wall. He dragged my pelvis towards his and in a flurry of heat, I melted against his figure.
His lips were firm and soft, skilled at their task. His tongue slipped into my mouth and roved, taking it, marking it as his. My breath was lost somewhere in my throat, and the world was black except for his wonderfully luxurious kiss.
My arms crept up to the back of his head, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, my moan melding with his animalistic growl. The passion was palpable; our nerves and energy pent up from a stressful day coming out in one amazing kiss.
His hand slipped to the waist of my dress, tugging up the long material until my butt was exposed to the wall. I didn’t notice until he began playing with my panties, and I nearly collapsed when he snapped the edge of my underwear to my skin.
We parted on impact of the sharp pop of elastic against skin, both of us breathing deeply, a bit in shock. Both of us wanted more, I was sure of it. I was just as sure that neither of us was ready to go there. Or, at least I wasn’t. I did still need to shave.
“Good night,” I said. I turned and let myself into my room. I closed the door slowly, Anthony’s shadow unmoving until the deadbolt slid into place.
Chapter 8
The lights were off when I entered the room and the place was completely dark—almost creepily so, knowing that Joey was my only roommate. The last thing on earth I wanted was to slip into my bed and find him lying there, having accidentally passed out on the wrong mattress.
Though, maybe he slept naked, and in that case the lights off would be a good thing…
I stubbed my toe on the bathroom door and stumbled inside. I flicked the switch on and shut the door, but something caught in its path. I opened the door again slowly, just enough to dislodge whatever was blocking the hinge.
Some of the light from the bathroom spilled out into the room, and I shut the door as much as possible while maneuvering a discarded bath robe out of the door’s way. It was white and cotton; I must’ve dropped mine further from my bed than I’d thought. Either that or Joey had kicked it over here.
I went back into the bathroom, washed up and took care of business, still thinking about Anthony. I was partially annoyed at the mixed signals he was sending, partially thrilled that he found me even the slightest bit attractive. Still distracted, I slipped into the bathrobe I’d rescued from the floor, realizing too late that it wasn’t mine.
“Ugh, gross.” There was an orange tint from his muscle grease decorating a section of the robe. What had Joey done to this thing? The string that cinched the middle together was also missing, and a long thread dangled from one of the pockets.
I ripped it from my body as quickly as I could, thinking I’d have to shower all over again, just in case any of his gunky grease had gotten on my skin.
Nah, I decided. Much too late for that. Plus, I’d shower first thing in the morning before the wedding, and I had only touched the robe for about 1.4 seconds, max. I stepped into an oversized sweatshirt and soccer shorts instead, which I’d packed for two purposes: comfort was the first, and reaching the minimum level of attractiveness possible while staying with Joey, the second.
I slid under the covers of my bed, a welcome relief that it was clean and empty, and basked in the crispness of freshly changed sheets for a few moments. Sleep soon overtook me, and the sandman plunked some heavy bags of the g
ood stuff onto my eyelids. I was snoring in minutes, dreaming of pleasant nothingness.
** **
The morning dawned brightly and in my face, the sun pelting me with harsh rays. I was sure they’d be pleasant after a cup of coffee and a bagel, but, pre-caffeine, they were like knives jabbing at my eye sockets. I curled farther under the blanket until someone pounded on the door.
I slouched deeper still.
They pounded again.
“Go away,” I yelled.
The pounding became incessant, like a hammer taken to my skull with a vicious passion. Not a relaxed knocking, but a tormenting repetitive banging.
“Fine. You win. I give up.” I stretched as I simultaneously swung my legs around and peeled open my eyelids one by one, immediately shielding them from the second brightest thing in the room: Joey’s back. It glowed only a few shades darker than the sun, the rays bouncing off his skin equally unwelcome.
I peeked through a peephole and saw a mess of blonde hair and streaked mascara. Vivian.
I steeled myself, whipped up an overly enthusiastic smile and a bubbly voice, and pulled the door open.
“Gooooooooood morning, Bride!” I smiled, proud my voice had only cracked once. Normally my speaking voice first thing in the morning sounded like a hoarse toad, except far less musical.
My fake smile dissipated quickly at her tear-stained face, mascara running in thick black waterfalls down her cheeks. Her hair looked like it’d been pinned into an up do at some point, but had long since gotten depressed and tumbled down in a sideways rats nest.
“Honey, why are you crying? You’ve ruined your makeup.” I held out my sleeve, hoping she wouldn’t accept the offer.