by Wood, Vivian
He raises his glass, waiting for me to do the same. I clink my glass against his, shooting Cate another dirty look before I turn the glass bottom up, drinking the whole shot in one gulp.
Owen frowns. “If it’s bothering you so much, go say something.”
Narrowing my gaze at him slightly, I shake my head. “Not until he leaves. I’m sure our liquor distributor would be interested to find out that their driver has so much time, though.”
He shrugs. “She is your wife, man. At least technically. Isn’t that the deal you guys have worked out?”
Pursing my lips, I pour myself another shot. “We don’t have any rules about flirting with other people.”
He sighs exasperatedly. “Obviously you should, though. Look at you. You’re so tense. I would laugh at you if I didn’t think you would punch me in the face.”
I slide my gaze to Cate again. “I should set a boundary. Just until the marriage is dissolved, I mean. No flirting with other people. It looks bad.”
Owen sips his whiskey, shaking his head. “Like that’s the only reason.”
I snort. “What, are you calling me stupid? Look, I know that I am a control freak—”
“You like Cate.” He grins and finishes his glass.
My expression goes dark. “I do not.”
He seems unworried. “You do so. You can admit it. She is your wife, you know.”
“We’re getting a fucking annulment, for fuck’s sake!” I snap.
He nods to Cate. As I look over, the delivery guy leaves. She smiles to herself a little bit.
“Look, now’s your chance. At least set some basic rules, dude. You have bigger things to worry about than who Cate is giving her number to. Like, for instance, The New Deals. And a million other things, probably.”
I shoot him the dirtiest look. “Fuck off.”
Pressing himself up, he picks up his glass. “I think I hear the spreadsheets calling out my name.”
Waving him away, I finish my second shot and follow him to the bar. When Owen sets his glass on the bar and heads into the back, I scoop his glass up. Putting the Four Roses away, I take the dirty glasses down to where Cate stands, unloading one of the dishwashers. As she unpacks each glass, she gives it a wipe down, making sure it’s dry.
Only then does she put it back behind the bar. She eyes me curiously.
“What’s up?”
I set the glasses down, trying for a neutral tone. “I saw you talking to that guy.”
For a second, her brow furrows. Then she puts the pieces together. “Oh, you mean Justin?”
Folding my arms across my chest, I sigh. “Yup.”
Cate shakes her head a little bit. “He introduced himself. It turns out that we went to neighboring high schools. We know a lot of the same people.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “What I do care about is not looking like a fool.”
She stops wiping one of the glasses and cocks her head. “Okay?”
“I don’t pay you to flirt with every guy that comes in here. Especially not delivery guys.” I frown.
She throws her towel down and faces off against me. “I didn’t flirt with him. I was just nice. There is a difference.”
I take a step closer. “Not to Justin. And you can just bet that he goes back to the liquor distributor and tells the guys there that the owner of The Attic has a new wife who seems easy.”
“Ahh!” she makes an angry sound. “That is unfair. If he were to tell the guys that, it would be making a big leap of logic. Just because I was nice doesn’t mean I want anything more to do with him.”
As if to punctuate her point, she crosses her arms. I shake my head, laughing a little.
“Cate, you don’t get how guys work. You’re nice to a guy? Well, in his mind, you just gave him permission to hit on you. You encouraged it.”
She rolls her eyes. “So his imagination runs away with him. So what? That has nothing to do with me. Maybe he does think that but the second he starts acting like some kind of pick up artist, I’ll set him straight.”
I scowl. “You’re not listening. I’m talking about me and my reputation here.”
Cate steps forward, jabbing me in the chest with her index finger. “No, you’re the one not listening! This isn’t about you at all. It’s about how I interact with other people. Who do you think you are, anyway?”
Reflexively I grab her hand and back her against the bar. My breathing is a little faster than usual, my pulse racing. She just knows how to make me so mad. I lean over her, relishing the way her head drops back and her eyes widen. She’s sexy like this, shaking her head defiantly.
I press my hips against hers lightly, glaring down at her. “I’m Luca Leone,” I growl. “And for the next six weeks, I’m your husband.”
Her eyes glitter. “So?”
She’s taunting me. Daring me. She thinks that I won’t do anything?
Oh, she’s wrong. So damned wrong.
I press my lips against hers, just to show her that I can. She tastes sweet, like she’s just been eating berries. I press further, bending her back a little. Cate struggles, slapping me in the face, but for some reason that just makes me want to kiss her harder. So I breathe in deeply and sink my hand into her hair, pulling her against me as hard as I can.
I kiss her again, my lips working against hers. She’s not exactly made of stone either; I feel her lifting up on her tiptoes, her mouth moving in time with my lips and tongue. I hear her panted breath. The blush on her cheeks. I feel her small body pressing against mine.
Fuck. She tastes good.
Not only that, but she feels good in my arms.
Who would’ve guessed?
At that moment, Bradford walks in. “Hey Luca, do you have…” He stops and stares. “Oh, I didn’t mean to intrude—”
Like a flash, Cate worms out of my grasp. “Let go, Luca.”
And I do. I step back, watching her flee toward the locker room. She doesn’t look back, but I can still feel her heat on my lips. Her delicate rose scent is still in my nose.
“Like I said, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” Bradford says. He’s smirking at me.
I feel my face begin to heat. “Shut up.”
Bradford makes a face and then huffs off to the back. I’m left to stare after Cate, my body tense and my brain full of confusion.
Chapter Thirteen
Cate
Long black skirt, grey knee socks, a gray blouse. The standard wardrobe of a very boring person. So Luna and Luca say, anyway.
I’m dressed for mass, although it’s not the fancy Sunday one. It’s late Wednesday afternoon; the sun is just beginning to set, the cool Seattle shadows growing longer and longer. I pick up my shoulder bag, heading down the stairs toward the front door. It’s funny how I have only been here in Luca’s for a few days but already I have a routine.
Get up early, find something to do outside the house. Come back when I’m already tired. No time to spend lazing around the house or looking as if I’m inviting Luca’s company. Actually, it isn’t that different from my grandmother’s house, come to think of it.
What can I say, I do love a schedule. It’s human instinct I guess. Plus, it limits the amount of time I spend thinking about Luca… and that kiss.
Oh, that kiss. The one that curled my toes and sent heat shooting through my veins. The one that got my blood pumping, especially when he ground his lower hips against mine.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Luca is sexy. He’s just also a total jerk.
I catch myself remembering what it felt like when he caged me against the bar and kissed the daylights out of me. I mean, I think about it every few minutes on average. Every single time that I do, I sternly remind myself.
It’s never been a problem with the way Luca looks. The problem is with his personality, which totally sucks. Estimating the number of times he’s been mean to me would be impossible. There is a very good reason we’re enemies. I just have to remember that.<
br />
Thundering down the stairs, I make it all the way outside before almost running into the man I’ve been trying so hard to avoid. I can tell from the way his motorcycle is parked just behind him, his hair messy from the helmet, that he just climbed off the bike. He stands at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded, surveying me boldly.
How he makes me blush while I wear my most conservative outfit, I don’t know. A little smile plays upon his lips as he considers me.
“Where are you going, princess?” He folds his thick arms across his broad chest.
I swallow. “Out.”
He glares at me. I can feel my cheeks begin to heat. “Out isn’t really an answer.”
Rolling my eyes, I hitch my shoulder bag on my shoulder. “I’m going to mass.”
There is a note of surprise in his voice. “Isn’t that on Sundays?”
I shake my head, tucking a piece of hair back behind my ear. “I don’t go on Sundays. It’s too crowded. I prefer the Wednesday services.”
“You actually go every week?” He looks fairly impressed. That makes me scowl.
“Yes,” I say, pushing past his big body. “Twice, sometimes. Confession is good for the soul.” I cast a glance at his motorcycle. “Are you still riding that thing?”
Luca chuckles. “Yes. I’m all alone for a while when I ride. It gives me time to think.”
Turning to walk away, I sigh. “You could say the same for going to mass. It’s quiet. It gives me time to work out problems, in between singing prayers. Now if you don’t mind…”
I start heading for the bus. Luca is quiet for a second, then he calls out to me. “Hey. I’ll go to mass.”
What the what? I turn, making a face. “I’m sorry?”
“I said I’ll go. I’ve never been. I can’t really shit talk the Catholic faith without any firsthand experience.” He narrows his eyes. “But you have to do something for me in exchange.”
I shake my head. “Why would you think I care about whether or not you go to mass?”
Rolling his eyes, he gestures. “Come on. Ask what I want in exchange.”
Exhaling a long stream of air, I open my arms. “Okay, I give. What do you want in exchange, Luca?”
He smiles, turning to indicate his motorcycle. “I want equal consideration. You say that you like church because it’s calm and meditative. That’s why I like my bike. So tit for tat.” He pauses, his smile turning rueful. “It’s that or a Radiohead concert, okay?”
Crossing my arms, I narrow my gaze on his bike. “That’s it? You just get to take me around the block?”
“No.” He shrugs. “I’ll drive you somewhere special sometime.”
I check the time on my phone. “Will you let me get to mass now if I agree to let you take me on a ride?”
Luca sighs. “Yes. Actually, I will drive you there. In the Porsche, that is.”
I arch a brow. “Fine. But you’re going to need a suit jacket.”
He smirks. “I keep an extra in my car. I’m not a farmer, Cate.”
“Fine.” I press my lips together.
He gestures to the car, digging for his keys in his pocket. I head over there and he opens the passenger side door solicitously.
“Thanks,” I say automatically. I glare at him, wondering what he wants.
His smile gives nothing away. “See how we can get along when we want to?”
“Oh, good lord in heaven.” I make the sign of the cross as he closes the door and jumps in the driver’s side.
The whole ride there I stare out the window, trying to puzzle out why Luca even cares about what I think. I quickly become aware that this car smells like him, the light scent of musk and cinnamon combined with lemons.
My thoughts inevitably end up being tugged back to that kiss. That heart-racing, breathtaking kiss, bodies pressed together type of kiss. The type of kiss that makes me wonder about what Luca’s body is like underneath his leather jacket and dark jeans. Then I mentally scold myself for my brain’s perversity.
Really, though. I won’t let my mind remain forever in the gutter. Even though my brain keeps returning to dirty thoughts obsessively.
Before I know it, we are pulling up around the back of the huge gothic cathedral that I named when Luca asked me where to go. As I climb out of the Porsche, I see a homeless guy on the corner that is absolutely glaring at me.
My face flushes. This is maybe the first time in my life where I’ve been embarrassed for appearing rich. Of course, I’m not rich. Not at all.
But I can’t exactly explain that to the homeless man that is giving me the evil eye, can I? Nor can I do anything about the five or six homeless people we will undoubtedly encounter on our way into the church. We’re in the poorest part downtown, near where Luca dropped me off the other day.
This block is especially popular with that population because the church serves hot meals three times a week. Homelessness is just a fact of life in this part of town, though it makes my heart ache each time I encounter it.
As we head down the sidewalk, I look at Luca. He’s not concerned one bit with the homeless people we pass. Instead, he looks up at the cathedral’s spires.
“Pretty,” he muses.
I follow him around the front of the building. “If you like that, wait until you see the stained glass. Each window is breathtaking.”
Luca reaches the bottom of the church steps, waiting just a second for me to go ahead. “After you.”
As I head up the stairs, I’m conscious of his presence right behind me. I clear my throat, pointing to the first window made of stained glass. “Look. That one is Joan of Arc, receiving the word of God before she rides into battle. See, she’s kneeling there. While outside her tent is the waiting army, ready to be led to victory.”
Luca looks impressed. “You’re right, it is beautiful.”
“And old.” I smile at him, pausing for a second at the big oak doorway of the cathedral. “Ready?”
He just nods. I turn and go inside, hanging my coat up by all the others. Already from here I can hear the organ playing. The air smells like incense, probably leftover from a noon mass. Luca follows me when I head through the double doors into the nave, looking around.
To the left and right there are twenty long oak pews, shining dully in the dying light from the windows. Up ahead is the chancel and the sanctuary, with the organ and player to the right. This service is sparsely attended with only a few people sprinkled throughout the pews.
I sit in the same spot as normal, sliding into a seat in the third row. Luca is right beside me, a little frown on his face. If he is dissatisfied though, he doesn’t voice his concerns.
I thank God for that.
The organ music swells as I make myself comfortable in the hard wooden pew. I grab a hymnal from the back of the pew before me and point to another. Leaning over to Luca, I whisper. “You’ll need one of those, I expect.”
His lips curl upward an inch. “I’ll just look over yours.”
I almost roll my eyes, but I stop myself in time. The Lord doesn’t appreciate that kind of sarcastic expression in his church, I expect. “Fine.”
There is a change in the music, making me automatically sit more upright. Father Duncan sails down the aisle toward the altar, followed closely by his altar servers.
Once he ascends the short steps to the dais before us, he turns around and begins the service by crossing himself and greeting us. I’ve been watching Father Duncan perform masses for five years now; he wastes no time in changing the topic from the glory of God to asking us to bow our heads in prayer. He doesn’t rush exactly, but neither does he spend an extra second on anything he doesn’t have to. I’ve gotten used to that by now.
I notice that Luca isn’t bowing his head, so I elbow him in the ribs pretty hard. He glances at me and shakes his head, but he does lower his eyes. I’ll take what I can get, I guess.
The rest of the mass trips along at a fair clip. Father Duncan reads the first two pieces of Scripture, on
e each from the Old and New Testaments. Already out of the corner of my eye I can see Luca getting fidgety; one time in particular he shakes his knee so hard that it causes several people to look back to see what the racket is.
I stop his shaking with a hand on his knee, then blush and yank my hand away. When I look at Luca again, he grins at my hasty reaction.
Eventually we reach the homily, or the part where the priest talks a bit more casually. Father Duncan clears his throat.
“Today, I want to talk about forgiveness. To forgive is divine. Have you heard that phrase? I want to tell you a story that starts off poorly. It begins with a young girl whose entire family had been killed in a car crash.”
I tense up. I know Father Duncan can’t be telling my story. I know that.
Even so, I clench my fists in my skirt. The priest just continues on with his story.
“The family was driving home one night when they were killed by a distracted driver. There was no alcohol at play, nor malice. It’s like that sometimes. In this case, it was a text message. The driver looked down at her phone for a spilt second, and BAM! A violent collision. The driver who had been distracted walked away with bruises. The family, mother and father and little brother, all died instantly.”
My mom and dad’s faces are in my mind, pushing at my thoughts. That feeling of great grief still pushes at me, a sharp reminder of why I don’t let anyone get too close.
Their passing was so painful for me. I won’t be that vulnerable ever again.
“The young woman had a choice to make—“ Father Duncan cries. “To forgive the driver — or to hold her hatred tight like a fist.”
Oh God, please forgive me. I can’t listen to the priest any more. I can’t forgive the driver of the car that killed my parents, even though he wasn’t drunk. Even though he died from his injuries, I still live with hate and anger.
Tears are in my eyes. I can’t breathe. I shoot to my feet.
I have to get out of here now.
Luca looks at me, his brows descending. “What do you need?”
I shake my head, the tears blurring my vision, and start to push past him.