August’s comment from earlier flits into my mind.
Yes, idiot. Diamonds are a girl's best friend.
But honestly, who in their right mind would say no to diamonds?
“How was your day today, piccola ladra?” Sly’s deep, smooth baritone floats through my cell phone. With it, my body aches for him.
“Long,” I sigh, exhaustion settling deep in my bones.
Now that I’m laying on my bed after a full day with my best friend, I find it hard to keep my eyes open.
The day was amazing, but exhausting, and I washappy to get home, even if it was late in the evening by the time I did.
After showering, Cecilia blow dried my hair, using a barrel brush to style it as it dried. I told her she didn’t need to do that for me—she had a long day herself—but she insisted.
Part of me thinks she holds onto the things she used to do for me when I was a child because she longs for a family of her own. Even though she’s only ten years older than I am, she’s been just as much of a mother to me as my own mom.
“Mmmm,” Sly murmurs. “Tell me about it.”
So I do, recounting the CliffsNotes version of the day, although I omit the part where I told Raina about him, and about August.
I’m not sure why I hide that August showed up, but I do.
“How was your day?” I ask, stifling a yawn.
“Vincenza, if I am keeping you awake, we can just speak tomorrow.”
“No! I don’t want to hang up. Tell me about your day.”
He chuckles, and I hear what sounds like him getting onto his own bed. For some reason, it makes me snuggle into mine further. Putting him on speakerphone, I place the phone onto the pillow next to me and close my eyes.
When he speaks again, it’s like he’s there next to me.
“It was uneventful. I went to work for some time,then met up with my cousin and friend for dinner. After that, I came home.”
“You know, you still haven’t told me what you do for a living,” I say, remembering that I meant to ask him when he was at my apartment, but never did.
The other end of the phone goes silent for several seconds, so I tap my screen to see if the call's been disconnected. It hasn’t, and I watch the seconds tick by before finally saying, “Hello?”
“I am here.”
“Oh, I thought you hung up.”
“I would never do that to you, Vincenza.”
Tugging the blanket further up my body, I press again. “So, are you going to tell me or are you going to keep being all mysterious about your profession?”
My tone is playful and light, but the longer he doesn’t answer, the more worried I become.
Finally, he sighs. “I am a doctor.”
Surprised, my eyes fly open in the dark. “You’re a doctor?”
“Sì, but Vincenza, there are things you must know. I do not practice in the most ethical of manners. The medical system is unjust. Not everyone can afford the healthcare they deserve, yet they still need it…” his voice trails off. “I have a practice, in a nondescript location nearby. My passion is to help people.”
My mind is spinning with what he has told me—what he’s admitted without flat out saying the words.
Sly isn’t practicing medicine legally.