Whatever Lorenzo is saying falls upon deaf ears. August brings their hands above Vinnie’s head and spins her dramatically before pulling her in close.
Leaning down, her scowl turns into a smile from whatever he said.
He spins her again, and suddenly he’s the one facing me, and all I can see is how his hand descends behind her lower back, lingering too close to her backside, and the way he closes his eyes with a serene look on his face—all for show.
My blood is boiling from the exchange. Not knowing whether she’s in distress or is enjoying the dance. Knowing I cannot step in but desperately wanting to.
She hates him. She’s putting on a show.
Spin her,I mentally beg of August, needing her to make eye contact with me. I know she will.
Every passing moment is a battle within, talking myself off a ledge and ordering myself to stay put.
Needing a distraction, I look over at my cousin. He’s staring down into his drink, swirling it gently.
“Areyouokay, cugino?” For the first time this evening, I realize something is off about his demeanor.
It takes a second before his eyes find mine. Behind them I find pure exhaustion. “Yeah, I’ve just filled my quota for dealing with the public.” Reaching forward, he pats my shoulder. “See you on Tuesday?”
Momma has planned a dinner for Aunt Andrea’s birthday.
“Of course.”
He smiles, then walks away, leaving me alone at the bar.
On the dance floor, Vinnie is still in August’s arms. There’s a small smile on her face that looks more cordial than truthful.
Like magnets, her eyes find mine. She must see something reflected in my face because she subtly shakes her head then looks to the ballroom doors.
Gritting my teeth, I rip my eyes away from hers. It takes everything I have to listen to what she’s just silently asked me to do, but I do it regardless.
Heading back to the table where I sat, I take a quick glance to make sure I haven’t left anything behind, then I leave the gala.
My mind is somber the entire drive home, plagued with the vision of Vinnie in the arms of a man I loathe. Seeing the smile on her face was like a knife to the heart—a feeling that seems to have buried itself deep in a short amount of time.
Jealousy is a toxic trait I normally do not exhibit, but it seems as though my piccola ladra has stirred a new emotion within me.
Worse than that, I can’t shake the thought of what it might be like to come clean to our families and tell the world that we’re together.
After the disaster it would inevitably cause, would there be an opportunity for us to rise from the rubble? Or would the pressure become too much for us?
Or we could do the opposite.
Pack our bags. Run away and never look back.
Disappear and start anew.
Wherever she wants—Paris, Italy, Barcelona. I’ll follow her anywhere.
But I know she would never agree. And would I truly want that? To be away from la mia famiglia again?
Dropping my keys and wallet onto the credenza by the door, I leave it cracked, knowing she won't be too far behind me. I don’t bother turning on the lights as I unbutton my tuxedo jacket and shrug it off, tossing it over the edge of the couch as I continue further into my apartment.
Loosening my tie, I pull it over my head and drape it over the dining chair, then begin to unbutton my shirt as I head to the bar cart.
Pouring two fingers of whiskey, I take a swig and relax into the leather chair that sits by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The city shimmers, twinkling with its evening beauty and promises. My view overlooks Manhattan and part of Central Park, although some of it is blocked by other high-rises. Still, I pay enough for the view, and tonight feels as good of a night as ever to sit back and admire the cityscape.
