After parking, Dimitri twisted around in the driver’s seat and pulled something out of the back. I zoomed the feed in, curiosity getting the better of me. When he stepped out of the SUV, he held a bouquet of roses and bottle of wine in one hand, plastic takeout bag in the other.
He’d brought food home before. The kitchen here hadn’t exactly been well stocked, still wasn’t. The flowers were new. My stomach did backflips as I considered what it meant. Either he knew it was my birthday or he’d planned to break our unspoken agreement to not bring up that evening on the kitchen counter. If he wanted a repeat performance, I didn’t know how I’d react.
“Olivia,” he called from inside.
Part of me wanted to rush inside to get my flowers, see where the night took us. The rest of me wanted to flee. My eyes darted to the edge of the deck. I wore my swimsuit under a wrap and the next key wasn’t too far away.
I shook such fantasies off and pushed myself up from the chaise longue. Dimitri’s eyes found me the moment I padded through the door into the combined kitchen and dining room. He held up the wine and roses.
“Happy birthday!” he exclaimed, a broad smile on his face.
“How did you know it was my birthday?” I asked. It seemed I hadn’t banished my suspicious half as well as I thought.
“Your father made me promise a lot of things.” His arm drooped along with that bright smile. “One of them was to never forget your birthday. He told me he always went all out for them, ever since you were a little girl. Since I couldn’t take you anywhere, given the circumstances, I figured I’d do my best and bring you some of your favorites. The don said you loved Mr. Macia’s cannoli?”
“I do,” I replied, my eyes falling to the takeout bag in his other hand. Just the thought of chomping down on one of those delicious deserts, licking the cream out of them, had my mouth watering.
“He never mentioned your favorite entree so I had to ask Mr. Macia himself,” Dimitri continued, setting the wine and food on the table before holding out the roses to me. “He said eggplant parmesan, so if that’s not your favorite, you can blame him.”
I didn’t reach for the roses at first. That internal war intensified, leaving me almost catatonic. Dimitri’s face fell the longer I remained stock still. Seeing that tipped the scales. My fingers brushed his when I plucked the roses from his hand.
“You…” I began, voice trembling, “I didn’t expect anything, didn’t even know you knew when my birthday was.”
“I wasn’t sure you wanted me to,” he admitted before turning toward the kitchen, his back to me as he got plates.
“I’m glad you did,” I offered my own admission.
His step stumbled at those words. When he returned, his eyes remained downcast, not meeting mine. We ate in silence for a few minutes, sipping our wine. It wasn’t oppressive like most of the time we spent together, even after our encounter on the kitchen counter.
“My dad always did try and overdo my birthday,” I said after my last bite of pasta, the eggplant long gone, “since my mother got sick. She was in the hospital for my birthday, the last one she was alive for. My dad wanted to help me forget her pain, her inevitable death. She only made it a few more months after that.”
Normally, letting my thoughts turn to my mother’s death left me depressed and mopey. I couldn’t understand why, but speaking about her now lifted a weight off my chest. I took a deep breath and let it out with a whistle.
“If it wasn’t for your father, my own mother might have been dead,” Dimitri said, pushing his plate away. “My father got gunned down. He had a lot of enemies, vindictive ones willing to take out their anger on him, even after death, by killing her. Your father offered her protection. She never would have made it out of the country without that. He cashed that debt in, but I still owe it.”
“He never mentioned that to me,” I admitted.
The information shed new light on the man I’d been forced to marry. My resistance to his growing charm, that part of me that tried to keep his bullying actions from a decade ago in the forefront of my mind crumbled with it.
“Looks like it’s time for cannolis,” Dimitri said.
He leaned over the table to grab the box. Standing, he opened it and pulled one of them out. When he set it on the small dessert plate in front of me, a dollop of the cream remained on his finger.
“You got a little on you,” I said.
Before he could move, I snatched his wrist and tugged it toward my mouth. Eyes meeting his, I took the finger in my mouth. My tongue darted along its length, even after I’d licked off the sweet ricotta cream.
“Maybe the cannolis can wait,” I whispered after his finger popped out of his mouth.
11
Dimitri
The morning greeted me with an unfamiliar warm presence in bed next to me. It was so unexpected, I almost reacted poorly, rolling off the bed and grabbing the hidden pistol underneath the box spring. Thankfully, my sleep addled memory flashed an array of images from last night, explaining why Olivia lay next to me.
Those memories sent a smile to my face even before I opened my eyes. Ever since our encounter on the kitchen counter, I’d hoped for an encore performance. Right after, I’d half expected her to push me off and angrily stomp out of the room. The granite countertop in the mansion wasn’t a great place to cuddle or anything so I hadn’t expected us to remain entwined.
When she stood up and snatched the panties I’d tossed to the floor, those eyes of hers remained enigmatic, not besotted by any measure, but without the suspicion or rage I’d become accustomed to. For me, that was a win.
