Ty closed the line once it ended and then took the stage.
He read off the names of the winners.
My mouth fell to the floor when the winning bid was announced for the necklace.
Ten million dollars.
Although I had designed pieces that well surpassed that monetary value before, the money it took to design that specific piece was nowhere near the ending bid. It came from my own pocket, so I knew the price of it was in the thousands. I made a meager wage working for my family. I lived in the family home, and I ate the food my family provided. I was paid, but not a ton, compared to how many pieces I designed. To afford to make the pieces I donated, I saved for an entire year. My family refused to donate the elements to make them.
A fist slammed against the table when the winner’s name was announced.
“Mariano Fausti.”
The fist belonged to Clint Herndon. He was standing, eyeing Mariano with fire in his eyes. Mariano grinned at him and tipped his hat.
“Mine,” Mariano said in Italian, punching his chest, looking at me.
I could not even find it in myself to roll my eyes at him. No time. Ty announced that the auctioneer was about to start the live bidding session of the evening. Mariano was one of the men being bid on.
Bidding paddles with numbers on them sat on the table, each one in front of a woman. The auctioneer announced that in another life, he was a comedian, and he began the auction with a lame joke about the items being sold “as is.”
“No refunds!” He laughed into the speaker. Then he introduced the first man.
He barely got any paddles.
It was clear the auctioneer was adding to the men’s resumes. He claimed one man climbed Mount Everest, and on the way down, he carried a wounded sheep on his shoulders. Everyone was laughing, but it was not helping sales. It seemed as ifall the women were saving up for the spectacular ending—The Casanova Prince. Which was what the auctioneer called him when it was his turn to go out on stage.
Mariano looked at me and tipped his hat.
This time, I rolled my eyes, especially when every woman in hearing distance sighed.
My eyes scanned the room.
Almost all the women had paddles, and each one was already reaching for it before the auctioneer read off Casanova’s list of attributes.
This time, his words were not embellished. The auctioneer announced that the Casanova Prince had been a soccer (football) player for Italy until an injury had benched him. I knew this, of course. I would never forget the image of Mariano kicking out at the ball, and the Internet making the photo viral because his…ah…package could be made out through his silk shorts.
What did Inotknow?
Mariano was what the world called an “Italian Cowboy.”Butteroin Italian. He hailed from lands in Maremma, Tuscany, where the culture there with cattle was long standing, although mysterious. Thesebuttericould be traced back to Etruscan times.
Atta looked at me and raised her eyebrows. At the same time, we both mouthed, “Calloused hands!”
What pulled the rug out from underneath me, and almost made me fall on myculowas when the auctioneer brought out a black guitar and handed it to Casanova. He took a seat, one light shining on him, and sang a country song solo.
What.
The.
…?
Atta was looking at me again.
Was I pale?
Most likely.
I had no idea I had been standing and then took a seat until hands started rising around me, silent bids being taken with the paddles. It was clear to see who the winner was going to be. A beautiful blond with a sharp haircut and sexy eyes. She wore a black dress that did not hide her figure but was tastefully done.
