“Tell him,Apple Blossom, where you have been.”
This from my husband, almost like he was instigating the conversation to see what was going to come of it.
“In Italy.” I lifted my left hand. “I’m married now. Rocco, my husband, this is, an, ah, old acquaintance of mine, Remy. Remy, my husband, Rocco Fausti.”
Remy seemed to be sizing my husband up, but my husband already seemed to have his number. Whatever my husband found, he found severely lacking, but that still didn’t stop the cold wall from forming around him. Neither man nor boy, which Remy seemed like compared to my husband, held a hand out to the other.
Remy nodded. “Glad to see you around, Apple Blossom, married or not. Make sure you stay for my show.” He winked at me and then tore through the crowd, jumping over the bar like he was inRisky Businessand was too cool for school.
I was waiting for the women to fawn over Remy, but they didn’t. Not like usual. Eyes were bugging out from all sides of the room—the Italians had entered the scene, making Remy seem just like I’d described. A boy compared to a man. New meats had been added to the menu, and their names all ended ino.
I went to leave, but Rocco took me by the shoulders, keeping me in place.
“We should stay for the show, Apple Blossom,” he said, and ordered us two beers after a stunned-eyed waitress asked if there was anything she could get him.
Even though it was simple, the waitress seemed to have a hard time computing our order, but she nodded like she got it and went in the opposite direction, toward the bar. We were probably going to get two Fuzzy Navel drinks instead of what we had ordered.
“Don’t call me that,” I said, almost seething, and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he was acting like he had caught me in the act of something? I wasn’t sure, but it was making me vibrate.“I’ve alwayshatedit.” And that was the truth. It used to grate on my nerves. I even told Remy that once, but he said I was just beingcute.
It was more than tolerable when Rocco implied or called me that,cute, but when Remy did it, it made me want to hit him over the head with a glass bottle.
The barmaid brought Rocco a glass of bourbon,on the house, saying he seemed more like a bourbon man, and totally forgot about me. Rocco drained the glass in front of her, pulled me close, and shared it with me—mouth to mouth. She had disappeared in the crowd before I even opened my eyes. I was dazed.
“I only went on a few dates with him.” My voice reflected my mental status. “That’s it.” I wanted to add no contact at all, but that wasn’t the truth.
He’d taken my hand once, and I had to slip mine out of his hold, pretending I needed to protect my digits since I was writing. It had been so effing lame, and he knew it, but it was all I had in that moment. And once, we fast danced. Oh, and he tried feeding me a bite of his burrito one time, too, but I lied and told him I had a bean allergy.
That wasit.
I had a feeling, though, that would be too much to my husband, even though he’d been with Rosaria, and almost the entire female population of the world, when all this went down between Remy and me.
Rocco said nothing in response to my admission, and even though he was as still as that hidden underwater monster that lived underneath the surface of his eyes, I could still feel the tremble of his bones. It was like the pressure was building, and once he was set loose on the world, God help it.
His eyes were on Remy doing his stupid-ass cherry routine. And it almost seemed like Remy was really getting into it to antagonize Rocco.
Remy lived upstairs. He was close to the exit. Even that wouldn’t save him if Rocco had enough. But it almost seemed like Rocco was watching it on purpose. Saving all the images for later.
Scarlett had her arms crossed, her eyes glancing back at me every so often, as Brando drank a beer and stared at the bar. A vein in his forehead was swollen, and a muscle ticked in his jaw like Rocco’s did. Eva was almost in a similar stance as Gabriel nursed water and watched. Rocco’s brothers were watching, too, being exceptionally quiet.
It was like the Fausti men were seeing this same scene twice. Gabriel too. Mac stood with Mari, a hand on her, his eyes glued to the show as if he was seeing it for the first time and didn’t find a second of it impressive, his blue eyes chilling.
What made me the most anxious?
All the Fausti guards were standing close to the door, like they would block it in an instant if Rocco looked at them a certain way.
Remy finished his show to lame applause, even though he ate up whatever he could get, because that meant more tips. Then he bowed his head to me and disappeared behind the door leading to the kitchen and up to his apartment. Maybe he’d felt the intentions coming for him.
“Okay,” I said to my husband. “Show’s over.”
We left, but a feeling lingered in my gut.
I knew the show was far from over.
Chapter 3
Time Lingers in the Big Easy
Aria Amora
