The other night. Meaning that time in his mother’s kitchen when he’d heard me reveal things I hadn’t spoken of since Presley’s mother and I would sit and talk late into the night. Maybe I wasn’t so different from Nate, who’d had such intense trust issues, it kept him from enjoying life after his father died.
“How do you know Matt?” The words slipped out before I could retract them, revealing more than I’d hoped, as Torre’s beautiful brown eyes softened.
“Really, Frisco? Are you kidding me?” He took two steps toward me, but I retreated. He shook his head and sighed. “Matt approached me at my welcome breakfast.”
“The one I was fired for missing. How ironic.”
He darted an uncomfortable glance at me. “Yeah. Well, anyway, he asked me out to dinner and I said no. Then later in the day he came to set up my webpage and work on the graphics; we chatted and he asked me to lunch.”
“The bastard always was a persistent fucker.”
“And you would know, right?” He shot back. “You were lovers.”
My face heated. I’d never felt the slightest bit of discomfort explaining my past to anyone before, but I hated the uncertainty in his voice. As if the times we’d spent together could compare to the completely forgettable hour I’d spent with Matt. “We had sex one time. I’d hardly call that lovers.”
“We’ve only had sex one time, but I’ve thought of you as my lover.”
The coffee machine dinged, and I lowered my eyes. “Excuse me.” I walked away to pour myself a cup, not because I wanted one, but to give my heart a chance to stop racing and to keep myself from grabbing hold of him.
“Saved by the bell?”
“Did you fuck Matt?”
He flinched as if I’d hit him. “What the hell—no, of course not. Are you crazy?”
“What do you want from me?” I tensed, my hands in fists on the white island in front of me.
“How about the truth for once, dammit?” He slapped his hand down on the counter. “I’ve never hidden what I want out of a bed partner or a relationship, and that’s truth and honesty, but I let you in despite not knowing you better because…because…hell, I don’t even know why.” He raised his hands to the ceiling.
“Sheer animal magnetism? My sparkling personality?” I grinned, but he glared at me.
“Laugh if you want, and maybe this is all one big joke to you and you really don’t give a damn how I feel. But I don’t even know who you are. I’m talking about Frisco…Francisco Martinelli, the man. Who are you?”
The jig is up. Tell him now, or he walks.
And for once I agreed with that fucking devil.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and made one for Torre. When I handed it to him, he didn’t take it. “No thanks.”
“As you wish. Come to the living room, please. The story is long and sordid, and I’m of no mind to stand while I speak.” I placed his cup on the island, walked to the couch, and sat. Torre took a seat in the chair facing me. The strains ofAidastill played in the background, and I turned the music lower.
“That was my father’s favorite opera,” Torre said.
“Mine as well.” I took a sip of the strong brew. “So. You heard me tell your mother about my parents. I’d always known they had to get married because my mother got pregnant. She was much younger than him as well as his student, so there was a scandal, which died down when they moved here from Florence and got married. As it always does, the lust quickly faded, and after I was born, my father went back to Italy, happily continuing to seduce his models, while my mother was busy modeling, and dabbling in her own painting, and doing who knows what with whom. There were always different men in our apartment when I was growing up.”
“I’m sorry.”
I quirked a brow. “Don’t be. I didn’t know any better and thought it was fun to brag about all the famous people showing up in my house, day and night. My father would come for the holidays and in the summertime, or I would go to his house in Tuscany. It was a happy, carefree life, or so I thought.”
I lifted my cup to sip my coffee, and when my fingers trembled, I quickly set it down, hoping Torre didn’t notice. When I glanced up to find Torre’s soulful gaze on my face, I wanted to run. Hide. Escape the pity. I bit the inside of my cheek and continued to give him his truth.
“I decided at sixteen I wanted to take art lessons and told my mother. We didn’t see each other too often, but I remember her face and how she broke out in the most beautiful smile. ‘That would get you out of the kitchen,’ she said. ‘Maybe you will be as talented as your father and me.’ That was when she found me the art teacher. His name was Luca.” I wiped the sweat from my brow. “It was one of the rare moments I remember us having a conversation, and I thought maybe it would bring us closer together. I saw how much Presley’s mother cared about him, and that was all I wanted. I wasn’t really that interested in painting, but in my head I hoped maybe it would make my mother want me around.” My voice caught.
“Do you want a cold water?”
Torre stood over me, and I couldn’t speak, only nod. He hurried to the refrigerator, took out a bottle, and swiftly returned. “Here.”
It went down icy-cold like a shock. I thought I was frozen inside, but humiliation seared me like fire in my bloodstream.
