Walking back home, we’re both quiet.
My stomach sinks when we’re standing outside my basement apartment. When I go inside and close the door behind me, the evening will be over. I’ll stop being the special Sara that Romeo met tonight and go back to being Sara the nail technician who lives in tracksuits and often forgets to brush her hair before she goes to work in the mornings.
He stands in front of me, his gaze intense.
If this were a romcom, this is the scene where he kisses me and the audience whispers, “Aww…”
“Do you have a bathing suit?” he asks.
The question throws me. “Ye-es?”
“Same time tomorrow. I’ll teach you to swim.”
His lips brush mine, but before I can stand on tiptoes, wrapmy arms around his neck, and make it last, he turns around and walks away.
I let myself in, lean against the door, and rub my thumb across my lips while I figure out where to buy a bathing suit tomorrow.
4
ROMEO
The next dayI work on autopilot.
My legs carry me to wherever the boss wants me to go. I drive Gia into Manhattan. I stand guard while she’s in a meeting. I intimidate anyone who gets too close when she’s crossing the sidewalk between appointments. I open doors and carry her shopping bags and take shortcuts when we hit traffic. I even get her coffee, just the way she likes it, from her favorite café, extra-hot, with chocolate and cinnamon on the top.
I remember nothing about the day.
“Okay.” Gia dismisses the others when we get back to her apartment, leans against her kitchen counter, and eyes me coolly. “What happened last night?”
I swallow hard. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do. Sara Mancini. Sorbet. The first date.” She narrows her eyes, scrutinizing me the way she would her own reflection before leaving the hair salon. “Oh my God. You like her, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t have asked her out if I didn’t.”
I don’t enjoy these one-on-one conversations with Gia. She doesn’t miss anything, and she knows what I’m thinking before I even do. I guess that’s why she’s the boss, and I’m not. That and the fact that she was born into the Rossi family. Mafia connections taken out of the equation, they still own half of Staten Island.
“You know damn well what I mean, Romeo.” She switches on the coffee machine and reaches for two cups.
“I don’t want coffee.”
She raises a finger to shush me. “You’re having coffee. I want to hear what happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
The aroma of coffee starts to fill the room, the machine gurgling behind her. “Let me rephrase that. I want to hear what happened.” She smiles. It’s supposed to relax me, and it works, a little.
“That’s what you said before.”
“I know.” She holds my gaze. In a staring contest, there’s no match for Gia Rossi.
I don’t even try to win. “We skimmed stones at the beach.”
She purses her lips like she’s trying to figure out the punchline before I get to it. Then, “You actually skimmed stones.”
“Tonight, I’m teaching her to swim.”
She fills the cups with steaming black liquid, slides one across the counter to me, and takes a sip. Her eyes don’t even water from the scalding heat. I swear the inside of her mouth is made of metal.
