“I’m actually sending you a message about—”
“Nope,” she says, cheerful and absolute. “It can wait until tomorrow… afternoon. We’ve worked our asses off this weekend, and it’s time to party. Come on.” She waves her hands at me. “Up, up. Subito!”
“All right, all right.” I close my laptop and stand. “I’m coming.”
“Woo, let’s go,” she says.
Chapter Twenty Four
Roberto
From where I stand, I can see the sweep of the mezzanine, the long line of the orchestra, the double doors that swallow and release guests in little waves. People arrive in every mood. Some laughing, some shy and hesitant, some loud.
I give Luca a nod when he glances over; he’s in conversation with a councilwoman, and Elena is elegant in red at his side. I let my eyes wander to the rest of the family. Giovanni and Bianca are talking to a couple.
Or rather, Bianca is leading the conversation while Giovanni stands next to her. Antonio’s date is a woman whom I vaguely recognize as someone he’s brought to events before. He’s telling a story that makes everybody around him burst into raucous laughter.
Vito hasn’t shown up yet, and I suspect Luca is going to have a word with him about appearances later. Nico has a date as well, by demand of Caterina. She’s a pretty thing but quiet, which I suppose suits Nico just fine.
Through all this,I’m watching the door.
I tell myself it’s to keep count, to keep track of the guests, to see who has yet to show up. It isn’t. It’s because she hasn’t walked in yet, and some part of me can’t settle until she does.
When she finally does, the floor tilts under my feet.
The dress is the one she was wearing when I held her, and the shop played that slow song; the one where we could pretend we were different people for a minute. Midnight silk that makes her skin look warm and the line of her shoulders look delicious. The neckline curves softly over her generous breasts but manages not to be crude. The back dips low enough that my mouth waters with the thought of running my lips over every inch. The skirt swirls around her long legs like water.
Her hair is down, spilling in soft waves down her back and over her shoulders.
Her makeup is simple, lining her eyes in a way that makes the blue pop. She wears no jewelry aside from a single pair of drop earrings and a clasp that sparkles around her wrist.
For a second, I hate the room we’re in and the people between us.
Then I remember that I built it. I put them all between us.
I see her eyes jump from point to point, and I can see she isn’t ready to relax yet. Not until she makes sure everything is going exactly as planned.
I should go greet donors, sponsors, and the people who sign checks. Instead, I stand there and burn quietly.
The music swells. Catering glides in in well-timed arcs. Photographers do their restrained dance. I move around the room because I have to. I offer my arm to a board member’s wife—a long-time friend of the Family. I keep time, rotate, and return her to her husband with thanks. A business partner appears at my elbow with a laugh and pulls me into another dance. I lead her in the practiced rhythm I know so well.
I move from dance to dance, laying on the charm for business partners, politicians, business owners, and locals alike. I’m everywhere, but my mind is only on one person.
The one person I can’t dance with.
Dancing with her would put eyes on her. I can’t do that.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
A dance with Olivia would be more than a dance. A headline. A rumor that doesn’t go away. It would draw attention from the kind of mouths I don’t want saying her name. I’d rather be frustrated than careless.
I see Caterina stop Olivia at the edge of the floor, press a kiss to her cheek, whisper something that pulls a laugh. I don’t hear it, but I know it. Her laugh is warm and contagious.
She glances up once, scanning, and our eyes almost meet before she’s claimed by a pair of small-business owners who want to thank her for helping them with hotel blocks.
She tilts her head, listens like she isn’t keeping eight other things straight. They leave smiling, certain their place mattered tonight. That’s her gift.
The woman I’m dancing with—a rich woman at least twenty years older who’s very generous with her donations—has said something and laughs at herself. I’m only listening with half an ear, but enough to know when to laugh along.
