Across the floor, Olivia accepts a glass of water from a server and leaves it half-finished on a ledge because another guest has a question.
I permit myself a longer glance.
I want to take her delicate hand and put it on my chest. I want to take those lips with mine, hear her breathy moan. I want the room to disappear and let me do that one simple thing.
No matter what I tell myself, I want what I can’t have.
A group of men finds me, and I switch on my friendly face and laugh at things that aren’t funny.
After the group of men finally moves along, I look for Olivia again but don’t see her. My eyes search the room, but she’s nowhere tobe found.
Maybe she had to check on something. The ball is supposed to be as much for the staff to enjoy as the guests, but Olivia isn’t the type of person to just sit back and relax.
I figure she has something to check. I don’t ask what. I don’t follow. I stay and do my job.
“Zio,” Caterina says at my elbow. She’s smiling for the room, but her eyes are business. “Can I borrow you?”
“Always,” I say. “What do you need?”
“A favor,” she says, moving us two steps out of earshot. “Suite 2704. The guest asked if you could bring up a bottle of wine and say hello. They’d really like to meet you.” She taps the small folio in her hand. “I told them I’d ask.”
“Why aren’t they down here enjoying the ball?” I ask.
“Not their scene? I don’t know,” Caterina says. “Can you do it, please?”
I want to say no, but I don’t. Caterina has been all over the place tonight—this whole weekend, in fact. It’s the least I can do.
“What bottle?” I ask.
“I have it waiting at the door for you,” she says. “Thank you, Zio.”
“Anything for you,stellina.”
I walk across the room, skillfully avoiding lengthy conversation. At the door, I find a server waiting with a chilled Saint-Julien, already open and breathing.
I take the service corridor, not wanting to be stopped by anyone on the way up.
The doors open to the suites’ floor. The carpet gives softly under my shoes. I knock once and set my face to a pleasant expression.
The lock clicks. The door opens. The greeting I’ve prepared dies in my mouth.
Olivia.
For half a heartbeat, she looks confused, like she expected a stranger. Then it clears. Her mouth lifts.
Behind her is a room-service cart sitting next to a small table with wine glasses, tableware, and a lit candle in the middle. There are more candles lit throughout the room, and soft music playing.
“Roberto,” she says.
“Olivia.”
“I thought I was meeting… guests,” she says. “Caterina sent me up with dinner.”
I lift the bottle. “Caterina sent me with wine.”
Her eyes flick to the cart, back to me. The corner of her mouth curves. “Caterina thinks she’s clever.”
“She is,” I say, stepping inside. “But I’m not sure I appreciate being handled.”
