It would’ve been wrong. He was barely coherent. Regardless of what he’d done with the others.
Yet, I can’t help but think about how good it felt when I was practically carrying him to the car. His warm body against my chest, his cheek against my neck. His breath fluttering out against my skin.
I can still smell him on my jacket.
As my hard-on only grows, I quickly pull myself out of the fantasy and toss my phone to the side.
“Need to get home,” I mumble.
Or… find someone to replace the images of Carmine on his knees from my head.
For some reason, I decide to go home. Maybe because it would be difficult to find someone to hook up with on Christmas morning, but maybe not.
Either way, I leave the outer city Tessi Oscuri, and Tessari entirely, to my own domain. The city I grew up in and have called home for almost thirty years. It seems to pale in comparison to Tessari, and I wonder if my uncle feels the same. That San Bueni is but a pile of rumble that he’s clinging to. Getting in the way of inhereting even part of a city that glitters like a pearl.
I snort to myself.
No, both cities are rotting from the inside out. Pearl or not.
San Bueni has just been cracking and bursting at the seams far longer. The oozing hellscape of poverty and prejudice more difficult to hide.
Nevertheless, our own estate is tucked into a portion of the city that could still trick a tourist into thinking they’re somewhere beautiful and good. Tall cypress line the edges of the land and the smell of the sea lingers on the breeze even from a further distance than Tessari.
Something about the scent reminds me of Carmine. Something oddly sweet on the breeze. Or maybe it’s the bitterness. Like his breath soaked in alcohol and drugs the other night.
When I get inside, several members of my family—blood and otherwise—are gathered in the foyer with mugs of steaming beverages. I smell peppermint heavy in the air.
“Soren, we were worried you might not make it home in time,” Aunt Patricia tells me. Her wrinkled brow is even more so in her disappointment.
“Well, I’m here.” I wave an arm out. “In time for what?” I take my shoes and gloves off, but not my jacket.
Uncle Eivor comes rounding the corner dressed in a red and black suit and tie, a santa hat on his head with his nameemborided on the front. If it weren’t for the nearly colorless orbs of his eyes and scars lining the left half of his face, he might actually look cheery.
“Opening presents, of course, Nephew,” he reminds me. “Being on the job is no excuse to miss such a wonderful occasion with your family.”
I look at him with a flat face, too tired to put up some happy attitude.
“What could you give me that I don’t already have?” I ask.
He chuckles and reaches over to hit me on the shoulder. I nearly flinch but catch myself. My skin crawls even at his touch on my jacket.
“Oh, so humble. I’m sure there’s plenty,” Patricia replies.
The way they take my words and turn them into something they like is never a surprise to me.
Rosalie is standing nearby with her own mug, wearing a pair of winter-themed blue and white pajamas. Of all of us, she looks almost normal. Her hair pulled up into a messy bun, her face all rosy. No scars, no blood, no reminds of what this all really is.
“Katherine and Liam are in the family room, and Julian will be back soon,” Rosalie explains.
“What about Beau and Nikolas?” I ask as I turn to walk down the hallway to the family room with my uncle, aunt, and sister. Two guards are stationed nearby. Louie and...another, whose name escapes me in my exhausted state.
“They’re still upstairs, they should be down soon,” Patricia says and clears her throat.
I smirk a bit. Clearly she knows about whatever has been going on between those two, or suspects it. Nikolas is my cousin, my uncle’s only child, and Beau is his best friend who was orphaned almost a decade ago. My uncle and aunt seem to be trending with adopting orphans…
I sit down on the couch and lean back, but quickly realize it’s far too comfortable and I’m going to pass out if ‘m not careful. So, I scoot forward and lean my elbows on my knees instead.
“Here,” Rosalie hands me a small gift, and I narrow my eyes at her.
