I got to my feet, dressed in jeans and a tank top, something comfortable for the short flight. I felt his stare with every move I made. “Actually, I told my friend what happened, and she said I could crash with her.”
He finished fastening his watch, then relaxed both arms at his sides, staring me down without a specific expression.
“I just don’t want this to go too fast.”
“You aren’t over him?”
“No, no, no.” It wasn’t that at all. All the warmth I’d ever felt for Enzo had died. Now I just kinda ... hated him. “It’s not that at all.”
“Then why?”
“Like I said before, I need time to heal.” It was hard to deny this beautiful man who inexplicably wanted me. It was hard to turn down another form of the fuck-cation. I was certain his place was a lot better than my friend’s little apartment. “I don’t want to ruin this by rushing.” Now, we were back to reality, and having me at his home too long might actually suffocate him. I might overstay my welcome when I didn’t mean to. What if it took longer to find an apartment than I realized and I annoyed him? I didn’t want to leave one relationship bruised and battered and immediately jump into another one. There was only one Constantine. Only one shot with this man.
“I didn’t ask you to move in. Just wanted to help you get back on your feet.”
“I know, but you’ve done enough for me.”
“What have I done for you exactly?”
“Well, you’ve given me the best week of my life.”
“And you fucked my brains out. We’re even.” He smiled, then turned to the phone on the dresser. He hit the speaker button and calledthe bellhop to come grab our things and take them to the car. He didn’t address the subject again, so he seemed to have accepted my answer.
A driver picked us up at the airport in Rome, but it wasn’t a private chauffeur company. The two guys who got out of the car had guns stuffed into the back of their jeans, not caring about the public seeing the weapons, and they didn’t say a word to Constantine as they grabbed the luggage and stowed it in the back of the SUV.
Constantine must have spotted my unease, because he moved his hand to my waist and gave me a gentle squeeze before he opened the back door for me. We sat together, his hand on my thigh, the radio on.
When we were on the freeway, I noticed the two black cars directly behind us. They seemed to be following us. It was as if Constantine was the president and he had a private motorcade to escort him wherever he went.
An hour later, we entered the city center of Rome and arrived at my friend’s apartment. She was still at work and had left her spare key under the mat. I got the door unlocked, revealing a one-bedroom apartment.
The guys had carried all of my stuff up the three flights of stairs, probably because it was quicker than taking the elevator, and placed everything in a pile against one of the walls. They left without saying a word.
Constantine lingered. A man too big for this little apartment, so handsome dressed in all black. I should want no association with him after seeing the armored crew that picked him up, but all I felt was sadness at our separation. I didn’t want to confront the reality of my life, that I had to get all of my stuff out of my old apartment, that I had to acknowledge the truth of what had happened ... and feel it. I could already feel it squeezing me now, Constantine’s presence not enough to erase the ugly truth.
He didn’t ask me to change my mind. He just stared at me like he wanted to give me the opportunity to speak first.
I didn’t have anything to say. And I certainly didn’t want to say goodbye.
He moved into me and circled his big arms around me, bringing me in for a hard hug, his chin resting on my head. It was the first time he’d hugged me like this, face-to-face, affection that was friendly and loving at the same time. “You know where to find me.” He pulled back and dipped his head to kiss me. One of those short, slow kisses. He felt my mouth with his for a couple of seconds, felt the heat burn between our lips, and then he pulled away.
And he left.
Chapter 14
Constantine
Rocco and I sat together in the stands of the small stadium at the Temple, the place where we conducted our affairs in the heart of Rome, a private building gifted to us by the Republic. We’d made a couple of changes and built our own Colosseum inside of it, a fraction of the size of the real one.
A large statue of Mars, the Roman god of war, was mounted over the prisoner’s gate. The walls were carved with Roman numerals and Latin, the coffers on the walls gilded. The top of the ceiling was a dome, decorated in a similar fashion to the one in Saint Peter’s.
I relaxed in the chair and waited for the games to begin. “Should have brought some popcorn.”
“How’s your ma?” Rocco asked.
“She’s good. Health is good. Busy with the restaurant.”
“She’s one hell of a cook.”
