I spray a cloud of perfume over my wrists, my inner thighs, the spot between my breasts, and the root of my neck, thinking about him and relishing the growing tension in my core.
I should just sleep with someone and be done with it, remove the restlessness between my legs.
I’d do it in a breath, but I know myself.
I’d hate myself if I had a stranger on top of me.
I might do it, though, only because I have no choice.
I’m so turned on at the thought of him, and having my silky shorts rub against my sensitive parts only makes me want to linger a little more to masturbate again.
But it’s too late, and whoever was supposed to be here is here already, so I might just go out there and join the party.
Forget about him.
I walk to the windows and glance outside.
The space is filled with people.An ocean of elegant evening gowns, sharp suit pants, and starched dress shirts.
The guests mingle, enjoying the delicious food and aged wine.
Live music plays by the pool, while the oleanders, strings of lights, blooming flowers, and lit candles make the place look like a dream.
Wrapped in sweet perfume, I spin around and head straight to the exit.
The house is packed as I step out the door and start walking and talking to the people.
My guests.
Meeting and greeting them helps me brush up on my socializing skills, preparing me for the bigger meetups tonight.
My grandparents. Some of my cousins, perhaps. My aunt, if she shows up––I forgot to ask Nona about her.
“Leilani, sweetheart,” Sylvia calls in the dining room.
The breeze glides in, unsettling the flowers on the tables and making tall candles flicker in their silver candleholders.
Sylvia is a vibrant woman at her age. She’s sixty-one and had my mother at twenty-two.
She looks sharp in a form-fitting strapless lame dress–she’s always had a knack for drama like my mother and me, of course.
Long chandelier earrings brush the top of her bronzed shoulders while her dyed silver hair––so it matches her luxurious gown––frames her lively eyes and powerful smile.
Plastering a grin across my face, I walk to her like a royal, the heiress of the empire.
Our feelings toward each other are still very much mixed, which comes as no surprise, since all Gallo women have had a streak of madness.
It manifested dramatically in my mother’s existence, and it threatens to take over my world.
Sylvia has managed to keep her demons under control, releasing dribs of craziness in inconsequential spurts.
I’ve never seen her lose control.
I’ve never seen her genuinely warming up to anybody, either. It’s only logical that some of the narcissistic traits of my mother were inherited from her mother.
Unlike Bianca, she doesn’t have a problem with a beautiful woman. She’s not jealous or petty.
What she cares most about is preserving her power and keeping an eye on Giorgio.
