To me, they’re an afterthought, but today is a special day for many reasons, and the most important one is the man standing next to Giorgio and Sylvia Gallo.
Callum O’Hara.
The starched collar of his crisp white shirt dips into his muscular neck as he keeps his chin down, his eyes fixed on the casket, his lips naturally curled into that dismissive, villain-like look that has sent tingles down my legs more than once.
Tasked with holding an umbrella over his head, the man behind him seems unsure of whether to step closer to his boss or keep his distance.
He’s probably been instructed to stay away.
My focus glides to the man in front of him, and my heartbeats become erratic as I stare at him with hunger I can’t contain.
Glinting with power, his eyes are a pale shade of light gray like the silkiest dove feathers, while tiny rain diamonds glimmer in his jet black hair.
Even now, as I side-eye him and his gaze trails down, resoluteness carved into his features, I can’t suppress my fascination with him.
My cheeks burn under the traitorous kiss of the coming winter, and my heart spins into oblivion, drunk on the longing ravaging my blood.
Every time I look at him, a fire devours my insides, and savage needs smear my awareness.
He wears a three-piece suit, a monogrammed hankie in his suit jacket pocket, a navy tie, and a long coat.
His shirt is pure like freshly sifted snow.
That’s about the only thing pure about him.
An expensive watch gleams around his wrist like a memorable cold sunset, and his lips could start a century-long war.They’ve already done it for me, and it’s a war I’m losing every day.
I love everything about this man.
How he looks, how he carries himself, and how stingy he is with his smiles.
I’ve never seen him genuinely grin or add a trickle of warmth to his expression, except for one time, in one of the darkest corners of the house, when a pinch of cynical humor morphed into an invisible hand and tugged at his lips as he had finally acknowledged me.
My eyes glide away again.
Several men stand behind him. Those are his men. He doesn’t go anywhere without them.
These men are loyal to him.
They fix problems and keep his businesses running smoothly.
Some of the men wear hats, while others are bare-headed like him.They look like monsters carved out of bald stones, and there’s a reason they surround him.
Things have been volatile these days, especially since she died. Again, I know he and my family have an understanding, but an agreement is like saying yes to the wind in our world.
Things can shift at a moment’s notice.
A soft sigh leaves my lips.
I’m sure he feels the heated edge of my stare across his chiseled cheekbones, his jawline, his delicious lips, and his hardly-there stubble.
I’ve been studying his shaving habits more than I’ve been studying ancient history in my free time.
I know when he does it, how he does it, what he wears when he does it, and whether he looks in the mirror at all.
He routinely gets up early and steps into the vast bathroom next to his bedroom on the top floor, where he sleeps alone.
And that happened even before my mother’s untimely death, regardless of their arrangements.
