Page 12 of Stroke of Luck

Giorgi chuckles as he swipes his finger across the screen, scrolling over to a selection called single brew and hitting start. “Did you want any milk or creamer with that?”

“No, but if you have chocolate syrup it would be a step in the right direction,” I answer, glaring at the machine grinding away at the hidden reserve of coffee.

“I believe we might have that. We had some sort of chocolate dessert the other night with a chocolate drizzle,” Giorgi says as he rummages through the fridge. “Typically, we don’t keep that much sweet stuff in the house—Othello hates junk food in general.”

Gasping, I clutch my hand to my chest in horror. “Who in their right mind doesn’t like junk food?! What do you do when you have the munchies or have a movie night? Nibble on carrot sticks?!”

“You are an odd one, aren’t you?” Giorgi smiles, handing me a glass jar filled with chocolate. “I can’t say we’ve ever had a movie night, and eating hearty meals keeps us full. No need to snack.”

“No one needs to snack,” I scoff. “It’s the principle of the thing. Please tell me you have finger food or appetizers when you have house parties.”

“We do host events, but never at the house. This is our protected space; if they’re not inner circle, they don’t come here. Othello meets them at the outside office.”

The coffee maker makes a cheerful sound, announcing the coffee is ready. Giorgi pulls open a drawer and hands me a spoon, watching as I take an overflowing spoonful of the thick chocolate sauce and plop it into my mug.

“You also need bigger mugs. These are a disgrace to all true coffee drinkers in the world,” I assert as I take my first tentative sip.

“Ah, well we mostly drink espresso, so we don’t need large cups for one ounce servings.”

I let that whole statement slide because the bean juice in my hands is the most magical thing I’ve ever tasted. That chocolate sauce has to be homemade, and the coffee itself is heavenly.

Something about this moment makes me think of someone, the name right on the tip of my tongue. She would have loved that the guys supported her ‘junk food is not real’ food logic. Why can’t I remember who it is? Clearly they were, or are, a large part of my life if I keep thinking of them. The fox also seemed to fit into that same category as well, yet it slipped through my fingers as quickly as it came.

“Skyler… Earth to Skyler… You still with me?” Giorgi teases, waving a hand in front of my face until I look at him. “Ah, there you are.”

“Sorry, I had a flash of a memory but I couldn’t quite catch all of it.” I sigh, taking another sip of my coffee.

The sound of hard bottom shoes on the wood floor gives away his presence before he speaks. “If I’d known you would get so lost simply trying to make coffee, I wouldn’t have let you. My time is valuable and can be better spent doing other things than looking after you.”

“Well, Othello, if you didn’t need to have the most expensive coffee maker, that could possibly be from the future, I would have been done faster. Thankfully, Giorgi was able to help me or I might have resorted to beating it into submission,” I explain with a cheerful smile on my face. “Furthermore, I didn’t ask you to babysit me, so don’t make this into being my fault. Feel free to let me go at any time and I will get out of your hair.”

Othello just looks at me as if he’s trying to figure out if I’m being serious or not. Whatever his choice is on the matter I may never know, but he signals for me to follow him. Having nothing better to do, I comply, but not before I plant a kiss on Giorgi’s cheek. “Thanks for helping me with the coffee, you’re a real lifesaver. Someone might have died… like your brother.”

As I go to walk away, he grabs my arm. “Look at me, Skyler. Don’t joke about that kind of thing with Othello. He has killed men for less, and I would hate for that to happen to you. I hardly know you, but I would definitely miss you if you got yourself killed.”

I tilt my head to the side as I take in the sincerity on his face. “You’re a good guy, Giorgi. Don’t let him change that. As for the other matter, he’s not going to kill me. There’s something he wants from me, and until then, I’ll be alright.”

“What if it’s something you’re not willing to give?”

“Guess we’ll find out when we get there. Life is far too interesting to live worrying about what might happen in the future. Right now, in this moment, I’m just living for the next moment I can get him to show a shred of emotion. I like to know who I’m dealing with, and he hasn’t shown me a glimpse of who he is. Until then, I will happily flirt with the line that shouldn’t be crossed—until it’s by me.” With another peck and a wink, I head off.

This time, Othello is in the front room that seems more like a library, with built-in bookshelves filled with hardback books on every wall. The look is completed by dark brown leather couches and a drink service trolley, like we’re in some crime movie or something. Curling up on the opposite couch from Othello, I watch him and sip my coffee, waiting for him to finally tell me what the hell is going on.

“Is there anything else you require before we get down to business?”

“That is a very broad question, but no, I think I can manage for now,” I answer. “You know, my mother would love you. Everything she hoped that I would become when I grew up is you in a nutshell. Sadly, out of all the kids she could have adopted, she picked me—the only girl I know who doesn’t have a Little Princess dream.”

Othello frowns at this. “You are adopted?”

“Yup. I was plucked from the squalor of an orphanage in Naples because Father dearest wanted a child and couldn’t. My mother, on the other hand, never wanted kids, but then it wasn’t like she raised me. More like kept tabs on how the nannies were doing from time to time. That’s why I’m trying to get into NIU, so I can get the hell away from them and live my own life,” I share, watching the surprise on his face at my word vomit. “Well, since it’s been four years, I wonder if I did make it in? I was supposed to go to Cornell, but that’s in New York, so it might make sense that I did break away. I mean, look at me—there is no way that Mother would have let this happen if she still had control of me.”

“A simple yes would have sufficed.”

Shrugging, I sit back, drinking my coffee as I wait for his next move.

“Did you know that your grandmother and my grandfather are talking about an arranged marriage between us?”

The moment his words register, I spit out my coffee in shock, spraying him with it at the same time.