“What if Arnoldo tells the others how he feels about me?”
“Angel.” I went to her and caught her by the hips. “Talking about feelings is predominantly female territory.”
“Don’t be sexist.”
“You know I’m right. Besides, Arnoldo knows how it is. He’s been in love before.”
She looked up at me with those uniquely beautiful eyes. “Are you in love, Mr. Cross?”
“Irrevocably.”
MANUEL Alcoa slapped me on the back as he rounded me. “You just cost me a thousand dollars, Cross.”
I leaned against the kitchen island and shoved my hand into the pocket of my jeans, wrapping it around my smartphone. Eva was mid-flight and I was alert for any word from her or Raúl. I’d never feared flying, never worried over someone’s safety while traveling. Until now.
“How so?” I asked, before taking a swig of my beer.
“You are the last man I figured would tie the knot and you turn out to be the first.” Manuel shook his head. “Kills me.”
I lowered the bottle. “You bet against me?”
“Yeah. Although I suspect someone had the inside scoop.” The portfolio manager narrowed his eyes across the island at Arnoldo Ricci, who lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
“If it’s any consolation,” I said, “I’d have bet against me, too.”
Manuel grinned. “Latinas rule, my friend. Sexy, curvy. More than a handful in bed and out. Hot tempered. Passionate.” He hummed. “Good choice.”
“Manuel!” Arash yelled from the living room. “Bring those limes over here.”
I watched Manuel leave the kitchen with the bowl of lime slices. Arash’s condo was modern and spacious with a panoramic view of the East River. There was a notable lack of walls except for those hiding the bathrooms.
Circling the granite-topped island, I approached Arnoldo. “How are you?”
“Good.” His gaze dropped to the amber liquid he swirled in a tumbler. “I’d ask you the same, but you look well. I’m glad.”
I didn’t waste time with small talk. “Eva worries that you’ve got a problem with her.”
He glanced at me. “I’ve never been disrespectful to your woman.”
“She never said you were.”
Arnoldo drank, taking a moment to savor the fine liquor before swallowing it. “I understand that you are—what’s the word?—held captive by this woman.”
“Captivated,” I provided, wondering why he didn’t just speak in Italian.
“Ah, yes.” He gave me a slight smile. “I have been there, my friend, as you know. I don’t judge you.”
I knew Arnoldo understood. I’d found him in Florence, recovering from the loss of a woman by drowning in liquor and cooking like a madman, producing so much five-star cuisine he was giving it away. I had been fascinated by the totality of his despair and unable to relate.
I’d been so certain I would never know anything like it. Like the opacity and soundproofing of the glass wall in my office, my view of life had been dulled. I knew I’d never be able to explain to Eva how she’d appeared to me the first time I saw her, so vibrant and warm. A colorful explosion in a black-and-white landscape.
“Voglio che sia felice.” It was a simple statement, but the crux of the issue. I want her to be happy.
“If her happiness depends on what I think,” he answered in Italian, “you ask too much. I will never say anything against her. I’ll always treat her with the respect I feel for you as long as you are together. But what I believe is my choice and my right, Gideon.”
I looked over at Arash, who was lining up shot glasses on the bar in the living room. As my lead attorney, he knew about both my marriage and Eva’s sex tape, and he didn’t have a problem with either one.
“Our relationship is … complex,” I explained quietly. “I’ve hurt her as much as she’s ever hurt me—likely more.”