She looked up at me with a stubborn lift of her chin. “And it’s been forever since a man has touched me.” She flicked her wrist, and her bangle bracelets jangled together.
Yeah, well, I wish no man other than me had ever touched you. And if Chiara wasn’t wedged between us, I’d allow my thoughts to turn dark. To picture this woman with her long legs over my shoulders, her heels digging into my back, and those bracelets clinking together, as I plunged in and out of her.
“Dating, are you sure that’s what you really want to do? Maybe give those dance lessons a try again?” I suggested.
Last month, she’d taken dance lessons and quit. The month prior, she’d taken a few real-estate classes. She’d been on a quest to find a new passion in her life ever since singledom, and I was all for her doing that. But did dating have to be next on her Things to Try list, as she called it?
“I sucked at dance lessons, and you accidentally walked in on me practicing and nearly fell on your ass laughing. These Italian hips just don’t move like they should.”
“Oh, I bet they do,” I blurted, forgetting myself for a second, and she bit her lip at my suggestive words. Shit. Fucking. Hell.
Maria innocently tipped one shoulder as she shared, “I love being a mother, you know that. And running Natalia’s catering business is great. But I feel like there’s this void inside me still. I’ve been searching for my thing for years, and I haven’t found it.”
“A ‘thing,’ huh?” I poked back in a teasing tone. “Tell me more about this thing you need.”
Maria rolled her eyes. “Be serious.”
“I am.” Now I am, at least. Because if finding a new man was going to be her “thing,” I’d more than likely lose my mind.
“In the meantime, while I figure myself out, why not have some fun, you know?” There went her other shoulder. A not-so-innocent lift this time because she’d followed it with the word fun in relation to dating. “I need to get back on the horse, as the saying goes.”
The blood drained from my face. “I don’t want to think about you on any horses. Literal or metaphorical.”
“No?” Her lips twitched as if fighting a smile.
Did she find me funny? I was serious, dammit. I crowded her personal space even more, but she didn’t back away. “You could break your neck riding a real horse.”
“And the other kind?” Oh, she was trying to get a rise out of me.
My little fireball. “Someone else’s neck will get broken,” I shared in a steady voice, letting her know I wasn’t joking.
“And you promised you’d behave when I started dating.”
She still thought I was joking. I hadn’t made myself clear, had I? But she didn’t know about my past, so why would she take me seriously? “I promised I wouldn’t”—I looked at her sweet daughter, not wanting to discuss murder in front of her—“put your date six feet under.” I said nothing about breaking bones.
“You’d never really hurt anyone. You’re all talk. You might look like some tough guy, but I see how you are with my daughter. You’re a softy.”
I stepped back and pointed to Chiara in her arms, my heart pounding. “For her, I’m who she needs me to be.”
“And who is that, exactly?” She lifted her chin, not backing down from her stubbornness to always press my buttons. She’d been relentless in pushing me to my limits since her birthday, ever since I opened my big mouth and admitted the truth, that I wanted her.
“Her friend. Her protector,” I said in a hoarse voice, dying to add father to that list.
“And tonight, her babysitter?”
This is a test, isn’t it? And if I failed, she’d move out in November. If I didn’t prove I could handle this, I’d lose her for good, I could feel it in my bones. But my dumb ass blurted, “So you can get laid?”
“Baby ears,” she snapped out. “And it’s just dinner.”
My gaze fell to her chest, partially hidden by her squirmy daughter playing with her bracelets. “Then why the sexy bra if no one will see it?”
“You saw it,” she remarked, and when I looked at her, I saw the stain of embarrassment on her cheeks, as if she hadn’t meant to verbalize that thought.
“Dah-dah.” Chiara extended her arms for me, and Maria hesitantly handed her back.
“Who is he?” I asked, doing my best to maintain my control, knowing it was becoming increasingly impossible to do.
She fixed her bracelets in place, keeping her eyes away from me as she answered, “I met him at a catering job last week. It was for his company. We were talking while I was there, and he asked me for my number. We’ve been texting this past week, and tonight we’re going to dinner. And since I don’t have another night off until next weekend, I don’t want to cancel at the last minute, and I—”
“This man ate my food? And you’ve been texting?” My stomach dropped, all the way down to the seventh circle of hell where the soul of Bianca’s murderer lived for all of eternity.
“Enzo, you wanted to just be my friend, so be my friend. Okay? Prove to me we really can make this work.”
Friend. I repeated the word a few more times in my head, trying to digest it. My idea or not, I hated the thought of just being her friend.
My chin went to the top of Chiara’s head as I mulled over how to communicate my desire for her to stay home and never date again. Had I really boxed myself into a new kind of hell, one where I watched her fall in love with someone else?
“What’s his name?” My heart was beating so fast, the hard snaps of sound traveled to my ears.
“I’m not giving you details. Let’s take it one step at a time.”
A dark laugh fell from my lips, one that let her know not to test me. “You think I’m letting you walk out the door without knowing you’re safe first?”
“He’s safe. You wouldn’t have let me cater his office party if he wasn’t, right?” she chided, taking Chiara from me while letting out a heavy sigh. “Forget it, I’ll find someone else to watch her tonight.”
What do I do? I gave her my back, cupping my mouth as I played out the possibilities. If I told her to choose me instead of this corporate dickhead, I’d be lying. Because I wasn’t an option. I’m not a choice.
I looked down at the ink on my right arm. Good versus evil battled on my skin, and it was a reminder of how I’d spent years taking on the role of judge, juror, and executioner on more than one occasion.
My fingers curled into my palm as I tried to reclaim my sense of control that waned every second we were alone. “Fine,” I relented, facing her. “I’ll watch Chiara. Go on your date.”
She peered at me with curious eyes, as if worried she was walking into a trap. Maybe she was? I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. “Okay, well, I’m meeting him downstairs in ten minutes, and you’re sweaty. Maybe shower first?”
“He’s not coming to the door?”
“So you can give him the third degree?” She faked a laugh. “No, like hell am I letting him come up here.” She waved her hand like a directive. “Go. Shower. And then come back to me.” Her tongue flicked between her lips for a quick second, and I wanted to catch it with mine. “Come back here, I mean. Please.”
I studied the two of them for a few agonizing seconds, then stalked away from her, hating myself for allowing this moment to happen. But once in the living room, I stopped in my tracks at the sight of the bookshelf, and memories peeled open in my mind.
One of Bianca on her favorite swing at our family home in Long Island with a book on her lap and a bright smile.
Another memory of one of her handwritten letters she’d sent while I’d been deployed. She’d hated emails, preferring the personal touch of ink to paper.
My stomach tightened as I thought back to a few weeks before she’d been viciously killed, when she sent me a selfie holding up a magazine, which housed her first published piece of fiction.