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“You’re probably right. Let me get the door.” He opens my door, and as I step out, he says, “Take care, dear.”
Gently, Hank closes the door behind me. I have a feeling he just gave me a warning. Trouble is, it’s a little too late for warnings when you’re walking toward the man you damn well know you should be running from.
As I reach the pair of men standing on the steps, Corrado extends a hand for me to take. When I grasp his hand, he tucks me into him with a hand over my shoulder.
“Charlie,” he says, “meet my wife, Michela.”
The man’s eyes widen in surprise, but he covers it up so quickly that I think I might’ve imagined it. Smiling, he displays two gold teeth in front. “Congratulations, Michela. You tamed a lion.”
“Oh, I’m not sure that’s the case,” I tease. “Serpent is more like it.”
Corrado’s body goes taut. I glance at him, seeking an explanation for the change, while the man glances between us. I read social cues fairly well, and something I said landed wrong. Since I must play my part and appear as if Corrado and I are newlyweds and bursting with joy, I find his hand on my shoulder and interlace our fingers.
“Whichever predatory animal you wish him to be, he is yours, dear. And I’ll show you just how bad Corrado has it in for you when I sell him the most expensive car on my lot. Come on, lovebirds. She’s this way.”
We follow Charlie into the air-conditioned room. I sigh with relief at being cooled off as we pass the thin and tall, curly-haired employee who offers us a tray of champagne. Corrado asks for a double espresso instead, and I order the same, having never had one of those fancy European drinks before.
Charlie takes us into an elevator and down into the cooler underground parking, where there are only a few cars. They are few, but judging by Corrado’s low whistle, they’re a fine selection. His gaze roams the place, and a particular car on the right catches his eye.
Corrado walks toward the sleek gold sports car, and as if on cue, the doors rise like a bird’s wings. I move toward him when Charlie says, “This way, Michela.” He extends a hand, directing me toward a champagne-gold SUV.
The door opens as I near, and Charlie gestures for me to sit down. When I do, I sigh as the leather seat cushions my butt. I bounce on it a little.
“The seats are fantastic.” I’m not sinking in, I can see clearly above the steering wheel, and I suppose this type of seat will never need an extra cushion to prop me up because the springs won’t give out even when the odometer reads one hundred and seventy thousand miles, and all the leather has long worn off.
I run my palm over the smooth leather-covered steering wheel.
The leather will likely never wear off.
“Should I bore you with the details of her engine?” Charlie asks. I like how he refers to a car with a feminine connotation. Humanizing objects tends to make people treat them better.
“Probably not, as I won’t understand anything about it.”
“Then I’ll give you the version I would give my wife.” Charlie talks about the car as if she’s a prized horse, and his love for the vehicle, as well as his passion for his job, makes me think of my own passions and what I’d love doing more than anything in the world. Botanical design.
My phone is loaded with design apps and games where I place plants into otherwise dull spaces. To be fair, not everyone thinks spaces without plants are dull, but I do. I feel like plants add life to a room and make it happier. They certainly make me happier.
Mentally, I go through a list of plants that could grow in this car. Under the right conditions and if parked in the…
“Michela?” Charlie asks.
“Hm?” I look up to see Charlie staring, clearly expecting me to say something.
“Yes,” I say automatically, embarrassed I hadn’t listened to his speech, but instead lost myself inside my head.
“What do you think?” Charlie asks.
About what? I want to ask, but that would give away that I wasn’t paying attention to the rundown about the tires and safety features. “The interior…” I caress the leather on the dashboard, “is empowering. Bright. And very beautiful.”
“She likes it!” Charlie throws over his shoulder at Corrado, who is making his way toward us. Corrado slams the door closed, trapping me inside and startling me at the same time. God, this man is intense. I never know what he’ll do.
From the outside, Charlie starts the engine, and Corrado knocks on the window.
I roll it down, and he grips the door, then bends, poking his head inside. “She purrs.”
“Like a kitten,” Charlie says.
“The engine purrs,” Corrado says, clarifying it for me since he must’ve registered my confused expression. He rests his forearms on the roof and scans the interior, then his gaze lands on me. He lingers there in the way he often does. “You like it?”
