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Agile fingers slip the button through its slot on the wrist of the pristine white shirt, and Severio rolls up his sleeve. He shows me the head of a red serpent tattooed on the inside of his forearm. I lean in, and the smell of his cologne pleasantly surprises me. It’s subtle tonight. Warmer somehow. Or maybeI’m imagining things since he and I are alone, the lights are dim, and the setting intimate.
I rear back. “How long have you had that?”
“Since I was initiated as the Head.” I expect him to roll down his sleeve, but he unbuttons then rolls up his other sleeve. I really wish he’d cover up more of those corded, muscular forearms. Severio’s hands are long and strong, and his forearms show off years of gym routines. It’s infuriatingly sexy.
Severio fiddles with his golden chain before picking up the ring and threading it through. The ring touches another pendant on his necklace. A dark charcoal seashell. Once done, he steeples his fingers and regards me as if inspecting me. “Wait a minute.” He tilts his head.
I see the dreadful moment he figures out my near sickness was due to the fact that I thought he was married. His emotions show on his face, and I discover that Severio can be quite an expressive man when he wants to be. When he wants others to see what he’s thinking.
And he wants me to see.
A great big smile spreads over his face. It’s a smile with dimples, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll be damned.” He laughs.
I’m sure he figured out that the thought of him being married upset me to the point I could barely breathe. And now he’s laughing at me. The jerk.
18
HAVE WE MET BEFORE?
SEVERIO
When I asked Cristina to prepare our meals, I didn’t expect her to make one this very evening. She’s upset with me about Romeo, and the stress of my uncle’s demise probably hasn’t worn off yet.
Nevertheless, I waited for her to make her way back into the main house. I thought maybe she’d want to talk about our arrangement, the Order, or her position in the Order.
We had a lot to talk about, but Cristina either wasn’t interested or really didn’t want to talk to me. When I arrived to talk to Frenchy, the only other person on this island besides Cristina I’d trust with putting good and untampered food in my belly, I would’ve put my money on the latter: She didn’t want to talk to me.
After she almost fainted at seeing a ring on my wedding finger, I’m sure she not only doesn’t want to speak with me but also would love nothing more than to not see me or hear me because she’s attracted to me. She hates it, but it doesn’t make it any less true.
“I’ll be damned,” I repeat, basking in the glory of what I uncovered tonight, knowing exactly what I’ll do with thisdiscovery, because God knows hate’s the only sentiment she’ll ever feel for me. I can’t help but laugh at this turn of events.
“You’re a jerk. I’m leaving.”
“Sit down, Cristina.” I lift my hands. “I won’t say a thing.” She must be hungry.
“I’m not having dinner with you.”
“What’s this I’m hearing about not having dinner with me?” Frenchy says as he walks into the alcove carrying a large serving tray. For a man in his eighties who’s survived three attempts on his life, healed seven bullet holes, and outlived two of his nephews, he’s in fantastic shape.
He sets the tray on the other end of the table, and Cristina gets up to help him.
They serve a variety of appetizers.
“I thought we were just having calamari,” she says.
“Severio has an unruly appetite,” Frenchy says.
“It only grows worse as I age,” I say before I nearly salivate.
Cristina sits back down and picks up a piece of bread, then dips it into the dish of olive oil and herbs. Her moaning makes me hard.
She serves me a plate. “Go ahead.”
“After he eats first,” I say.
Cristina’s discomfort shows in the blushing of her cheeks. She looks to Frenchy, gauging his reaction.
Frenchy’s eating. “Oh my girl, don’t be embarrassed. Paranoia is healthy for a man in Severio’s position.”
