I think a couple times that first night, the night we got shot.”
“She got shot, too?”
“What?” He looks at me. “Oh. No. I meant the night I got shot.” He takes a sip and licks his lips, asking himself more than me, “Why would she do that?”
“Women are fucking stupid, that’s why,” I scoff, remembering Rebecca trying to look under my shirt. If she’d have seen what I was hiding, my life would have been over. I was this close to losing my freedom just because she wouldn’t listen. “Trust me, never let them in and you’re golden.”
Grimly, Brendan says, “That’s what I’ve always told myself.”
“And you were right.”
I bring my glass up to tap his, but it takes him a second to meet me halfway. I need to hit the nail in deeper. Having that bitch around is only going to endanger me, because the hatred I feel for her is so palpable that who knows what I’ll do if I ever see her again? Brendan and I have been burying the hatchet and while I still hate his fucking guts, I’ve played it cool this many years, I think I can keep going if I’m not provoked.
“Wait, was Annie the one who had the long black hair and blue eyes? Like vampire-bright?” He turns to me. If he were a dog, his ears would be perked up high. He nods. I milk it for all it’s worth. “It’s no wonder she lied to you, man. If it’s the girl I’m thinking of, she hated us. She gave us the evil-eye all the time. She told me one night that we were going to pay for how we treated women, and I just laughed at her, because what’s she gonna do? So, she found a way, huh? Man, you must feel pretty dumb.”
His lips tighten. He downs his Scotch and stands up. “Let’s go.”
I down mine, too, and motion to the bartender to close us out. As the pen hits the paper, I say to Brendan over my shoulder, “Hey, sorry man. Didn’t mean to piss you off more.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He walks away and leaves me to follow him with a smirk on my face.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Annie
Golden Gate Park. Sun: annoyingly cheery.
Christiano’s quiet concentration is the calm before the storm. During lunch we talked about the people from back home in Tuscany, how I’ve found some new friends in Laura, Taryn, and Manny. I even told him about the girl I had to fire for stealing. We haven’t spoken about Brendan. Truthfully, I don’t know what to say, now that Brendan isn’t speaking to me. There is hope in my heart that that will change and it’s taking everything I have not to lean on Christiano for support. He’s always been a rock to hold onto in an ocean of uncharted territory. It was natural for him to fall into that role when I was so young and a foreigner who didn’t even speak the language and knew nothing about the customs. But now I’m swimming on my own. It’s just so hard to remember that with the familiarity of his presence so close, today. It’s extremely fucking hard.
As a little girl of about five runs by us on the path, Christiano quietly says, “Bella?”
I keep my eyes on the parents of the little girl. They’re talking to each other with smiles on their faces, a family. I want that. “Yes?”
About the family, he smiles, “They look happy,” and then reaches for my hand as he’s done a thousand times. But it’s not the hand I’m used to anymore. I shake my head against the growing knot in my throat. I’m not ready for this conversation. I don’t think I ever will be! “Christiano, I don’t know what to say.”
“You do not have to say it. Do you not think I know every expression you make?” He stops walking and takes my chin in hand. “I can see your confusion. That confusion gives me hope. Do not take that away from me. Let us enjoy each other.” He leans in to kiss me. I close my eyes and feel his kiss rush into my body like a wicked thing, so accustomed to his touch, my body trained to respond to it.
When he pulls away, I look up into his handsome, rugged face, and whisper helplessly, “Okay.”
We walk along the park’s path past teenagers smoking with wayward glances, afraid they’ll get caught, friends lying on blankets on the grass,