Emilia (Part 1)(3)

“I’m particularly interested in this one. I’m fascinated with anything dealing with, uh, this topic.” I pulled out a book and handed it to him, our fingers brushing for an instant, yet long enough to send a zinger of awareness up my arm.

“Emilia. That’s your name, right?” He studied the book cover and slanted his head to me. My knees wobbled when I caught a hint of his scent—earthy, woody, with notes of cedar. Did he have to smell good too?

“Yep. That’s me. Emilia.”

“So birds. That’s your thing, huh?”

Birds? What the hell was he talking about? Ever since I watched that stupid Alfred Hitchcock film four or five years ago, I was deathly afraid of the winged creatures. Birds, bugs, bats—all of them creeped me the fuck out. My attention dipped to the book title, and my stomach plummeted. Merda.

“Uh huh. I love bird watching. It’s my thing. I’m even having a bird themed birthday party next month. You know, birds on my cake, bird figurine party favors, feather boas, plastic pink flamingos, bird nests in…well, everywhere really.” I checked the urge to shiver.

He wiped a hand over his mouth, clearly hiding a grin because even I couldn’t deny I sounded like a total weirdo. “Tell me how old you’re going to be again?”

“Eighteen.”

“An almost eighteen-year-old bird lover. Interesting hobby you got there. You must be one of the cool kids.”

“Well how old are you?”

“Twenty-one in a couple of months.”

“Tsk. Tsk. Only twenty and already living a life of crime. Your mom must be so proud.”

The study door opened, and I hitched a breath, preparing for a whole new kind of trouble. I should have gotten the heck out of here a long time ago instead of letting Sal distract me.

“Sal, Angelo is ready to head out.” My dad’s bushy brows slammed together and his lips curled into his mouth at the sight of me. “What are you doing in here, Emilia? You know this room is off limits.”

“Uh…” My mind scrambled for a response.

“Emilia dropped in to invite me to her bird-themed birthday party next month.”

“She did?” my dad said, his eyes narrowing fractionally. He knew I hated birds. I had a lot explaining to do.

“Um, yeah. I know Gian and Carmela are coming, but it’d be nice to have other youngish people there.”

“All right, then.” Sal handed me the bird book. “I don’t want to keep Angelo waiting. I’ll see you later.”

When the door closed behind him, I flinched. Sal’s presence had sheltered me from my father’s unpredictable temper. Now I was on my own, which didn’t bode well for me.

“I better get going. I have to prepare for my piano lessons tomorrow.” I shoved the bird book back in its place on the shelf.

“Why were you in my study?”

“I was talking to Sal. He seems nice. What’s his story?”

“Don’t worry about things that don’t affect you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He ran his finger along the edge of his desk. “Just keep your head down and don’t ask questions about things you don’t understand.”

I shrugged, tamping down the rage building inside of me. My father did everything in his power to keep me in the dark. Too bad for him, because I had no intention of strolling blindly into anything.

“Whatever.”

I took two steps toward the door and my dad called out to me. “A bird theme? Really, Emilia? Is that the best you could come up with?”

I shrugged nonchalantly and my body relaxed, realizing he wasn’t going to press the issue. “It’s about time I got over my fear of birds, don’t you think? Besides, Sal seems nice. I like him.”

“If you say so.”





CHAPTER THREE





In the past month, I’d seen Sal twice in passing since the incident in my father’s study. We exchanged simple greetings and a little bit of witty banter, nothing of importance or meaning, though. Given I didn’t have a legitimate reason to talk to him, I had no reason to expect anything else. That didn’t get in the way of the annoying habit I developed recently that consisted of reliving every shared look and touch and twisting it into something significant. Not that anyone could fault me. A cloistered nun had more freedom than me, so Sal popping in and out of my life was akin to offering a glass of water to someone dying of thirst.

The biggest question lingering was why Sal had covered for me. Granted, he didn’t outright lie to my dad. I considered it more of an omission. My father wouldn’t care about the semantics, and Sal would be in deep shit if my dad discovered he hadn’t been entirely forthright.