I opened my mouth, and his knuckles brushed the side of my temple, lowering my guard and scattering the words on the tip of my tongue. “If you deny it, I’m not opposed to practicing with you until you change your mind.”
“Why are you doing this?” I croaked, not caring if I sounded weak. I wanted him to leave me alone and stop messing with me. I had already planned out my life, and it didn’t include him. Could never include him.
“Why are you resisting?”
“So many reasons, but mostly because I have no interest in doing my father’s bidding.”
He chuckled. “And that’s what you think you’re doing by agreeing to marry me?”
“Aren’t I?”
He pulled me into his arms and kissed me, quick and dirty. “You have a lot to learn, little Emilia. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I gaped at him as he exited the room, the herringbone hardwood floor creaking under the weight of his leather-soled shoes. I stared until his broad shoulders disappeared around the corner. When I heard the alarm chime and the front door shut, I finally found the courage to make my way to my bedroom.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
My legs wobbly and my heart chugging a guilty beat, I shut my bedroom door behind me. I flattened my back against the white painted wooden panels on my wall.
“What a mess,” I mumbled.
I needed to yank my head out of the clouds and pull myself together. Without fail, Marcello turned my world upside down and set it on fire every single time I was alone with him. Somehow he wove a spell around me, making me forget why I wanted to reinvent myself far away from here. Worst of all, though, I forgot about Sal, and I freakin’ loved Sal. How could I not? He planned to give up his whole life, his family, his future for me. That counted for something. A whole helluva lot of something, especially when Marcello wasn’t giving up anything.
I tugged on the roots of my hair, taking comfort in the stinging sensation. It helped me focus and remember what mattered, and that was Sal and the promises we made to each other. I needed to talk to him and hear his voice, but I wouldn’t put it past my father to monitor my phone, and making him suspicious was the last thing I needed.
“Mannaggia.”
I threw myself face down onto my bed, and then I remembered Sal gave me three burner phones. Practically stumbling in my haste to get to the duffel bag hidden in my walk-in closet, I flew across the room. In less than thirty seconds, I had one of the black phones in hand and I was dialing Sal’s number.
I settled onto the floor and kicked the closet door closed, waiting for him to answer. Listening to ring after ring, my attention bounced around the small space. The yellowish overhead light made my clothes, all various shades of gray and black, resemble a sepia photograph.
When I had resigned myself to leaving a message, Sal answered.
“Hello.”
Music and laughter floated through my phone. I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, digging the fingers of my free hand into the fleshy part next to my shinbone.
“Sal, it’s me,” I whispered in case my father suddenly came home and decided to venture in the direction of my room.
“I’ll call you back,” he barked into the phone, his voice curt.
What the hell?
Like they had a mind of their own, tears beaded at the corners of my eyes, determined to make a fool of me. Frustrated, I tossed shoe after shoe at the light switch until I hit the lower half, successfully shrouding the closet in darkness. For reasons I couldn’t explain, my emotional rollercoaster felt less loony when I couldn’t see a damn thing.
Over a half an hour later, the phone rang.
“Emilia,” Sal said, his voice rushed and urgent, “are you okay? Did something happen?”
“No. I’m fine.” I molded into the wall of hanging clothes behind me. “I needed to hear your voice. I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
Neither of us said another word. His soft breaths poured through the speaker along with a roar of an engine and the honking of a horn.
“Where are you?”
“I’m leaving your dad’s club.”
“Oh.” I licked my lips. “You were working tonight?”
“I’m always working. I have a lot of work to catch up on now that I’m not following you around every day. How are things with your fiancé?” His question came out like a sneer, and it took a few seconds for me to respond.
“Um, well, they’re okay. He left a little bit ago. He wants to spend as much time as possible together before he leaves, so I’m stuck for now.”
“That sounds fun.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, sadness rippling through me. While I didn’t want things to be like this between us, I couldn’t figure out how to make it better. Circumstances beyond our control had stacked the odds against us, and I was starting to suspect nothing would change it. Maybe some things weren’t meant to be. As quickly as the realization floated through my mind, I swatted it away. Nothing was worse than defeatist thinking.