Footsteps(4)

“Yes.” There was a threat in the way Auberon conveyed his knowledge of Carlo’s identity, and Carlo understood it.





“My wife tripped as she was getting into her cab. But she’s fine.” Auberon turned to his wife. “Right, Bina? You’re fine?”





Sabina cast her eyes past her husband and met Carlo’s. In that look, he read a plea to drop it before he made things worse for her. Then she said, “Yes. I’m a little clumsy in this dress. But I’m perfectly fine. Thank you.”





Definitely not an Australian accent. The rich, rounded vowels and rolled Rs of a native Spanish speaker.





While it was true that he was dressed like Bruce Wayne, he was not Batman, and she didn’t want help. So Carlo nodded and stepped back. As Auberon handed his wife into the cab and shut the door, a valet took Carlo’s ticket and trotted off to get his car.





When the cab drove away, Auberon nodded curtly at Carlo and went back into the theater. Carlo read a fresh, more pointed warning in that single bob of James Auberon’s head.





~oOo~





Carlo unlocked the door to his loft and went in. The main space was brightly lit, and Natalie was curled up on the sofa along the windows, reading on her tablet. As he dropped his keys in the stoneware bowl on the credenza near the door, she stood and stretched.





Elsa, their big Leonberger, rose lazily from her bed near the kitchen, stretched, yawned, and padded heavily over, tail wagging. He ruffled her mammoth head, and she lay down at his feet.





“You’re home early, aren’t you?” Natalie walked over, and he kissed her cheek.





“I guess. Not my thing. You know that.” He shrugged out of his jacket and toed off his shoes.





“What is your thing, exactly?”





“This weekend is closer to it. You sure you don’t want to join us?”





“Nope. I have plans with Paul.”





“Paul is…wait, don’t tell me…he’s the teacher?”





“Yep. Fifth grade. I like him.”





“Well, good then. How’s my boy?” Natalie had been Trey’s nanny from even before Jenny had run off. Since then, though, she’d practically moved in.





“Impish as ever. Over dinner, I got a long story about sharks in the waters off the coast. He was told about this by his Uncle Joey, of course. I think the thought of maybe getting eaten by Jaws made him more excited about the weekend, not less.”





Carlo laughed. Trey would be four at the end of the summer. He was hyper-verbal and completely fearless. He kept Carlo and Nat on their toes nonstop.





“Elsa had her walk?”





Natalie gave him an affectionately irritated look. “No. I made her hang her furry thunder-butt over the balcony and drop her load on Mrs. Murphy’s potted plants down below. Of course she’s had her walk.”





Laughing harder, he bent down and kissed Nat’s round cheek again. “Thanks for tonight.” Normally, Carlo was home in the evenings, and Nat could go out and live her own life.





“Of course. I’ll see you when you get back.”





“Yep. Have fun with your teacher.”





She turned and gave him a saucy wink. “Oh, I plan to.”





After Natalie left, Carlo stripped off his socks, his fancy shirt, and then his plain white t-shirt. Barefoot and bare-chested, he took a deep breath and imagined the black-tie chains falling away. He went to the fridge and got himself a beer, then walked across the wide room to the sliding doors that led to the balcony.





His building was perched on the banks of the Providence River, and he had a great view of the city from out here. The night had picked up a coastal chill off the bay, but to Carlo the cool over his bare skin felt cleansing.





His mood was dark, bordering on black. The whole night had been a trial. He was not good at being randomly friendly to strangers, and he was worse at being friendly to assholes because they had something he wanted. He felt downright dirty about that. But he’d wanted to go out on his own. He’d wanted to free himself of the corporate prison and do things his way. He’d convinced Pete to jump with him. And now they needed to find a way to make their way. Designing beautiful buildings was only worthwhile if somebody then wanted to build them.





And he had a son to take care of.





Maybe he should have done what his father had wanted—still wanted. Maybe he should have stayed in Quiet Cove and taken over Pagano & Sons Construction. Security. Stability.





But that was fraught, too. The strings that came with Pagano & Sons had nasty barbs on the ends. What he wanted was not to be beholden, not to anyone.