I WANT HIM
1189 Words
Charlie's pov
“Don't.”
“It's rude to interrupt people's private moments.”
His voice was low yet sent chills down to my bones.
And just like that he dropped his hands from my mouth, stepping back, giving me space like he hadn't just had me pressed against him in a dark corridor thirty seconds ago.
I know my face is screaming everything I've spent twenty-three years learning to silence… my body and my mind wasn't teamworking at all.
Locking everything else what's the worst that could happen.
I tip toed, pressing my body against him trying to get to his lips.
Just to sense him pulling away…he…he doesn't like me?
Fuck what did I just do? Ohhh.
The cold air that replaced him hit my face, embarrassed and wished the ground could just open up and swallow me.
I dropped back to flat feet. My ears were burning. Everything was burning.
“What are you doing?”
“I…umm …nothing. I wasn't..I was just..” struggling to form my words right now…with my chest pounding so hard and my brain losing some of its cells.
“I lost my balance.” Finally said something and I wish for him not to press further.
He looked at me.
I looked at the wall beside his shoulder.
"I lost my balance," I repeated. With conviction this time.
“Papillo…I'm home!”
A very familiar yet unfamiliar voice broke out, loud, as movement resounding as voices later over each other.
I have never been more grateful for an interruption in my life.
I stepped around Matteo and walked. Fast.
Walking very quickly with great purpose and dignity.
Behind me the corridor door opened.
I glanced back without thinking.
Camella. Fifth born. Hair slightly disheveled, dress slightly wrong, emerging from the room I'd almost opened with our cousin Renzo two steps behind her, his shirt buttons opened.
Wow.
Just wow.
Her eyes found mine instantly.
We stared at each other.
Her expression said: please.
Mine said: I know exactly what you were doing there.
She held my gaze for three full seconds then looked away first. I filed that away and kept walking.
The sitting room had rearranged itself around Isabella.
That was the only way to describe it.
Centred attention.
The dining room is a stage. It always is, but today the lights are brighter, the audience more attentive.
Isabella sat at Father's right hand, his other right hand, the one that isn't reserved for business, for bishops, for men who could have him killed before dessert.
"She's been telling me about Geneva," Fredrick announced to no one in particular and everyone simultaneously. "Top of her program. Two semesters running.”
Isabella looked fresh from abroad in a way that made the rest of us look like we'd been living inside a tension headache for two days, which we had.
I found a chair at the edge of the room and sat in it.
"...and the program in Geneva was simply transformative, Papa. The connections alone…”
Dad was beside her already, hand on her shoulder, face open in a way I had genuinely never seen directed at me in twenty-three years of being his daughter.
"Languages," Father says, nodding. He doesn't know what she's talking about. I was pretty sure he didn't care either. He cares that she makes him look like a man who produces accomplished daughters. "You speak how many now?”
"Five fluently. Two more conversationally." She touches his arm, a daughter's privilege.
“Though I confess, Italian will always be the language of my heart."
They all laughed, I mean what's funny about that.
The almighty favourite daughter was back.
Rolling my eyes I felt nauseous.
Our mother stepped forward. "Isabella, I wanted to….”
"I'm still talking to Papa." With a bright smile. No eye contact. "Give me a moment."
"...and the Swiss director said he'd never seen…”
Everyone pretended not to notice.
I watched my mother's face do something complicated and then go carefully smooth again that smooth, practiced blankness of a woman who knows her place in the hierarchy
She stepped back. Folded her hands. Said nothing.
She learned long ago that anger is wasted here.
Fredrick was already speaking again…something about going out, exploring the city, about assigning protection now that she was back.
“You've earned it. Whatever you need."
"Grazie, Papa. Personal Bodyguard would be nice"
Alberto appeared in the doorway.
In a robe.
"Papà I am dying of hunger why is there a whole reunion happening and nobody called…"
"Go and dress yourself."
"But I'm…"
"Alberto." One word. The robe situation was not being negotiated.
Alberto looked down at himself then looked back up. "Five minutes. I promise. Don't start without me." He pointed at the kitchen staff through the open door. "Eh, bellissima… save me something good, yes? The good bread, not the other one…"
"Alberto!”
He disappeared.
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard to hold back my laughter.
He reappeared in four minutes in a shirt that was only half tucked. Fredrick looked at him. Alberto sat down immediately and began eating bread.
Fredrick looked at him for another long moment then said, very quietly, that he did not want to hear about any incidents with the staff.
Since Alberto has the habit of teasing the maidens and claiming to be in love with one.
According to the past news it was the reason he was sent abroad.
“So conduct yourself accordingly or find your entertainment elsewhere. The club is a place specifically to play around anyway.”
Alberto chewed his bread thoughtfully. "The thing is, papà…"
"Any."
Alberto swallowed. "Understood." He reached for more bread. Under his breath, to no one: "Pero son todas tan bonitas."
I laughed into my napkin.
★★★
The guards were brought in after lunch.
Six of them. Standing in a line while Isabella walked slowly, looking each one over with the focused energy of someone selecting a very important purchase. She stopped at the end of the line. Stepped back.
"No." Simply. "None of them."
Fredrick nodded like this was reasonable.
Camella, who had spent the entire lunch sending me nervous glances I'd been pointedly ignoring cleared her throat from across the table.
"What about…" She stopped. Started again. "What about M… Matteo?"
I turned my head slowly and looked at her.
She didn't look back at me. Staring at the tablecloth with tremendous interest.
“Dad…he's my …
Before I could finish my word dad rose his hands to silence me.
Matteo was called forward from the wall where he'd been standing since we sat down. He crossed the room the way he crossed every room, like the space had been expecting him. He stopped. Stood.
Isabella looked at him.
Something changed in her expression. The polished assessment clicked into something warmer and more deliberate. She took her time. Let her eyes do what they wanted.
Then she turned to Fredrick with a smile that already knew its answer.
"Him, Papa." Clean and certain.
“I want him as my full time bodyguard."
- Writer
