Rules and Roses

Chapter 2

“How can you not be excited about this?” my best friend Imelda asks me as she sits on my queen-sized bed with my laptop perched on her lap.

“There is nothing to be excited about, I'm,” I reply blandly as I yank at my hair with a brush in front of my dresser.

“Okay,” she meets my eye in the mirror, “so first off, you get to write an autobiography for a super -dude who’s going to pay you millions. Millions, Marigold. Secondly, he has this super-hot son from what I can see online and his daughter is not bad either.”

“Not all of us can have the blessing of being bisexual.”

She ignores me and continues ticking off my good fortune on her fingers, “Thirdly, you get to go to Italy for God-knows how long to do what you love- write. And last but not least, you got invitations in the mail to attend said super-rich dude’s expensive and exclusive retirement party. And YOU’RE NOT EXCITED???”

“Calm your C-cups, Imelda,” I say with one last yank at my curls before I turn to face her, “it’s not like I'm the only one who’s going to be enjoying all this stuff, you know. You're coming with me to Italy and to the party. I got two invitations and your name is on one of them.”

She snorts, “Damn right, my name is on one of them,” she puts the laptop on the bed and rests her elbows on her knees, “that was a good call, you know? Getting him to let you drag me along.”

I roll my eyes, “I would be bored to pieces without you there and you love Italy. You'd probably claw my eyes out if I went alone.”

“Correction, I’d actually claw out your entire face, pretty girl.”

“Says the one who modelled before writing.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I look like a goddess.”

“Modest much?”

She flips her blonde hair, “Hardly.”

I smile despite myself. This girl always manages to put my mind at ease no matter the situation. My nerves concerning the whole autobiography thing are calming down but they’re being replaced by nerves of being in Italy and having to be around Piero all the time. I feel like he’s going to drive me nuts and wet my panties at the same time. It’s a given which one of those I'm going to focus on because there’s no way I'm screwing the client’s son.

“I’d totally screw him for you,” Imelda pipes out and I realize I said that last part out loud.

“IMELDA!”

“What? I’d totally do it. He’s hotter than a sweaty guy on a sunny day and you’re not ready to test the goods.”

I shake my head, “He’s my client’s son.”

“Exactly. Your client’s son. Not mine,” she points out.

“Good point but still. Anything you do can rub off on me and you know I need this money for the house I’m building.”

“I still don’t get why you’re building a house from scratch. Why not just buy a house like a normal person? It’s way cheaper.” she picks up the half-empty cup of yoghurt she discarded on my nightstand ten minutes ago.

“Because, as I've told you a million times if I buy a house, it’s not really mine. I like being able to decide which room goes where what to add and what not to add.”

She shrugs, “Weirdo.”

“Whatever,” I say, “instead of bothering about how I choose to spend my money, why not think about what we’re going to wear to that dinner. It’s next week and we still have to shop and pack for Italy.”

“I already started packing yesterday when you told me,” she says and I gape at her, “Hey, I'm excited even if you’re not.”

“Shopping for Italy should be light anyway because why not just go shopping there, right?” I say, “let’s focus on what to wear to this exclusive retirement party. We cant look like trash.”

“Or worse, like writers.” Imelda chuckles as she scrapes the rest of the yoghurt from the sides of the cup.

“There’s more yoghurt in the fridge, Imelda. I’m pretty sure that ones finished.” I say and she gets up.

“I’m going for more yoghurt but all I know is that we must look so sexy that every guy and girl in there will want to pin us to a wall and f**k our brains out.”

I look at her with a bewildered expression on my face, “Remind me again how you write children’s books?”

“Talent!” she screams as she leaves the room.

-

“Holy s**t, this is even more than I expected,” Imelda exclaims under her breath and I can't help but agree with her.

The opulence of the venue of the party is insane and the guests are even more so. There are celebrities, heirs, heiresses, tycoons, millionaires, billionaires, gazillionaires. Imelda was so very kind to note to me when she tore the envelope of her invitation that the venue was one of the many hotels owned by the Santarossas and not only is this place huge, the décor is off the roof. Everything is gold and cream and it gleams with class.

The other guests make me glad I splurged on my outfit and broke out my grandma’s diamond earrings and necklace. A simple gold band adorns my wrist and my skin is glowing thanks to the spa treatments Imelda and I got. I use a perfectly manicured hand to smooth over by beautiful black dress. Its almost completely adorned in sequins and hugs my body perfectly. The bodice clings to me and the back drops low, stopping just before the curve of my butt. Scandalous, but it had earned me more than a few admiring looks that linger to the tight material on my hips and ass, flaring at my knees into a very wide fishtail. The front is completely modest, however, with a canoe neckline.

Imelda is regal in a beautiful green dress that matches her emerald eyes perfectly. Hers is lace, however, and is more booby than anything else. It is also fishtail but you would have to get past her bulging t**s to even notice the shape of the dress.

Our invitations are scanned at the entrance and we are allowed in without a hassle. Once we enter, a server offers us champagne and we each take a glass. I take a sip and almost hum in pleasure, the champagne is absolutely divine and probably costs more than I care to think about. I'm just going to enjoy myself here and try not to think about how many millions went into planning this whole thing.

“Come on,” Imelda says, “I’m bored. Let’s go find our host.”

I frown, “I’m not too sure that’s a good idea. He’s probably with Piero discussing boring business stuff with their boring businessmen.”

“I don’t care,” she says like the impudent child she is, “I have to at least meet the man if I'm going to stay in his house.”

That actually makes sense so I grumble my agreement and before I know it, she’s dragging me for a beeline to the bar. The sneaky b***h, she had already spied Adolfo. Funny, I never knew Imelda was into older men but each woman to her own.

As I expected, we meet Adolfo and Piero speaking to three men who looked to be around Adolfo’s age. They seem to be immersed in their conversation but as we come close, Piero’s attention is diverted and he looked straight at me like he knew I was there. His eyes meet mine directly and I swear the world stops for a minute. For that minute, there is no party, there are no guests and even Imelda and Adolfo seem to fade away. All that remains are Adolfo and I and the dangerous force that makes me want to walk up to him and kiss him senseless right here and right now.

I catch myself wondering what he probably kisses like and I avert my eyes. He looks away too and just like that, our moment is over like it had never happened.

“Marigold,” Adolfo booms gleefully and takes my hand, “I’m so glad you could make it. This dazzling beauty must be Imelda. How wonderful to meet you.”

He takes Imelda’s hand and pumps it vigorously but Imelda doesn’t seem very fazed by his compliment. Hm, she mustn't be attracted to older men then because instead shes staring at me like I grew another nose. I raise an eyebrow at her and her gaze settles back to normal just as Piero steps forward.

“Ladies,” he says in a tone that almost sounds bored, “you both look wonderful tonight. Glad you could make it.”

I almost roll my eyes. I'm pretty sure he has said that almost a hundred times tonight and not meant it once although I want to hope the way his gaze lingered on me wasn’t just my imagination.

“Would you like anything to drink, ladies?” one of their conversationalists asks and I literally feel Imelda pipe up beside me. She looks straight into the eyes of the bartender who wouldn’t be a day over nineteen.

“A Blowjob, please,” she says and licks her glossy lips subtly. I laugh at the way the poor boy’s complexion flushes and he starts fumbling around to mix her drink, totally forgetting about mine.

I turn to the teenager who’s probably more focused on his hard-on than his job and end up turning my back to Imelda and the men standing, “And I would like a Cosmopolitan, please.”

I hear a sharp hiss behind me as the boy nods and I turn back around. I look at Piero’s face and I almost lose my balance on my heels. His expression holds pure, unmasked, unadulterated lust. My mind goes back to Imelda’s statement about wearing something that would want people to pin me to the wall. I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if some wall-pinning was on Piero’s mind at the moment with all the freaky promises his dark eyes hold. His lip quivers a bit and he licks them, effectively sending jolts of pleasure to the juncture between my thighs.

“That’s a… wonderful dress, Marigold,” he says in a low voice and I quirk an eyebrow, trying to mask my currently turned-on state.

“You already said my friend and I looked wonderful, Piero. Thank you.”

I look around for Imelda and notice that she’s already flirting with a brown-haired handsome guy a few feet away an Adolfo is back in conversation with his peers. Guess it’s just me and butt-face now. Okay, he doesn’t have a butt-face but I'm horny and pissed.

I decide to ignore Piero but at that moment, a strong but soft melody starts to fill the air and people make space in the middle of the room for a dance floor.

Piero clears his throat beside me. Must be flu season.

“Would you like to dance with me, Marigold?” he asks in a way so polite I actually never expected it from him. My state of shock (nothing else!) makes me nod in agreement and then regret it the minute his warm hand rests on my naked back to guide me to the dance floor.

It’s the same feeling from our first meeting at his dad’s (well, now his) office but ten times more. It feels like my body has been a dead car battery all this while and it just got charged, baby.

I'm f*****g screwed.

We make it to the dance floor and settle into a simple waltz. Lucky for me, I attended dancing classes early in my writing career as research for a novel I was writing about a vampire and a woman in eighteenth-century England so of course balls and dancing were a vital part of the story.

I have always written about dancing being an integral part of the intimate bonding between my characters but I've never experienced this sort of dancing first-hand. I've danced with many men in my lifetime but none of them have held me so firmly like they never want to let me go, or looked so deeply into my eyes like my gaze holds the secret to the universe, or flowed in sync with me like our bodies are pieces of a jigsaw that fit just right together.

What the f**k am I thinking? Jigsaw puzzles? Secrets to the universe? This is all too much. This man is making me looney and I have to get away from him right now.

I force myself to disentangle from his embrace and mumble about needing to use the bathroom before scram. I grab a server on my way out and ask for the bathroom. She points it out to me and I run in, holding onto a sink for support in the well-lit bathroom. I stare at my reflection and try to rearrange my muddied mentals.

I must have been in the bathroom for five minutes when Imelda walks in and sets herself on the comfortable-looking cushioned bench in the bathroom.

“What’s the matter, Mari?” she asks softly.

I sigh and sit beside her, “I don’t know, Imelda. I'm not meant to have anything wrong with me. I mean, we are at this awesome rich party and having a great time and now I'm ruining it for you.”

“It’s Piero, isn’t it?” she asks.

“What?” I force a laugh, “of course not. I don’t even know him.”

“Don’t lie to your best friend before I smack you upside the head,” she threatens, “I've been seeing the chemistry between you guys since we got here. When you turned and he saw the back of your dress, you literally took his breath away and I'm not even playing. You guys have been dancing like there’s nobody else in the room and you’ve even been getting stares.”

“People have been looking at us?” I panic slightly, “how did I not notice?”

“Because you were too wrapped up in chico maravilla to even notice.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s Spanish, not Italian,” I say with a small smile.

“Do I look like I give a s**t? Besides, you’re both adults who can do what you want. And if that includes screwing each other like horny hippos, then it doesn’t concern anybody out there.”

The image of Piero and I screwing like ‘horny hippos’ is enough to bring a full laugh out of me and I hug my friend.

“Thank you, I needed that.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, “but what are you going to do when you eventually go back out there?”

I groan, “I just want to have fun, Imelda. I barely even know this guy and he’s spoiling this night that’s meant to be a wonderful night.”

Imelda nods in understanding, “If fun is what you want to have, then fun is what you’ll have. Brandon has a hot friend here. We can dance with them, switch partners and dump them at the end of the night.”

I smile, “That sounds absolutely perfect.”