CALISTA'S P. O. V
Isabella and I sat in the lounge. From the corner of my eye, I saw Roman and her husband walk out the door. Fabiano winked at her and waved her goodbye.
Roman, on the other hand, left without a word, no glance, no wave. Nothing.
It was either he didn't care, or he didn't care.
I tried to focus on my surroundings while pushing the ugly feeling away. Black velvet couches big enough to accommodate a 6’4, one hundred and fifty pounds of muscled man, and dark wood floors that gleamed under the galaxy like a chandelier, a view of the Manhattan beyond the windows.
“Have you been to New York before?”
Isabella asked, she was seated across from me, her legs crossed in practiced elegance. She gave off this sharp, feminine energy, the kind of woman who never stumbled, and most
