Blood Always

25

Each tiny hair stood on end, aching to sense the tiniest movement that might relay his next move. My muscles tensed with an awareness I’d never come close to experiencing in the studio while training. It made me feel powerful. Alive. Immortal even. I could have fought against him. I could have eventually bucked him off me, but I never truly tried. That was the scariest part. Every word he said about the consuming attraction between us was true, and I was just as much a victim to it as he was. Whatever the source, it made the slightest touch feel like an intimate caress, turned a glance into a physical touch, and transformed whispered words into an intoxicating promise. It overwhelmed the senses until only need existed. Only desire mattered. He made me feel like I was on one of those rollercoasters that suspends you from the track. One where you feel like you’re free-falling and totally powerless to stop it. I was disoriented. Giddy. Terrified. After he slipped from my bedroom, I lay awake for hours, despite a bone-deep exhaustion. Thoughts and feelings circled around me like fireflies. Instead of catching and examining them, I just played the part of spectator, too tired to think but too overwhelmed to sleep. In the days that followed, I needed space to wrap my head around all that had happened. It appeared I wasn’t the only one. After Matteo left that night, I only heard from him once. The day before we departed, he texted to remind me of my promise. No other men. I debated arguing that the promise was void because it was coaxed under duress, but what would be the point? After tasting his brand of seduction, I wasn’t interested in anyone else. It would only anger him and make my life more difficult. I had enough to worry about already. I gave him my assurances, painfully aware that our agreement was entirely one-sided. He had never offered his own commitment, avoiding the subject entirely when I’d mentioned it. I would rather hang myself by my thumbs than look pathetic enough to demand the same commitment from him. It would make me look weak and needy—two words I refused to allow to define me. Instead, I sat in my first-class seat on the plane to Vegas, catching sight of the brilliant lights as we circled the city, and tormented myself with questions about whether Matteo was f*****g someone else while I was gone. Hell, maybe he’d had a lover the entirety of our short engagement. As if the imagery it conjured wasn’t torture enough, my obsession over the matter birthed a world of self-loathing. Why the hell did it matter if he was screwing someone else? I’d never been possessive of any other man I’d f****d. What was it about Matteo that made me feel the need to cling to him as if I had no selfworth without him? I didn’t need any man. Matteo was no different. The problem was, I wanted him. I wanted him all to myself to the point of feeling homicidal. I was willing to admit I’d become a tad unbalanced. That was why it was so important to have time apart. I needed to get my head on straight, and Vegas was just as good a place to do that as any. We had a limo waiting for us at the airport. Despite a five-and-a-halfhour flight, the girls were atwitter the moment we landed. Giada uncorked champagne on the ride from the airport, and I attempted to join in the festivities. I had promised myself to make more of an effort, and that was what I did. G had booked us at the Wynn, but that was as much as I’d been told. There were already too many cooks in the kitchen inputting their opinions. Girls’ weekend was one situation where I was totally fine in my role as a follower. I didn’t care where we went or what we did. The one thing I did know was whatever the plan, we were prepared. Six women. Three nights. Enough luggage to outfit a small village. It was a Vegas miracle we fit it all in one limo. Once at the hotel, Giada checked us in, and we headed up to the room with our luggage soon to follow. The girls giggled and teased one another while I breathed in the freedom of being thousands of miles from my sixfoot, tattooed, god-like problem. I may have even worn a smile as the swift elevator swept us up to our suite. When Giada opened the double doors to our temporary home, I couldn’t hold in my surprise. “Jesus, Giada. How much did you spend on this place?” I had known she reserved a suite, but this had to be one step down from the penthouse. A fresh floral arrangement welcomed us atop a marble entry table, the pungent aroma of the lilies saturating the air. High ceilings and lavish décor in serene whites and golds gave the living area a spacious feel, but it was the wall of windows overlooking the enormous balcony that captured the eye. Plush lounge chairs and perfectly sculpted greenery made for an ideal setting to soak in the Las Vegas skyline. Giada waved me off with a swipe of her hand. “We needed the room. This baby has four bedrooms. Plus, what does it matter? We have plenty of money—we’re mafia queens after all.” Her eyes gleamed as she bit her bottom lip with mischief. My gaze flew to her younger sisters then back at her in question. “It’s fine. Dad told them after Sofia had her … incident with Sal.” “And I take it you already knew?” This time, my accusatory gaze turned to Alessia. “What?” she shot back defensively. “We’re best friends. It was a lot to handle; I needed her help.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head with a hint of humor. “Whatever. Let’s get this party started. I call dibs on a bedroom, you five can split up the others.” “Why do you get your own? Shouldn’t we draw straws or something?” protested Valentina. She was the youngest and had a belligerent streak in her that rivalled my own. “Because, I’m the oldest, and I said so.” I stuck out my tongue at her and walked toward the full-sized bar, ignoring the shrieks and cries of laughter at my uncharacteristic playfulness. “Now, who wants a drink?” *** Three hours later, we were all sprawled out around our lavish living room in our pajamas, not one of us remotely sober. We were all tired from the trip, not to mention Val wasn’t even close to the legal drinking age, so we camped out in the villa for the night. I made myself martinis and concocted frilly drinks for the others. We had room service fill the suite with a smorgasbord of food and put on dance music in the background. Had someone told me a week before that I’d have the most fun I could remember at a pajama party with my sisters and cousins, I would have died laughing—side ache inducing, unable to breathe, pee in your pants laughter.