Never Truth

19

The room suddenly heated from the influx of s****l tension, along with her parents' understandable discomfort. “Well,” called out Mrs. Genovese. “I suppose I’ll grab the antipasti.” She scurried off to the kitchen, quickly returning with a platter of meats and cheeses. “Mom, everything smells delicious,” said Sofia as she reached for her glass. “I’d say this evening calls for a toast.” We each lifted our glasses, and Enzo narrowed his eyes at his daughter, just as aware of her games as I was. “To long-lost friends and unexpected reunions.” She cut her eyes over to me, a saccharine smile on her lips. What I wouldn’t have given to see those lips swollen and smudged after I’d kissed her senseless. She thought she was running the show—that she could sweep in here, toy with me to her amusement, and then walk away without a backward glance. She didn’t have any clue who she was dealing with. Before we brought our glasses down to drink, I added my own contribution. “To new beginnings and to happy endings.” I laced my toast with a heavy dose of innuendo, holding her gaze captive as I said the words. There was a good chance Enzo was going to jump up and rip my throat out for the comment, but I’d needed to show her she couldn’t affect me. Her throat bobbed as she struggled to swallow while we clinked glasses. She then cleared her throat and brought her glass to her mouth. I was envious of the deep red liquid as it touched those lips, and I wondered if the wine would make her even more brazen or send her crawling back into her shell. Enzo and Carlotta began to serve themselves, but the moment I lifted my hand to reach for the platter, Sofia sat tall. “Please, let me. You’re not big on cheese, as I recall, so some of the meat and maybe an olive?” She placed a few items on my plate, accidentally sending one of the olives onto the table. “Oops! Guess this one’s mine.” She picked up the olive and placed it between her lips, sucking gently at the juices and holding my gaze before the olive disappeared into her mouth. “Mmmmm … tasty,” she purred. “Jesus Christ,” muttered Enzo. There was no way in hell he would be putting up with our behavior if he hadn’t been the one to initiate our gathering. He had wanted Sofia and me to connect, so he had little choice in the matter. Hoping to keep my boss from ripping my throat out, I cleared my throat. “Mrs. Genovese, how are the plans for the big party coming along?” More than happy to carry the conversation and give us all a reprieve from the tension, Carlotta ran through all the details of the gala she had planned. We ate soup with delicious crusty bread and sipped wine while we discussed the current state of the New York political scene and how far the Patriots would go in the playoffs. All the while, Sofia and I waged a silent war—a casual touch of her hand on mine in conversation, my arm draped over the back of her chair, her licking the cream from her fingers as she sampled the tiramisu, and my knee accidentally resting against hers as I turned to listen to her father. It was a war between two grown adults where the strikes were strategic acts of casual flirtation, and a direct hit resulted in flushed cheeks and shortness of breath. I found the whole thing endlessly entertaining because no matter the outcome, I would win. She was attempting to make a statement about her indifference, but she only succeeded in proving the opposite. Sofia Genovese was just as much mine today as she was the day I walked away. And if there’d been any doubt, she had been the one to hand over the evidence to annihilate those doubts, although not by choice. In one of her many sensual parries, she released her long, golden hair, shaking free the strands from their sleek twist. In doing so, she pulled free the necklace that had been concealed underneath the neckline of her dress. My eyes were immediately drawn to the small pendant in the shape of the Eiffel Tower, and all humor evaporated. My posture stiffened, and she was instantly aware of my sudden change. When she realized where my eyes were fixed, her hand flew to her chest and tucked the pendant back in its hiding place. She made every effort to appear casual and unaffected, but the pulse point at her neck was fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird. A melee of emotions suddenly raged inside me. Sofia had feelings for me—after all, hate was a feeling—and she was clearly affected by me sexually, which had given me hope that I might wear down her defenses. But spotting that necklace gave me reason to believe that I was far closer to obtaining my prize than I had ever thought possible. I was stunned she still owned the thing, let alone wore it. Sofia might not know it, but she was mine. Now, I just had to prove it.