The Prelude (8 page)

My therapist back in the States recommended him to me since I have exceptional needs as she stated in my report. The breathing techniques I’ve learned have also helped my respiratory issues.

“Erin, come back to me. I said let’s talk about what’s bothering you.”

I debate on just how much I should really tell him. “I’m--I wish I could trust people more than I do.”

“Is it that you wish you could trust people more? Or do you wish you could trust yourself to be willing to learn something from new experiences?”

“Am I allowed to say yes to both of those?”

He gives me a Fabio style smile. “Ah, dear Erin, they are both one and the same, trusting someone else and believing in you. Accepting one simply leads to discovering the other hidden element inside yourself.”

“I never thought about trust that way,” I answer truthfully. “I guess it all makes sense.”

“Who would you like to trust?”

What the hell ever. Just tell him. “My new boss.”

“You left Black Butterfly?”

“No. I was hired to design a new line by this Maestro. He’s kind of a big deal. I’m scared as hell. And I don’t want screw up.”

“Why do you believe you’ll be unsuccessful?”

That’s a trick question. I have several answers for it. The main one being that I have a mega crush on the Maestro. Oh, and did I mention I can get fired if we wind up screwing around? And don’t even think about what could happen if things get crazy and we wind up hating each other. I take the safe route with my answer. “I really want to impress him. With my work, that is.”

Petre doesn’t miss anything. “You like this man. Is he the first person you’ve been attracted to since your last boyfriend?”

Another tricky one. “I haven’t exactly been a nun, Petre.”

“I’m aware of that, but this man is different. I can tell by the way you’re glowing, today. You’d like to be able to trust him. Then maybe you’d consider allowing him a chance to move beyond the walls you’ve erected around fragile Erin, protecting her.” He gives me a knowing smile. I’m conflicted inside. I like that he understands me so well, but I don’t enjoy the times when anyone gets this close to figuring me out. I think of the way Alek compared me to a song as I prepare my reply to Petre’s comment

“Are there really any walls around me? Or could it be that I’ve just been asleep? Maybe I’ve been kind of hanging out and waiting for the DJ to play the right song to stir me up a bit.” That’s what Jada would say, anyway.

Everything that came out of her mouth was compared to music. My chest tightens as I think about the day she died, the one time I’ll always regret being a coward for the rest of my life. “Geez, you’re rubbing off on me too damn much,” I scold, sharing a light laugh with Petre, and trying to put on a brighter face. He’s like the father I no longer have around.

“Open your mind, Erin. However you choose to do so. Whether it’s believing in your abilities or seeing yourself as a sleeping beauty who needs to hear the right words to break her spell. Either way, life will reward your bravery.”

I inhale and hold my breath a short moment before I say, “I hope you’re right.”

Alek

The limo eases to a stop in front of
Giacomos
, one of my favorite restaurants in all of Italy. With sweaty palms stuffed in my pockets, I wait for Hagar to get out and open Erin’s door. My mother’s trusted driver passes a smug grin toward me as he walks over to Erin’s side.

Watching Erin Angelo step out of the car stops all of my bodily functions, except for one. I see nothing and notice no one else but the woman wearing a sunny colored dress. She could easily have stepped straight out of a fairy tale.

I inhale deeply. The dress she wears hugs her curves and highlights her dark hair swept up in the characteristic bun. I’ve always considered gold to be the color that’s most like a musical note: grand, regal, a knockout. Not just any note either; but I’m talking about the very first one in the most important section of the song—the part that either turns you on because the pitch sounds so good, or pisses you off because the note fell too flat.

She prances straight up to me, smiling in a way that lets me know she has enjoyed my take-charge gestures. I worried all night about how she’d handle my actions. I give her my most charming grin in return. Living in Italy for the past four years has taught me a thing or two. Mother’s wrong if she thinks I’m all player and no heart. She’ll see.

“Hello, Alek,” she says in her throaty voice that flows all through me whenever she speaks.

“Ms. Angelo. You look stunning, as I knew you would,” I say, holding out my right arm for her to take.

She hesitates and raises her left eyebrow. “No no no. I’m not making this that easy for you.”

I inhale. She’s already figured out a vital part of my personality. That’s never good for the man in the beginning. “I take it Hagar has been most hospitable towards you, yes?”

“Hagar’s great. I don’t think drivers come any more…obedient than him.” She stretches her eyes as she emphasizes her last few words.

“I do believe your boss told me to utilize your expertise whenever I saw fit.”

“Right. Time out, Alek. First, cut out all of the Ms. Angelos. I’m Erin, twenty-one-year-old designer girl from Lafayette, Louisiana. Second, I’m going to play your game, for now. But come Monday morning, I expect to be working on the Mystical line. No distractions or limo rides or fancy dresses to drool over.”

“Got it. Now, I’m starving. Would you like to come inside? Don’t want to catch cold, do you?” I ask as I secure the flower clasp holding the shawl on her arms. I don’t dare touch her skin. But damn if the temptation isn’t almost too hard to resist. I start toward the door, stopping when Erin doesn’t follow me.

“One more question. Something that’s been nagging at me since the showing.” A serious look crosses her face. I can remain calm as long as she doesn’t start talking about pearls set in golden bands.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were the first time we met, the day you came to Black Butterfly?” She stands so close to me. The shadows from the street lights play on her dark eyes. For the first time, I notice the sadness inside them.

What’s your story, Erin Angelo?

“Did you hear me, Alek?”

“You were already suffering from a panic attack. Hell, Erin, you practically begged me to keep your secret. I also thought you already knew who I was.”

“Yeah, but, you still could have just been honest.”

“And you would have literally choked from fear,” I say, in a calm voice. I don’t want her to suffer a setback because she thinks I now view her as incompetent.

She frowns and lowers her head. “You’re probably right.”

“I guess there was a small part of me that wanted you to see me as a guy who came to check on his boss’s new hires,” I say, meaning every word.

“You mean, the great Alek Dostov wanted me to believe he was a normal guy instead of a sought out maestro?” she asks, her lips curling up in a smile.

“That’s right.”

“So not the answer I expected,” she whispers.

“What do you mean? Thought I’d have an arrogant, asshole like reply ready to validate your opinion of me?”

“Kind of, yes. Sorry,” she says, wincing.

“You’re forgiven. I don’t deny what I am.”

With our gazes locked on each other, we’ve now closed the distance between our bodies.

Normally, I wouldn’t even make it into the restaurant at this point in the game. Wrapping a woman up in my charms comes easy, I must confess.

Erin does something different for me, though. Being around her isn’t only about how quickly I can get her into my bed. No. There’s something else, another way she makes me feel, and I don’t have the words to describe the things raging through me. Then again, maybe I do know the exact word. But admitting that I’m caught up in a woman’s spell would be the death of everything I have worked so hard to recreate about myself.

Erin breaks the connection first. “It’s getting chilly. Boy, I can tell August is around the corner.” She takes a careful step back away from me and massages her forearms hidden underneath the shawl.

“Let’s get you inside before you freeze those pretty little fingers off and the Martuccios wind up sending a firing squad out after me,” I tease.

“Nah. No soldiers. They’d probably send the Sicilian Mafia,” she says. I stop walking, right away. I know she’s joking, but hearing the name of the group that has played such a large role in my past still puts me on edge.

She turns around, smiling, and says, “What? I’m only kidding. Lighten up.” I bury my fears and hold out my arm for her to take.

I know she was joking, but her statement hits too close to a memory I don’t care to recall. The mention of the Sicilian Mafia reminds me of a time when I spent a week of my life on the streets of Leningrad, begging for help so I could find my comrade, Nikolai.

“Alek are you alright?” she asks as we step inside the restaurant. I turn my attention back to her face. Right away, my mind clears.

“Of course I am with you,” I assure her.

We make polite conversation throughout dinner. She tells me about her hometown back in the States, a city called Lafayette. And I fill her in on the better parts of my life in Moscow. I even explain how Father met Mother while he was on a business trip in the States. Like most people, she’s both surprised and intrigued by my dual ancestry. I like to compare the way they met to a war, one where Russia conquered the United States and drew up a couple of peace treaties, Adriana and me.

I try and steer the conversation back to the subject of her parents. No luck. She skips over any discussions surrounding her immediate family. Instead, I’ve learned all about her grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even all of their family dogs. She has gotten so comfortable with our conversation, she hasn’t even realized we’ve yet to discuss the line she created, the one she named Mystical.

Since I’ve never done anything like this before, gone on a date with a woman I didn’t intend to have sex with that night, I find myself enjoying this charade more than I imagined. But in my life, all good things either end in a puff of smoke or wind up crashing into a wall and exploding.

“So, your mother was born in Austin? That means you’re all mixed up, like me. Interesting,” she says and shakes her head as though she’s in deep thought.

She takes a bite of her focaccia, a type of yeast roll covered in garlic. Since we’re still well into the aperitivo, Milan’s happy hour, this is about all we’re going to be served for the time being. “It all makes sense now. I was wondering why Adriana doesn’t have a Russian name. And how you got those…nevermind.”

“Don’t do that stopping in mid-sentence thing. It drives me insane, yes. Finish. What do I have?” I lean over on the table, so I’m closer to her face. A rush of pink spreads through her cheeks. She blushes so easily. I enjoy watching it happen.

She shrugs and stabs at her focaccia until I’m ready to snatch the plate away and eat the bread myself. I place my hand over hers. “Erin, you were going to tell me something, yes?” Our gazes meet, and she stares deep into my eyes.

“Your eyes. They’re not blue like a lot of Russians. That’s all. You don’t need me to be telling you things you’ve heard all your life, I’m sure.” She glances down at her plate and then over at my hand massaging the skin on top of hers.

“Look at me, Erin.”

“No. I mean, I’d rather not.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s—”

“What have we here? The two of you look cozy,” a familiar female’s voice says, ripping through our bonding moment. Nadya. I sit back and give her a hard look. She’s wearing fur in July, the same thing Mother likes to do. And she looks ridiculous.

“Nadya. You look warm this evening,” I say, smiling.

“I am. These Milan nights can get a little chilly. Especially when a girl sits at home alone more often than not,” she replies.

“I’m sure a woman of your means can easily find male companionship,” I say with a smirking grin. She turns to Erin.
Fuck me now and get it over with.

“Hi there. I’m Nadya, Alek’s ex-girlfriend.” She holds out her hand for Erin to shake.

“I’m Erin. And I’m not the new girlfriend.” Shaking her hand, Erin passes a quick glance in my direction.

“Erin Angelo, the student designer who wooed and won the hearts of all three Martuccio brothers? I’m in awe. Tell me, what kind of sexual favors did you do in order to convince them to take you in and spend all that money?”

“Nadya. This isn’t the time or place for that shit,” I warn.

“Oh, Alek, this is girl talk. Obviously, Erin has what it takes to survive in the fashion capital of the world. I simply want pointers on how she managed to snag yet another successful man so very quickly. Has he taken you to the waterfall yet?” Nadya gushes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. I stand up and face her.

“I’m warning you, Nadya,” I repeat.

“No, Alek, it’s okay. Really. I don’t mind helping Nadya out,” Erin says, a devious gleam in her gorgeous eyes. Easing back down to my seat, I get the feeling that Nadya is in for a surprise.