Chocolate and Italian Wine (Music and Mayhem Book 1) (29 page)

“It’s okay, baby,” he said. “I’m here, and I love you.” He kissed her neck.

She nodded. “I know.”

“No more fucking pills. You hear me?”

She nodded. “I hear you,” she said in softly
. Shit
, she thought as she snuggled closer into him. He was right. She didn’t need the pills.

25

Paolo sat with his back against the headboard watching television, shaking his head at the latest gossip about him and Karisma. The Italian press had truly become obsessed with their relationship and it didn’t set well with him, not to mention his family. He was under some pretty uncomfortable scrutiny. Plus, asking for her hand in marriage was very risky all around. Yet, he had to ensure that she was by him and part of him forever. He had to seal the deal. She had become...like breathing.

Not an impulsive man by nature, the proposal without his father’s blessing was likely to be considered quite rebellious, but no one, family included, would come between him and his love for Karisma. It wasn’t ideal that she was a superstar, a woman known and loved worldwide, but if she hadn’t been, he never would have known her, found her, or felt her touch. And now that she was going to become Mrs. Paolo Montovani, he would never deprive her of her career, which she loved. He believed it to be part of her very soul. He smiled. Even if he asked Karisma to give up her career, he would have no doubt gotten a stern, “hell no.” Conversation over.

He looked up at Kari as she walked into the bedroom suite barefoot, wearing a white t-shirt and blue cotton shorts, pulling a hotel service cart with two covered meals on top. She was biting into one of the chocolates from the box he’d brought her last night. Her smile was so radiant, making him stir with such intense love that it was almost unbearable.

“You are the most beautiful servant ever,” he said teasingly.

“I’m here to feed you, sir. Breakfast time,” she purred. It made Paolo eager to eat the food before he started on his second feast—her.

She bent over to kiss his lips as the smell of fresh coffee filled his nostrils. He pinched her nipples through her t-shirt, feeling them harden between his fingers. “Coffee and candy for breakfast?” he asked.

“Jealous that’s been in my mouth and not you?” she sassed back playfully.

“Absolutely,” he growled, pulling her in by her slender waist.

She giggled. “I love chocolate and wine and you, Paolo.” She straddled his lap, making his growing hard-on press on the cotton material of his lounge pants. “Just be happy we’re not having wine and chocolate for breakfast, fiancé, I’ve been known to eat stuff like that.”

She held out her hand to the cart full of food and Paolo watched her graceful moves, displaying what she’d wheeled in. “I think you’ll like what’s in here, baby.”

She lifted up the lid and he let out a gust of laughter when he saw that she had brought him a bowl of Fruit Loops cereal, his favorite. “Now this is exactly why I’m marrying you. You know the way to my heart, beautiful!” he exclaimed, still laughing. Then he took of the dark brew she’d just poured for him.

“I gotta keep my man happy. Since you do know I don’t cook, right?” she asked, raising her eyebrow and then turning to do the most seductive milk pour into a cereal bowl that Paolo had ever seen.

“You do know I like to eat, right? And judging from this ass right here, you eat on a regular basis, too,” he said, squeezing her butt.

     ”But I don’t cook it,” she said, quickly adding, “I’d learn to make spaghetti for you, though. Can’t be too hard, a box of noodles and a jar of sauce.”

“Hush your mouth, woman!” Paolo exclaimed. “All of Italy would be offended by such a statement.” Then he grew more serious. “You really can’t cook? That’s why you’ve never made me anything?”

“Don’t look so scared, Paolo,” she said laughing. “In all seriousness, I would learn to make something if you wanted me to. I’ve watched Stella work her magic. But…she will be doing the cooking. Eat your cereal, Paolo.”

“I have a cook, too,” Paolo said.

“Yeah, but I want my cook,” Kari replied. Her word was final, clearly not open for discussion, Paolo realized.

                  “Can she give you lessons?” Paolo asked, quite seriously.

“Come on, Paolo, cooking’s not my bag. Lyrics and music, now you’re speaking my language.” She noticed the alarm on his face. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Blame my mother. She never taught me how to cook,” she said apologetically, while sipping her cup of creamer with a splash of coffee.

He stared at her as he crunched his cereal. “Nothing? You can’t make anything?”

“Well, I don’t burn water, if that’s what you were thinking.” She giggled and spread her legs apart seductively, trying to distract him. Cooking talk equaled boring talk to her.

He smiled a half smile, staring at her seductive tease. “I’m a big guy, babe. I eat a lot.”     

“Then Stella will take good care of you, baby,” she said, and gave him a glass of orange juice.     

He shook his head and drank it. Placing the empty glass next to his coffee, he put down his bowl. “You have to eat more than coffee and chocolate, Kari,” he said, his hands returning to her nipples.

“I thought you liked to eat chocolate all the time,” she said playfully.

“This is true, you have me addicted,” he growled. “Now, I need my fix.”

He began to kiss her flesh and nibble at her passionately, sending her into orbit.

                                           ***

It was Sunday evening and the Montovanis were waiting for the arrival of the Bianchi clan. It wouldn’t be long. Pesci Marte was owned and operated by the family of the mayor of the town, a man strategically placed in that position through Montovani machinations. With their power and influence, the Montovanis bought and paid for Mayor Adamo Cicci, and his loyalty was not only expected, it was unquestioned.      

There were only a few tables occupied in the restaurant that evening, which was ideal, of course. In the corner, Paolo sat quietly drinking scotch with his father, as his mother chastised him for allowing Karisma to leave without saying goodbye. “I told you that she wanted you to know that she appreciated your being kind to her, Mama. You’ll see her soon,” he assured her.

“So I take it she’s no longer angry with you,” Raffaelo said, almost sounding disappointed from Paolo’s point of view.

“Let’s talk about that when this is all over, Pop. I don’t need the distraction.”   

“Believe me, we shall talk about it,” Raffaelo said firmly as he tapped his fingers on the tabletop.

“She’s such a lovely girl, Paolo. It’s so amazing to see a star like that in person. And she has a good heart. I can tell,” she assured her middle son with a wide grin.

              “Your mother, she can be President of the Karisma Montgomery fan club here in Italia,” Raffaelo said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Paolo smiled as his mother waved her finger in dismay. “Stop with the sarcasm, husband. Despite your reservations, you like her, too,” she said.    

“What’s not to like, Cristina? She’s a wonderful human being, and very easy on the eyes,” Raffaelo said. “When this is over, son, you will listen to my concerns with your ears and mind; not with your heart…or that other part of the anatomy that seems to get us men into trouble,” Raffaelo said.     

“What, your mouth?” Cristina asked as she smiled and winked at Paolo, who had to raise his glass to avoid showing the smile.

“Good one, Mama,” Paolo grinned. Then he turned his head toward the door and his smile slowly faded. Both Raffaelo and Cristina looked over their shoulders to see the Bianchis walking in; the rotund, heavy jowled Vittore, with his wife, the matronly and unsmiling Carlotta, and tagging behind was the simpering Maria Elena.

For Paolo, his mood instantly got worse and the tension quickly filled his body and the air around him. This couldn’t get over soon enough. Time to put his game face on.

                                                             ***

Karisma stood on stage, beneath the lights directed on her, microphone in hand. At every concert, Goldust performed one song made popular by another artist, as their way of celebrating the diversity of music. She was particularly excited for that night’s song. “Thank you!” she shouted to the boisterous crowd. “I wanna slow it down a bit with this next song. It’s one of my favorites.”

Chris struck a chord and the crowd went crazy.

“Everybody here knows this one!” He played the introduction solo. Then she began to sing the first verse.

“Ave Maria

Gratia plena

Maria gratia plena”

And as she sang the song, the crowd, which had been in a party mood, soon calmed, as Karisma guided them through Goldust’s musical arrangement.

“Ave, ave dominus

Dominus tecum

Benedicta tu in mulieribus

Et benedictus

Et benedictus fructus ventris…”

She wore another Nia Simone design that night, a white chiffon gown, that looked very much like the halter dress that Marilyn Monroe wore in 
Some Like It Hot, with
the only difference being its floor length
. 
Her naturally wavy hair was parted down the middle and hung wild and free. Her makeup and signature red lipstick were flawless. She felt amazing, completely connected with the crowd and happy with her world, rumors and nasty talk and all. She had her man and she had her career. She had it good! She would quit the pills. She could do it.

     Chris stood near her, strumming his guitar, as it wept behind the haunting tones of Kari’s sultry voice.

“…Ave Marie ee eeyah…”

                                           ***

Maria Elena wore a pale peach mini dress over her golden complexion. Her long locks combed in her usual straight style, she flipped the hair to the front, smiling slyly at Paolo. She approached with her parents flanking her, as if still protecting their little girl. Paolo and his father stood and greeted the Bianchis.

                  “Don Vittore, how are you on this beautiful evening?” Raffaelo asked.

               “Tonight, I am a happy man, Don Raffaelo. This is a wonderful day for our families,” he said, with a small, satisfied grin on a face that had been weighed down by time.

              “Indeed,” Raffaelo said, nodding his head softly. “And you, Carlotta, how have you been?” He leaned in and kissed her cheeks.

“Very well,” she said, but her voice was not good at covering up her distrust despite the friendly nature of the meeting.

Soon, everyone had said their greetings and sat down around the table. They placed Maria Elena next to Paolo and he kept his distance, acting as if he didn’t even know her. It wasn’t so far from the truth. He couldn’t even say who her best friend might be or what her favorite color was.

“Young Paolo, it is good to see that you have finally warmed to the idea of marriage. We have all waited a long time for this long overdue day,” he grinned while trying to stifle a cough. He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his mouth.

               There was an awkward pause and Cristina spoke up. “You look nice this evening, Maria Elena,” she said. 

                   Maria Elena smiled. “Thank you, Donna Cristina.”

Carlotta chimed in, boasting like a proud mother would. “Doesn’t she, Cristina? She looks very pretty. Don’t you think so Paolo? Doesn’t your fidanzata look radiant?”

Paolo gazed lazily at Maria Elena, not at all impressed and moved his gaze back to Carlotta saying, “My fidanzata? Hmm. Why yes. My fidanzata is quite ravishing.” He took another sip of his drink. “Would you like some wine, or perhaps something stronger?” he asked the Bianchis.

                “None for me,” Maria Elena said, stopping him with her hand, giving him a suspicious look.

              “Ah, that’s right. You can’t drink,” he said, looking at her coyly, showing he wasn’t buying into her game. He appreciated her response, which was to avert his gaze and stare at her father with narrowed eyes.

“It was a shock to hear Maria Elena on the news, announcing her pregnancy to the world,” Raffaelo said suddenly. “Not bothering to tell us first that we were going to be grandparents.”

                   The Bianchi’s all looked up at him. “Si, she had no choice, Raffaelo. She tried to tell your son, on more than one occasion, including two nights ago at the stadium, but was humiliated, and sent away. That is no way to treat the woman who will be your wife,” Vittore said, chastising Paolo.

              “No, and I will never treat my wife that way. She will hold a place of honor and respect with me,” Paolo retorted. The fact that they were clueless as to his meaning gave him a bit of perverse pleasure, made the entire thing more bearable to endure.

“Good, then we can always feel confident that you will be a good husband to our daughter,” Carlotta piped up.

“Is that what you want, Paolo? To be a husband to Maria Elena?” Raffaelo asked. Of course, he knew the answer to that one. Ready for it, he looked to the Bianchis and not Paolo. He wished to see every second of their reaction.

Paolo took a swig of the scotch, looked at Maria Elena, and said frostily, “I’d rather go to hell.” Short. Precise. Blunt. Dead serious.