Hold You Against Me (3 page)

Before I am ready, he removes his thumb. It’s still wet from my mouth when he rubs it along my lips, painting them, at first hot and then cold when he pulls away completely.

I feel like I’m in a trance when I stare up at him. He could ask me for anything, and I’d give it.

He knows that.

He leans forward and places a chaste kiss on my forehead. “Tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I
stare at
the wood paneling, holding my breath. I’m not sure what I think this is going to accomplish. Still, I can’t quite bring myself to knock. My father is waiting on the other side of that door.

Did he notice the cigars I took?

I’d be in trouble then. But even more trouble if he found out I’ve been sneaking out of the house.

My palms are damp, my breathing erratic. Once I knock on the door, I’ll hear my father’s voice.
Come in.
He answers that way every time. He’s said those words to me more often than my own name. The sound of him saying them is both comforting and scary.

When I got the summons to come downstairs, I considered going to my sister. I needed her to give me a hug and tell me everything is going to be all right. But she has her own problems to deal with, including a puffy eye and split lip.

And I’m old enough now to know those promises are empty.

She can’t make sure this turns out all right. Not for me and not for herself.

I take a deep breath and blow it out. Then I knock.

“Come in.”

Shock races down my spine. I can’t make myself move. I know exactly whose voice that is. Not my father’s.

The door opens in front of me. It’s not sweet, like when Giovanni does it. Not chivalrous. Byron looks impatient. “I said come in,” he snaps.

I jump, imagining that voice snapping at Honor, those hands hurting her. He doesn’t wait to see if I follow him—he already knows that I will. And I do, shutting the door behind me, a hollow feeling in my stomach. I regret not going to see my sister now, even though it wouldn’t have helped. In fact she might have insisted on coming with me as a show of support, and that would just get her hurt even more.

If anyone’s getting hurt now, it will be me.

“Sit down,” Byron says more calmly, perching on the edge of the desk.

My father sits in his chair, watching me with a blank expression. Why didn’t he tell me to come in? Because he’s just a figurehead now. He knows it. I know it.

And Byron sure as heck knows it.

My father leans forward. “I’ve been talking to Byron about your work. I showed him some of your paintings.”

My eyebrows shoot up. I thought he barely knew about my painting. And to think he showed them to someone else, like a proud father? My throat gets tight.

“It’s important for young girls to have hobbies,” Byron says. “I’ve been trying to get Honor to pick up riding, but she claims she’s afraid of horses.”

My eyes narrow, but I force them to look normal. Honor doesn’t
claim
she’s afraid of horses—she
is
afraid of them. And maybe if she wasn’t busy dodging his fists and doctoring herself, she’d have more time for hobbies.

As if Byron senses my anger, he smiles. “But you are different from her, aren’t you?”

Is that a jab at my parentage? I snap my gaze to my father. Something dark flickers in his eyes. And that’s it. There was a time a man could be beaten for even implying dishonor. And here was this man, with his shiny shoes and his slick hair and his
butt
on my father’s desk, getting away with everything.

It makes me angry. “Is there a reason you called me, Papa?”

“Byron and I would like you to attend the party.”

Sweet. Finally I get to be part of something. And hey, it’s my sister’s engagement party. Even if she is getting engaged to a monster, I should be there.

Just as quickly, suspicion rolls through me. “Just last week you were saying I’m too young. Why did you change your mind?”

My father’s hard expression slips, and just for a moment I see the desperation underneath. He’s a man holding on to the ledge. And one of these days, he’s going to get a push—from the man sitting on his desk.

Byron’s genial expression doesn’t fool me for a second. “I convinced him you were a big girl,” he says with a wink. “You are, aren’t you?”

What a creep.
“Of course I am.”

The look he gives my body then is bold and disgusting. His gaze settles on my breasts, and
big girl
takes on a totally different meaning. The corner of his mouth lifts in a slight sneer. I feel like I could shower for days and never get clean.

“Can I go now?” I ask, keeping my voice as even as possible. “I have to figure out a dress if I’m going to the party tomorrow night.”

“Of course,” my father says, waving me off.

“Oh, and Clara.” Byron fingers a pen in a way that somehow looks menacing. “Be sure to look your best. There are some friends of mine I’m having you meet.”

*     *     *

I wasn’t exaggerating
about the dress. Having spent most of my life cooped up in my bedroom or the library, I don’t have the kind of fancy dresses everyone will be wearing tonight.

“You can wear one of mine,” Honor says when I tell her the good news. Well,
somewhat
good news. The prospect of going to the party seemed less exciting after that creepy look from Byron. And his mention of friends. I have no desire to meet anyone he’d call a friend.

Still, I can’t deny that I’m excited. My first party.

“There’s no way that’s going to work,” I tell her honestly.

Honor is slender. And I’m…not. I’m five years younger than Honor, but somehow my bust is actually bigger. So are my hips.

She rolls her eyes and still manages to look classy and mature while she does it. “We’ll make a few alterations if we have to.”

“
If
we have to? Oh, we’ll have to. And by alterations, I’m guessing you mean adding an entire extra dress. Like if we tie two together, there might be enough fabric.”

Her lips twist disapprovingly. “We aren’t that different, Clara.”

Yeah, right.
We’re different in every way. Her black hair to my pale. Her smooth olive skin to my pink freckled skin. Her slim body to my full one. “Have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re beautiful.”

“What are you talking about? Clara, you’re gorgeous. There are women who’d love to have your curves. And your pretty hair.”

I just stare at her. I don’t believe her at all.

She sighs. She must know I’m a lost cause. “You have no idea how adorable your freckles are, do you?”

“Just what every girl wants to be. Adorable. You look like Audrey Hepburn come to life.”

That makes her laugh. “Wouldn’t that be nice. I could go off on a holiday in Rome.”

“You’d have to escape first,” I remind her. That’s how the movie goes. We’ve both watched it a hundred times. There’s only so many things you can do while stuck in a mansion. Read a book. Practice yoga with a DVD instructor.

“Well,” she says lightly. “That can be for later. For now, we need to get you dressed. And I have an idea.”

She digs through her closet and comes up with a black wrap dress. The fabric has enough give that I can fit into it. It expands to accommodate my hips, falling above my knees instead of below, looking flirty instead of vintage. It’s cute.

I stare at myself in the mirror. Really cute.

Except…

“That’s not going to cut it,” Honor says, staring at my cleavage. It’s hard not to stare. My cleavage is practically busting out of this dress, straining at the top.

So much for looking my best. “I’m hopeless.”

She shakes her head. “Nothing a little double-sided tape can’t solve. We’ll add a shawl that covers up the rest.”

She disappears to find this magical tape and shawl that’s going to fix me. With her gone, I suck in my stomach and lift my body, in what I guess is a seductive pose. The truth is I have no idea what seduction would be like. My mind flashes to Giovanni’s hand stroking my hair, my neck. His thumb brushing my lips. And then slipping between them, resting on my tongue.

My whole body flushes warm.

I imagine Giovanni in the room with me. What would he think of this dress?

What would he think of this cleavage? I wonder if I’ll get a chance to show him. He might be at the party. My mind is awash in fantasies. Dancing on the ballroom floor. Stealing a kiss in the garden.

I know they’re stupid dreams. His father is a foot soldier—they don’t often get invited to these kinds of affairs, much less their underage sons. And even if Gio came, would he dance with me? Or would that tip off our fathers that we knew each other?

There are a hundred reasons why it’s a bad idea. But sometimes it feels like if I want it enough, if I wish hard enough, it might happen anyway.

*     *     *

We are lounging
side-by-side on the old, musty sofa. One earbud is in my left ear, the other is in Gio’s right. Above us, dust floats in the moonlight. I’m back in my standard jeans and tank top. No longer glamorous or over-the-top sexy. But this moment feels so perfect it almost hurts. I want a million of these moments, strung like beads on a necklace, one after the other.

When the third
Glee
song comes on, Giovanni slants me a dark look that makes me giggle.

“What?” I ask, going for innocent. But I don’t quite succeed. I like making him suffer with fun songs. He doesn’t tell me that much about his life outside of these nights, but I know there’s not enough fun in it.

“Really?” he says.

I sing along. “
Don’t stop believing…
”

He groans, but I see the smile that plays on his lips. He likes it. “You know high school is nothing like that show, right?”

“Duh,” I say. “That’s not even realistic. It’s obviously more like
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
.”

He flicks his thick fingers lightly against my arm. “Smart-ass.”

I stick my tongue out, which probably proves him right. I don’t care. “Hey, it’s not my fault I never got to go. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have to guess what high school is like. I would already know.”

“I don’t agree with much your father does, but I think he got that part right.”

Stung, I face the ceiling again. “Whatever.”

“I’m just saying people would know who your father is. It makes you a target.”

“So I should just never live, is that what you’re saying? I should just stay locked up and marry whoever he tells me to and dress however Byron says—”

“What the fuck are you talking about? What did Byron tell you?” He’s facing me, eyes a little wild.

Unease rolls through me. Gio and I, we’ve had our little spats. It’s part of the teasing ups and downs we do. But I’ve never seen him quite so intense. Except maybe about his father. But then he mostly shuts down if that topic comes up.

He’s not shutting down now. His expression is furious and expectant.

“He didn’t tell me anything,” I say, trying to calm him down. “He just said I was going to the party. And that I should look my best, whatever that means.”

Gio swears in Italian. I mostly don’t understand the words except to know they’re bad.

“That fucker,” he says.

Okay, I know that one. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a big fucking deal. He needs to keep his filthy fucking hands off you—”

“He didn’t touch me.” I prop myself up on one elbow, concerned. Cautiously, like approaching a wild animal, I rest my hand on Gio’s arm. “He didn’t touch me, okay?”

I watch Gio take deep breaths in and out. He calms down slowly, though I sense the rage is still simmering beneath the surface. After a beat, I lie back down. The song changes to
Angels We Have Heard on High
. It’s early May, but I love Christmas music any time of year. It’s so hopeful. I especially love the
Glee
version.

Maybe I did think high school was a little like that…

“I thought you weren’t allowed to go to the party,” he says, his voice low.

I shrug. “I guess they changed their mind.”

“It’s not safe for you.”

Umm… “Everyone will be there.”

“That’s exactly why it’s not safe.”

“Will you be there?” I ask hopefully. I’m not worried about the safety of this party. I mean…it’s a
party.
But I want him to be there anyway. “You could protect me.”

He lets out a disgusted sound. “No. I have a job that night.”

A job. That sounds ominous. It’s not like he’s got shifts at a movie theater or something. A job means something for his father. Something for
la familia.
What if something goes wrong? What if he gets hurt? He still has bruises from whatever awful thing happened the other night. How dare his father send him into violent, dangerous situations.

Then again, that’s exactly what my father is doing with Honor.

“We’ll see each other after,” I say. I was thinking of telling him we’d skip that night, but lying here with him now, that feels too painful. And now that I know he has a job, I’d just be worried about him until I saw him again.

“The party will be late.”

“I’ll leave early. I’ll tell them I feel sick or something.” I don’t mention that I already feel sick. I’ve wanted to go to a party, to
anything,
since forever. But now that it’s here, it feels all wrong. This isn’t about dancing in ballrooms and getting kissed in the garden. This is being paraded in front of Byron’s friends while Gio is off somewhere risking his life. “Please. I need to see you after the party. Meet me here.”

He grunts, still looking at the ceiling. “Maybe.”

T
he party is
a success. I know this because at least five people have told me so. How good the food is. How pretty the flowers are. How grown up I look in this dress. It makes me wonder if they want something from me.

Maybe I’m just being cynical. The people do seem very nice…if a little superficial. Every conversation I’ve had has been about the weather and the best wine vintage. And the weather again.

I miss lounging on the couch, choking down whiskey or listening to music. I miss resting my head on Gio’s strong thigh, feeling the warm weight of his hand on the back of my neck.