Page 118 of Bitter Poetry
“Jero’s alright,” Roman says. “Long fucking day, though.”
“Yeah,” I agree. I don’t make a complete ass of myself when I take the second draw and get a nice buzz. The garage doors are open, and six cars are in my line of sight. A couple more are behind the post, and I can only see a bit of the hood. Red… that’s not an Ettore color. He’s more into dark gray or silver.
I take a step back so I can bring the last vehicle into view, and frown. “Is that Cosmo’s car?”
CARMELA
Peony settles down, thank goodness, and her nanny, who must be every bit as exhausted as I feel, makes use of the bedroom next to her.
I should go to bed, too, but I’m restless. My mind is too full. Today has been long and eventful, and I suffer a strange premonition that it’s not done with me yet.
Returning to the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator. There’s no sign of Christian. Is that why I’m downhere? Waiting for him to return? He’s probably outside talking to the soldiers who are permanently stationed here.
It’s for the best. I couldn’t put my feelings into words, and he wouldn’t listen if I did. My mental vigilance is low, and certain parts of my body are sore…
Turning off the kitchen light, I head upstairs. It’s quiet as I pass the adjoining rooms where Lillete and Peony are staying.
I close my door and get undressed. Removing my makeup, I twist my hair up out of the way and turn the shower on. As I step under the spray, my traitorous mind slides straight to the time when Christian fucked me on the bathroom vanity. I tell myself I don’t need the complication of a repeat performance, yet I’m disappointed when I switch the shower off and step out to an empty room.
I dry myself and apply products to my skin before putting on a pair of yoga pants and a top.
At least Ettore’s not here.
I hate my own bed.
Not the things that both Christian and Dante have done to me in it, just everything else.
The restlessness has me in a stranglehold.
My sigh is heavy. I need a distraction from my thoughts and reach into the drawer of my nightstand for my earbuds. Putting them in, I find a playlist I like on my cell phone.
Then I slip on my big fluffy robe and leave the room, heading back along the corridor, past the rooms where Peony and Lilette sleep, all the way to the opposite end of the house.
The small, often-overlooked door leads me upstairs into the attic room my mother used for painting.
Moonlight spills in from the three skylights over cloth-covered furniture.
My music plays a slow, steady beat in my ears.
Why did I never come up here before?
I walk over to the empty table where she used to keep her paint and brushes. A stack of blank canvases is propped up against the wall, but her easel, the bits of rag, the brushes, old and new, and all the other things that made this her personal space are gone.
The old couch is hidden under a cloth. I go over and draw it off, displacing a cloud of dust.
Why does looking at it make me feel close to her?
I thump the cushion and lay down. It smells a little dusty, but I don’t care. Staring up at the dark ceiling, I wonder what Dante is doing now: whether he’s with Helena, whether events are playing out as Leon said they would. Or if he was feeding me well-meaning lies to save my feelings.
Whether he hates me for sleeping with his brother.
I try to convince myself I don’t care if he is, but the truth is I do.
Christian
“Yeah,” Roman says. “Someone said he got a lift home with his brother.”
“He wasn’t with Edoardo,” Kai says. “He had his wife and two kids in the car... Hey, is it true he was jacking off behind a potted plant at Carmela’s seventeenth birthday party? Heard Jero cut his bollock off.”
