Page 174 of Bitter Poetry
“Looks like they’re getting out,” he says. “Hey, isn’t that the coffee shop Mrs. Gallo usually goes to?”
“Yeah.” The ants swarm. “Pull over and park a bit further up behind them. Let’s see what they do.”
CARMELA
My stomach flip-flops when Cherry calls out her greeting from the foyer. A surge of guilt and panic rushes me.
What if she sees my cell phone? I’ve stuck a bit of plaster over the light, but still…
Only nothing in her voice suggests she might have. This is all normal. I can do this.
She comes through the door from the foyer into the living area with a big smile. It calms my racing heart, and I smile back.
“Hey, it’s good to see you,” she says. “How’ve you been? You’re looking better.”
“Thank you. And yes, better.”
She waves the bag she’s holding. “I’ve got everything. Times three just in case… and some chocolate because I suspected you might be losing your mind here, and chocolate makes everything better.”
She’s not wrong on any count. This conversation feels so natural, once again, despite her being, at a guess, ten years older than me. On reflection, the last year has changed me and forced me to mature at an accelerated rate. I stopped seeing my school friends soon after the wedding and probably would have little in common with them now.
“Hey, don’t look so worried,” she says. “I won’t tell Dante about the chocolate. You don’t have to share it with him.”
My smile is weak. Being around her is so easy that for a moment I’d forgotten this is not a social visit. She’s kind, considerate, and caring. Someone assaulted her and screwed her over, and now I feel like the lowest form of scum for using her, calling her up here under false pretenses so I can find out the door code.
She’s going to hate me when she finds out what I’ve done.
Despite faking it countless times with Ettore, it feels entirely different with Cherry. She’s not a monster, for a start, and I find I already care what she thinks about me.
“It’s been a little rough.” Stick close to the truth. “Dante doesn’t tell me much, but I’m pretty anxious, you know.”
That felt more authentic. Given my circumstances, she wouldn’t expect me to abound with joy.
“I can only imagine,” she says. “If I knew anything that might allay your fears, I would tell you, but I’m merely a dancer at his club with a marginal level of trust because I patched Dante up once.”
“You did?” My brows pull together.
“It must be a year ago.” She grimaces. “I sort of mentioned it last time we met, but you were distracted.” She indicates her vibrant red hair. “My wig does that to a lot of people.”
A year ago? That must have been right before my wedding to Ettore. I remember the fading cuts and bruises on his face. He still has a tiny scar beneath his right eye.
“Thank you for doing that. I saw him afterward, at my wedding to Ettore… And nobody’s merely a dancer at a club.”
“No, I guess we’re not.” Her smile is a little sad. “The girls are nice, and I get on with them mostly... Don’t get me wrong, a couple are bitches, but the rest are like me, trying to make some money and stay out of trouble. Peppermint Moon didn’t used to have the best reputation. It’s been better since Leon took over managing it. But even before, they didn’t take kindly to anyone giving the girls reasons to miss a shift, and that provided a level of safety.”
Her face lit up when she said Leon's name—I guess I was distracted the first time she came by. I smile. “You like Leon?”
“I what?” Her laugh is nervous.
Only, I’m onto her now, and my grin turns smug. “YoulikeLeon.”
“Well, I don’tdislikehim,” she says.
“You like Leon,” I repeat.
She emits small huff and shrugs. “What’s not to like? He’s hot, commanding, and projects the perfect blend of alphaholeand caring. It’s lethal. There’s not a straight woman in the club who hasn’t noticed him.”
I bite my bottom lip. “Yeah. That’s Leon. He’s had a lot of practice at disrupting the female population and has lived a pretty wild life since his father passed away. I was close to his younger sister. I’ve always considered him the brother I never had and overlooked his faults… Does he know?”
