Page 13 of Thorns of Death
Reina was going all wild, vacuuming like her life depended on it. Maybe it did, fuck if I knew. I padded over the rugs and hardwood, careful not to mess anything up or leave footprints. God forbid she started to clean all over again.
I patted her on the back and a soft squeal escaped her.
“Sorry, sorry,” I muttered as she whirled around, holding the cord tight to her chest. It made it look like she was plugged in too—which would explain her manic energy.
“Fuck, Isla,” she breathed. “You scared the living daylights out of me.”
“Sorry.”
Her curls were pulled up into a messy bun, and a white scarf was wrapped around it to keep her flying hair from her sweaty forehead. She wore blue jean overalls with a white T-shirt underneath, which made her look like a girl barely out of high school. Not a soon-to-be famous fashion designer.And a wife, my mind whispered. I cringed at the last thought and swiftly pushed it out of my mind. Whatever she’d end up being, she’d still pull it off. She could be smeared in coal and wearing rags and she’d still look stunning.
I took the vacuum from her hand and turned it off as she smiled sheepishly. “Too early for vacuuming?”
I didn’t say anything, instead I just made my way to the couch and patted the seat next to me. “Sit here and talk to me.”
She let out a choked laugh, but there was no humor in it. “You should have been a shrink,” she grumbled under her breath as she reluctantly joined me. She threw herself on the couch, her head landing on the back cushions. “Okay, hit me.”
She looked tired as I watched her eyelids flutter closed. It had been like this ever since Amon. Almost two years. She should have moved on by now, and looking in from the outside, you’d think she had. Except she wasn’t the same. The girls and I had yet to figure out what happened. Even her sister didn’t truly know. All we knew was that he broke her heart. Maybe even broke her. Or maybe it was that accident?
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked instead. Honestly, I didn’t know where to start with her. Was she upset about Dante? Or Amon? Probably both.
She let out a heavy sigh and opened her eyes. Staring into them always made me think of the ocean. She and her sister had identical blue eyes, and not the kind you saw every day. Their depths were only matched by the Mediterranean Sea in Southern Italy.
“How about we talk about you?” Her response threw me and I tilted my head. “You were gone all night and came in this morning looking like you’d been to heaven and back.” It was an accurate description. It felt like I’d gone to heaven, only to wake up in hell. With a scorned wife. “Unless you don’t want to talk about it.”
I shrugged. “There isn’t much to tell. I saw this gorgeous guy at the fashion show yesterday…”
Reina perked up, her problems forgotten. “Who?”
I blushed a bit at the thought of him. “Well, I have his first name. Enrico.”
Reina’s mouth parted. “Marchetti?”
My brows scrunched. I had heard of Enrico Marchetti. Aside from him letting Reina use the venue for the fashion show, I, like most of Europe, knew him as the reclusive mogul who owned one of the most prestigious fashion houses of Italy. Among many other things.
No, that didn’t seem right. He’d have been surrounded by fashion models and high-society women.
I shook my head. “We never got to last names, but it couldn’t be Enrico Marchetti. Anyhow, he kept staring and I blew him a kiss. You know, for staring. Besides, he was hot, and I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. Unfortunately”—or fortunately, since the man was a freaking god in bed—“I saw him again. You girls called out to me, ready to go to the next club, and I told you I’d catch up.”
“And you never did,” she noted dryly. “You know, he could have been a serial killer.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, luckily he wasn’t. Instead he was just a lousy cheater with an incredible dick.”
Reina flushed red but waved her hand, dismissing my comment. “Okay, back to your night. Why unfortunately?” she inquired. When I gave her a blank stare, she clarified, “You said you ran into him again unfortunately.”
I waved my hand. “Did you miss where I said ‘a lousy cheater’? Anyhow, it doesn’t matter. I’m certain it wasn’t Enrico Marchetti. You always refer to him as older.”
“Well, he is older. The man you are describing sounds older too.”
I rolled my eyes at her rationale. “Notthatold.”
She shrugged her slim shoulders. “Enrico Marchetti might be in his forties, but he doesn’t look it. And women throw themselves at him at every turn.”
I gave her a pointed look. “Exactly. This guy was alone at the fashion show and again at the nightclub.” He did have a gorgeous blonde there, but I left that part out. No sense in wasting time on minor details.
She tilted her head pensively. “That first nightclub we went to belongs to Enrico Marchetti,” she muttered. “What does your Enrico look like?”
My heart raced in an unhealthy way before I could remind myself we were in Europe—names like his were a dime a dozen. And I didn’t know much about Enrico Marchetti aside from what Reina told me when he’d granted her his venue, but apparently, he owned, like, half of Italy.
