Page 13 of His Brother's Wife
“And who knew my kink was sexy, grumpy professors?” she joked, and Raffaelo ran a finger down her cheek, grinning.
Enda felt a spark of envy. How he would love to have this open, joking, fun relationship with Ama, but over the last week, she had been subdued and withdrawn. She told him she was just tired, but even though they had known each other for such a short time, he knew she was holding something back from him. When they made love, she clung to him as if she wanted to never let go, but it was tinged with a quiet desperation.
Today, though, she would meet up with him and his friends in public, ostensibly to discuss the music school idea, but really, Enda hoped, just to bond with his friends. The music schools would provide good cover for Ama meet up with him and Raff, and if she and Inca were to become friends …
“Hey, Enda? You in there? When are we meeting Amalia?”
Enda checked his watch. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the hotel and get some sleep? We’re not due to meet her until one.”
Inca colored slightly. “We, um, slept on the plane.” She and Raff exchanged a conspiratorial grin, and once again, Enda felt a pang of loneliness.
As they were seated at the restaurant, Enda looked up to see Amalia entering and speaking to the maître d’, then glancing over to him. Her face lit up when she saw him and he stood to greet her.
“Ciao,Ama. Great to see you.” It felt weird to kiss her on the cheek, rather than taste her sweet mouth. She looked beautiful, but he could see dark violet circles under her eyes, and she looked like she had lost some weight. Her cheeks were slightly hollowed, and there was an air of sadness around her. What the hell was going on?
Enda introduced her to Raffaelo and Inca, the latter of whom hugged the other woman. “It’s so good to meet you.”
Ama smiled at her. “And you. I’ve heard so much about you both. And, damn, Raff, you and Enda could be twins.”
Raffaelo grinned. “I already have one of those, but I know what you mean. Good to meet you, Ama.”
Enda wanted so badly to hold Ama’s hand as they sat together; he had to be satisfied with just sitting by her, breathing in her perfume.
Inca grinned at him, and he realized she had guessed exactly what Ama meant to him. He was glad. The four of them chatted easily throughout dinner. Inca and Raff told them they were contemplating adoption, but at the same time, enjoyed their independence.
“I love having Tommaso and Bo’s kids to stay, but when they go home, I have to admit, I’m exhausted. So …we don’t know. Maybe kids aren’t for us,” Inca shrugged and smiled at her husband.
“Maybe not,” he agreed and laughed. “It would be harder for us to go on one of our adventures.”
Inca told Ama about their penchant for travel. “We went to Peru last year, hiked up to Machu Picchu, and went to the Convento de San Francisco Ossuary.”
“That was creepy. Entirely made out of human bones.” Raff shuddered, but Inca grinned.
“I loved it. The worst was that rope bridge you made me walk across. God.”
“Wuss.”
Inca play-punched his shoulder. “The words ‘hand-woven’ and ‘bridge’ should never go together.”
Enda, watching how easy and playful his friend’s relationship was, couldn’t help but slide his hand along Ama’s thigh. She started, dropping her fork, which slid from the table. “Oops, sorry.”
She bent over to retrieve it, and her shirt rode up, revealing a strip of creamy, golden skin …and the very definite imprint of a boot, bruised into the skin of her side and stomach. Enda’s breath caught in his throat and Inca, who had seen it too, met his gaze in alarm.
Jackson. The bastard.The fury burned in Enda’s throat, and when Ama sat up, tugging her shirt down and flushing, he saw her reaction to his confusion.
Lunch was subdued after that. Raffaelo seemed a little confused by the sadness that had come over the other three, and when Enda and Ama said goodbye, he hugged his friend.
“We will get together soon, yes?”
Enda nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The two men watched the women hug, and Inca whispered something to Ama, who nodded, tears in her eyes.
Enda took an un-protesting Ama back to his apartment and poured them both a whiskey. As she sipped, he lifted her shirt and studied the horrendous pattern of bruises on her stomach, back and sides.
“He did this.”
She nodded, looking shattered. “Yes.”
“That’s it. I’ve had it. I don’t care about anyone else but you. You need to leave that house tonight.”
