Page 69 of Under Her Skin
ChapterTwo
Christo pushed his food around his plate, not hungry. He was all too aware of the brooding figure of his father at the end of the dining table. His father’s business associates, some of Christo’s uncles and cousins, and Bertie too, were all there as well, but Christo could feel his father’s scrutiny. He met his father’s gaze with a question in his eyes. Fogliano had been quiet all throughout the meal, but now he tapped his fork on his glass, asking for theirattention.
“Friends, family, thank you for coming this evening, on what, to my surprise, is quite an auspiciousnight.”
Christo’s back stiffened, and Bertie shot him a warning look.Let your father say his piece.Christo sighed. He had no idea what his father would tell the others and so had no defenseprepared.
Fogliano smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “My son, my only child, came to me today and told me he didn’t want mybusiness.”
“And here we go,” breathed Bertie under his breath. Christo’s gaze never left hisfather’s.
“Now,” Fogliano continued, “I have always been proud of my son, proud of what he has achieved, of how much he has given me, and so the fact he wants to make his own way in the world is pleasing tome.”
Christo’s eyes widened slightly, and he relaxed a little. Fogliano smiled a little. “And do you know what my son, my Harvard-educated lawyer son, wants to do with his life now that he no longer wishes to be part of our workinglife?”
Christo’s hope faded. Nope, this wasn’t going to be a rousing speech singing his praises. He knew the look in his father’s eyes – he was about to be roasted, broiled alive, mocked mercilessly.Well, bring it, Pa. I can handleit.
“He wants to makefurniture!” Fogliano spat triumphantly. “Furniture! Like some damn hipster fool in the Village, can you believe it? I’m so glad I spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on your education, son, so that you can prance around with your bespoke hand-crafted side tables and rocking chairs. Such a privilege to be able to say that my son, who I raised as my heir to the business I have given my life to create…wantsnothingto do with it. How is it I have raised such an ungratefulchild?”
The room was silent, the atmosphere thick and unsettling as Fogliano got up and moved down the table to his son. Christo gritted his teeth. This was going to be one of Fogliano’s rants, clearly.I should have known,Christo thought,I should have known he wouldn’t take it well, that he was waiting to humiliate me in front of everyone.He caught Bertie’s eyes. Bertie’s expression was angry but watchful. Christo shook his head – he knew Bertie would stand up to his father in defense of his friend, but Christo felt numb.So be it, he thought,bring it on, Dad. Do yourworst.
The anger that had been building inside him for years now was almost at its peak. As Fogliano bore down on his son, Christo got to his feet. “What’s up, Dad? Can’t bear the thought of someone making an honest buck for achange?”
Fogliano stopped. “Anhonestbuck? I’ve had just about enough of your moralizing, boy. My money was good enough to feed you, clothe you, put you through college and now you’re too good forit?”
Christo squared up to his father. “No, Pa. I’m not good. I’ll never be good, but I can try to redress the balance. For Mom, as well asmyself.”
He knew mentioning Ornella would set his father off, but Christo didn’t care. He wanted to push Fogliano, wanted that fight to happen so he could feel good about making the break. He didn’t have to wait long. Fogliano cold-cocked him, and he slammed into the table, crashing against the plates and cutlery. The men around the table shot to their feet as Fogliano hauled his son up and hit him again. Bertie lunged forward, but Christo shouted for him to stop. Fogliano beat his son again until Christo’s nose poured with blood. The room was silent as Fogliano let Christo go, his own breathragged.
“Get out of my house,” he growled, his face a mask of pure rage. Christo got unsteadily to his feet and looked his father in theeyes.
“My fuckingpleasure.”
He let Bertie steer him out of the mansion and into Bertie’s car. Christo gazed up at the house as Bertie drove him away from it, knowing he would never see it again. He wasfree.
“Dude, let’s get to the club,” he said, wiping the blood from his face. “I need a drink…orseven.”
It wasn’t until, very drunk, he went home to his apartment that night, that Christo let himselfbreak.
Two weekslater and Noosh still hadn’t summoned the courage to go to the sex club. She had quietly pushed her story aside and helped out with Allison’s punishing schedule, hoping her boss would simply forget about it, but then, one Thursday night as they shared pizza late in the evening, Allison studied her. “So?”
Noosh feigned ignorance. “So,what?”
Allison rolled her eyes. “Noosh.”
Noosh sighed. “So…it’s onhold.”
“Until?”
“Until I can persuade myself to go to the club. I mean, you’re right. I need to experience it, it’s just…I’m not sure BDSM is mything.”
“Do you suppose journalists who go to war-torn countries like what they have to see? The story’s the thing, not your personal preferences. Besides, I never said you had to try out any of that stuff.” Allison shoved a piece of pizza into her mouth and studied Noosh. “When was the last time you got laid,anyway?”
Noosh laughed, half-shocked, although it was exactly the kind of thing Allison would come out with. “A while,” Noosh answered honestly, then grinned at her boss. “Andyou?”
“Last night. A delectable lawyer from mid-town. Nice guy. Bigcock.”
Noosh almost spat her soda out, laughing. She shook her head at her boss. “You’reincorrigible.”
