Page 2 of Third Crime's A Charm
“What do you mean I’m not scary?” Truman pouted and pointed at his perfectly trimmed and styled hair. “I thought the gray made me look more like a villain,” he said but Matteo shook his head.
“Makes you look distinguished, I’m afraid.” Matteo held Truman’s gaze as he took a drink, then stepped closer, until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “And like you might be worth the risk.”
There was another soft chuckle—a warm, spicy huff against Matteo’s lips. “Why do I get the feeling thatyoushould come with a warning label? ‘Beautiful but dangerous!’ I imagine a lot of men have lost their heads over you.”
“Jein…” Matteo’s head rocked from side to side as he considered. “A few have but I haven’t had time for a relationship so I’ve kept it casual as much as possible,” he said, holding up his hand and his drink innocently.
It was the truth. Matteo traveled too much and his life revolved around his family. No one wouldevermatter more than his brothers and Matteo didn’t think any man would want to come last. He would always drop anything and everything if Elio, Theo, or Leo needed him. His brothers’ spouses and families, including Muriel, were a very close second.
He had all the love and support he needed and had achieved almost complete independence. Muriel spent most of the year in Austria and had given the von Hessen brothers free use of her apartment in the Olympia. And Theo had recently found paradise in a bowling alley in Upstate New York. With Leo happily tucked away in Schönbühel with Jonathon and Elio at Cambridge, Matteo had never felt more free.
Why would he complicate his life with a relationship?
Matteo was reconsidering as Truman shook his head at another guest and shooed him off. “I’m busy, Don. Leave a message with Neville and I’ll get back to you on Monday.”
“That might have been important,” Matteo warned but Truman was more interested in flagging down another footman.
“Bourbon on the rocks,” he said softly, holding up two fingers before smiling at Matteo. “Not more important than you. I was bored and looking for a reason to leave before you walked in.”
“It’s your party,” Matteo noted and Truman pulled a face.
“It’s a freak show in there. Nobody’s real and they’re all here to see what the other creeps and frauds are willing to do for my protection or my money.”
Matteo’s brows jumped. He wasn’t expecting Truman to be so self-aware or aware of exactly who his clients and admirers were. “Huh. I just came to make the rounds, because I was told that ‘everyone’ would be here.”
“But unlike everyone else, you can see that they’re all freaks. You aren’t fooled by all their fake faces and fancy manners,” Truman said, wagging a finger. “That’s what makesyouinteresting.”
“I hope that isn’t the only thing.”
Growing up, Matteo had dreamed about visiting New York City and experiencing the magic and romance for himself. Reality had revealed a hard, glitzy, busy city, but on Truman’s balcony, Matteo suddenly understood its romantic allure. Overlooking the twinkling lights and Central Park, Matteo felt understood and seen as a man, instead of a glamorous oddity.
“I’m trying to be mysterious and sexy too. My older brothers are the responsible, noble ones and Eli is the rebel so I’m the dashing playboy.”
“Definitely,” Truman murmured over his drink, smiling as he stepped even closer and tapped Matteo’s cheek. “These dimples are criminal and something tells me those lips are lethal.”
“Let’s hope you’re brave enough to find out.”
Matteo wasn’t sure ifhewas brave enough. Being thirty-one, Matteo only had a few relationships under his belt. The longest had lasted almost four months and had been with an older man as well. Matteo’s life was complicated and he had too many secrets to be a decent partner so he generally avoided dating. He couldn’t have fast flings, though, and needed a genuine connection to feel attraction.
There was no doubting their connection and Matteo considered making some dramatic changes. He could go straight for a man like Truman and find more respectable ways to occupy his time. And something told Matteo that he’d have his hands full dating a man like Truman Tennyson.
The party faded, figuratively and literally, as they flirted and bonded over bourbon and their shared distrust of politicians and law enforcement. “I’m telling you, some of the precincts around here operate like the mafia and you’d think some of the cops were dons with the cars they drive. Why’s a sergeant driving a Lamborghini? Some of them have no shame,” Truman complained, shaking his head.
“Excuse me, sir,” a woman in a white shirt and a black skirt interrupted carefully. “Most of your guests have left. Is it alright if we close the bar?”
“Oh.” Truman glanced behind him, then winced as he checked his watch. “I hadn’t realized it was so late. Go ahead and tell everyone to start cleaning up.”
“Yes sir,” she said, offering an obedient nod before leaving them.
“Thank you, Caroline,” Truman called after her. He tipped his head toward the balcony doors. “Let’s take this someplace quieter,” he suggested and Matteo gestured for him to lead the way.
He had almost forgotten about the diamonds but Matteo would have plenty of time to sneak into Truman’s office later if he played his cards right. The secret pocket behind his lapel and under his handkerchief received a quick pat to make sure it didn’t jingle and was smooth. He moved the small plastic bag of fake diamonds from his trousers to his coat and would take it off as soon as possible.
“They’re about to start washing all the dishes and vacuuming but it should be quiet back here,” Truman said, waving Matteointo the sitting room of an elegant suite and closing the door behind them. “Make yourself at home while I freshen up our drinks.”
“This is nice,” Matteo said as he draped his coat over the back of an armchair, gesturing at the sitting room and another spectacular view of Central Park. The furniture was sleek and low, upholstered in soft grays and blues and the decadently thick gray carpet gave the room a soothing, cloudy, airiness. He went to the sofa and reclined against the arm so he could admire Truman as he worked. The bar was obviously Art Deco and appeared to be salvaged but the rest of the room’s furnishings were glass and chrome, adding to the spacious lightness.
“This is my sanctuary,” Truman said, waving around him, then selected an orange from a crystal bowl on the counter. He deftly peeled off two long curls and added one to each glass before joining Matteo on the sofa. “My mother has very…formal and traditional taste,” he said with a sheepish grimace. “I do my best to stay in her good graces so my place in Chicago isn’t as comfortable. And before you ask, I’m notthatkind of mama’s boy. She’s never liked me because I’m too much like my father and I don’t think I’ve ever done anything right in her eyes.”
