cherry-red
Mustang.
Growing
up like she had, spoiled and kept like a little doll, had made her think that’s
how she would always be. Taken care of by someone else. Wealthy without lifting
a single finger. Overindulged, with material possessions to make up for the
lack of emotional connection.
Emma
hadn’t realized how awful all that was until her mistakes were laughing at her.
She
was disgusted with herself.
Maybe
she did deserve what she was getting, after all.
“You
look like you just swallowed a spider,” came a voice at her side.
Blinking
out of her daze, Emma glanced up from her tablet to see Calisto sliding in
across the table. Not wanting him to know about her internal war and
self-hatred, she clicked off her tablet and donned a mask of indifference.
“Zoned
out. Checking emails can be a boring task.”
Calisto
arched a brow like he didn’t believe her for a second. “I didn’t know you had
so much work, friends, and business to do that your emails were flooded daily.”
Ouch .
Even
little old Emma with her head stuck firmly in the sand could hear the jeer in
Calisto’s words.
“Making
fun of me is a little low, isn’t it?” she asked bitingly.
“I’m
not making fun of you.”
“Aren’t
you? Listen, I realize that to you, I’m probably nothing more than a spoiled
mafia princess who is finally being put to use for her family, but I’m also a
person, Calisto. A real fucking person with feelings. I don’t need you to point
out my flaws—I am well aware of them.”
Calisto
leaned back in the booth, his stare never leaving hers. A million and one
questions flickered through his gaze, but the man stayed quiet.
It
unsettled her.
“Stop
doing that,” Emma snapped.
“Doing
what?”
The
deep tenor of his voice lifted a bit in his confusion. Emma still thought
Calisto’s tone was almost musical. Like just speaking was an art form for him.
She didn’t know anyone else in her life who could talk with emotion in their
voice while their face was nothing more than a blank slate, unreadable and
cold.
Emma
fidgeted under the booth table. “Looking at me like that, like you’re trying to
pick me apart or something. Quit it, Calisto. I told you, I’m aware of my
flaws. There’s no need for you to go pointing them out, too. Everyone else is
already getting a wonderful laugh at my expense. Can’t you let me suffer in
peace?”
“I’m
not sure what you mean, dolcezza , but I was only trying to make you
smile with a joke. You were over here frowning and letting your tea get cold. I
thought maybe …” Calisto trailed off, scowling. “You know what, I thought
nothing. Your unhappiness isn’t my concern, you’re right. And if you feel like
your suffering is by your own hand, then that also isn’t my concern. Growing
up, I was taught that those who make their beds deserve to sleep in them.”
If
his earlier words had hurt, those ones damn well ached. He could have slapped
her and it would have felt better.
Emma’s
jaw fell open, and a breath caught painfully in her chest. “I didn’t make this
bed.”
“That’s
not what you just told me.”
She
fiddled with the sleeve of her coat, feeling the rough tweed rub against the
pad of her thumb. For a moment, the action soothed her for whatever reason.
“I
was thinking of something before you came over,” Emma admitted. “What you said
struck a nerve, and I didn’t take it as the joke you meant it because of that.
I shouldn’t have snapped at you, Calisto. I’m sorry.”
He
took in her words without responding. Lifting his cup of coffee, he took another
sip and then set it back on the table.
“The
spoiled Mafioso principessa nonsense that you barked at me,” he said
quietly. “Was that what you were thinking about?”
Emma
glanced away, refusing to meet Calisto’s piercing brown-black stare. She never
was any good at hiding her true feelings. She didn’t want him to see the anger
and shame that had to be shining brightly in
Mustang.
Growing
up like she had, spoiled and kept like a little doll, had made her think that’s
how she would always be. Taken care of by someone else. Wealthy without lifting
a single finger. Overindulged, with material possessions to make up for the
lack of emotional connection.
Emma
hadn’t realized how awful all that was until her mistakes were laughing at her.
She
was disgusted with herself.
Maybe
she did deserve what she was getting, after all.
“You
look like you just swallowed a spider,” came a voice at her side.
Blinking
out of her daze, Emma glanced up from her tablet to see Calisto sliding in
across the table. Not wanting him to know about her internal war and
self-hatred, she clicked off her tablet and donned a mask of indifference.
“Zoned
out. Checking emails can be a boring task.”
Calisto
arched a brow like he didn’t believe her for a second. “I didn’t know you had
so much work, friends, and business to do that your emails were flooded daily.”
Ouch .
Even
little old Emma with her head stuck firmly in the sand could hear the jeer in
Calisto’s words.
“Making
fun of me is a little low, isn’t it?” she asked bitingly.
“I’m
not making fun of you.”
“Aren’t
you? Listen, I realize that to you, I’m probably nothing more than a spoiled
mafia princess who is finally being put to use for her family, but I’m also a
person, Calisto. A real fucking person with feelings. I don’t need you to point
out my flaws—I am well aware of them.”
Calisto
leaned back in the booth, his stare never leaving hers. A million and one
questions flickered through his gaze, but the man stayed quiet.
It
unsettled her.
“Stop
doing that,” Emma snapped.
“Doing
what?”
The
deep tenor of his voice lifted a bit in his confusion. Emma still thought
Calisto’s tone was almost musical. Like just speaking was an art form for him.
She didn’t know anyone else in her life who could talk with emotion in their
voice while their face was nothing more than a blank slate, unreadable and
cold.
Emma
fidgeted under the booth table. “Looking at me like that, like you’re trying to
pick me apart or something. Quit it, Calisto. I told you, I’m aware of my
flaws. There’s no need for you to go pointing them out, too. Everyone else is
already getting a wonderful laugh at my expense. Can’t you let me suffer in
peace?”
“I’m
not sure what you mean, dolcezza , but I was only trying to make you
smile with a joke. You were over here frowning and letting your tea get cold. I
thought maybe …” Calisto trailed off, scowling. “You know what, I thought
nothing. Your unhappiness isn’t my concern, you’re right. And if you feel like
your suffering is by your own hand, then that also isn’t my concern. Growing
up, I was taught that those who make their beds deserve to sleep in them.”
If
his earlier words had hurt, those ones damn well ached. He could have slapped
her and it would have felt better.
Emma’s
jaw fell open, and a breath caught painfully in her chest. “I didn’t make this
bed.”
“That’s
not what you just told me.”
She
fiddled with the sleeve of her coat, feeling the rough tweed rub against the
pad of her thumb. For a moment, the action soothed her for whatever reason.
“I
was thinking of something before you came over,” Emma admitted. “What you said
struck a nerve, and I didn’t take it as the joke you meant it because of that.
I shouldn’t have snapped at you, Calisto. I’m sorry.”
He
took in her words without responding. Lifting his cup of coffee, he took another
sip and then set it back on the table.
“The
spoiled Mafioso principessa nonsense that you barked at me,” he said
quietly. “Was that what you were thinking about?”
Emma
glanced away, refusing to meet Calisto’s piercing brown-black stare. She never
was any good at hiding her true feelings. She didn’t want him to see the anger
and shame that had to be shining brightly in
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