Page 15 of Cartel Devil
It’s been three weeks, and my regret hasn’t lessened. And neither has my pride. I offered him cupcakes, but he declined. He clearly didn’t change his mind because he hasn’t been to either of Sera’s bakeries. Vittoria is back from her honeymoon, so I know he hasn’t asked about me to either of my friends.
Not that I’ve asked either of them.
That whole pride thing is keeping me fucking freezing at night.
I don’t regret being with him. Just the opposite. If I thought he’d want more with me, I’d agree in a New York minute. But I fucked it up by not explaining that food is my love language as much as it is Sera’s. I suspect he thought I was paying him for the night with dessert. Like he was some fucking gigolo. Let me tell you, he’s way fucking hotter than Richard Gere ever was, and he’s not entirely American anyway.
Fuck my life.
You have no one to blame but yourself.
Your misery has no company.
“Tricia?”
“Huh? Sorry.”
I turn toward Sera as she steps into her office. I’m eyeballs-deep in printed flyer and postcard proofs for the promotional campaign I’m setting up. I have four different graphic renderings for full wraps to decorate her delivery vans open on my desktop. That’s on the monitor in front of me while three ad iterations are sitting on the one to my right. The screen to the left has a calendar that resembles a fragmented rainbow with a color-coding system only I understand—mostly.
“Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? Toria and Alejandro are coming.”
My lips twitch before giving in and grinning. “Need a larger demilitarized zone between Carmine and Alejandro.”
“Something like that. They’re always pleasant-ish to one another, and their manners remain impeccable. But the latent hatred simmers the moment we arrive at each other’s home.”
“Wow. I’ve never had such an enticing dinner invitation before.”
“Come on. I want to hear about their honeymoon, and I bet you do too. It’ll keep the conversation so lively that the guys won’t have time to calculate the latest mutual demise. The upside to having husbands so enamored with their wives is that they actually listen to us.”
That brings to mind my conversation with Joaquin. I’d never felt like I was someone’s entirely singular focus before. I’m no fool to think he couldn’t close his eyes and tell me where every single person in the room stood or sat. But I never felt like I had less than his undivided attention. Like no one and nothing were more important.
“All right. Toria promised she took at least a couple photos she can share. It was sweet that they were cell phone free for the three weeks they were away.”
Vittoria and Alejandro agreed before they left that they would only use their cell phones for music and photos unless it was dire. Since they took Alejandro’s cousins as their bodyguards, they knew someone could reach them in an emergency. I love the idea of being that in the moment with your partner now that cell phones seem like a surgically attached accessory for most people.
“Do you want to ride with me?”
I took the subway to Harlem this morning. I prefer public transportation to looking for street parking or circling a lot. Unlike back home, few people in NYC know who I am or who my family is. I’m just a normal woman.
It’s a first.
“Sure. I can be ready in half an hour.”
I’m alone for five minutes before my phone rings. I glance down at the screen and brace myself before answering.
“Hi, Uncle Tommaso.”
“Hello, Tricia. How’re you?”
“Fine. You?”
Fucking small talk with your uncle who happens to be a don. Not a good sign.
“What’ve you been up to lately? Do you feel completely settled into New York now?”
I’ve been here for several months. He’s asked me this several times. He gets the same answer from me each time. I know what he’s fishing for.
“Yeah. It’s a different pace from Boston, and it smells weird most of the time, but I like it. The bagels are better, but I haven’t figured out what the goop is they call chowder.”
