Page 16 of Because I Need You
“Natasha,” Giovanni said suddenly, jaw clenched. “We should go.”
“Oh.” She pouted her lip at me. “It was so nice to meet you, Isabel! I’m sorry I did all the talking and didn’t get the chance to get to know you.”
“Oh, it’s fine. I’m super boring.” I smiled at her, then looked at Giovanni, who looked like he was staring into me with those dark eyes.
For a moment, I thought he was going to say something. Thankfully, Will put his hand around my waist, a movement Giovanni clocked with interest before we walked me away from them without saying goodbye. I glanced over my shoulder one last time and found Giovanni still watching me, fire brewing behind those eyes.
“Everything okay?” I asked, looking at Will.
“Everything is fine.” He kissed my temple. “Stay away from that guy.”
“I’ve never seen him before in my life,” I said, then asked, “Why should I stay away from him, though?”
“Did you see the way he looked at you?”
I blinked up at him and frowned for real this time. “The way every other man at these events looks at women who are wearing low cut dresses?”
“No.” He shook his head once. “Trust me, it was more than that.”
It was more than that? I wanted to question him, but also didn’t want to make him think I was even remotely interested in Giovanni. I wasn’t.
“Hey.” Will nudged me playfully. “Let’s go find my parents.”
“Yeah, let’s.” I plastered another fake smile on my face and inwardly groaned.
This night could not end soon enough.
6
ISABEL
So, I lied to Giovanni the other night. Sort of. I wasn’t just a middle school teacher. Not anymore, anyway. When my mother left for Spain, she’d handed over the keys to a hole-in-the-wall rum bar. A parting gift, she’d said. It had been a gift from my father to her, and since it was the only thing I had that was both of theirs, I’d been happy to take it over. That, and it made me feel more connected to my dad, who was a rum enthusiast. The Rum Bar had every single type of rum you could imagine. Just rum, though. It didn’t make much money, and if I was keeping it one-hundred, the only reason I didn’t sell the place immediately, was that my father owned the location and his accountant handled everything from the bookkeeping to the rum deliveries, so the only thing left to do was serve the rum. Luke and Noah did that part, though, so, I had very little to do with is, besides showing up and keeping them company, washing glasses, and pouring rum, something I only did during the summer. Not this summer, apparently. The Rum Bar was only open select days a week and we didn’t know what days it would be until that specific week, since it was entirely up to Luke and Noah’s schedules. We switched out the sign on the door on a day-to-day basis. If one of us could work the bar, we opened. If we couldn’t, it remained closed.
This place used to mean so much to me before I found out Mom was a mistress, and I was their dirty little secret. God. I was so mad I almost picked up the phone and called her, but I restrained myself. Even if she did answer my phone call, she’d probably just brush it off the way she did everything else. I hadn’t visited my grandmother this week, but I couldn’t exactly depend on her for answers, in the mental state she was in most days.
The door of the bar chimed as it opened, and I smiled when I saw Mike walk through. He was a regular and always sat in the same little table. Everyone who visited were regulars and usually sat in the same spot. Once in a while we got tourists that were staying in nearby Airbnb’s, but the bar had a maximum capacity of twenty-five. As I said, hole-in-the-wall. Outside of summer, I only visited on Sunday evenings. Sometimes on Thursdays, which was when Dad’s accountant came in and did the books and received the shipments of rum that came in. He’d insisted on doing that job for me, since Dad was paying him. I hadn’t thought to question it before, but now, everything was a question.
“You should be at home eating ice cream or something,” Luke said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Isn’t that what people do when they’re sad?”
“Who do you mean by people?” Noah asked from my other side.
“People who aren’t lactose intolerant.” Luke shrugged.
“I’ll have to keep that in mind.” I laughed. Noah shook his head as he poured some Havana Club for someone and walked it over. “Anyway, I’m not sad. I mean, I am, but mostly I’m disappointed. Hurt. Angry. I was sad when he died. I was sad the days that followed. But now? I’m so fucking angry.”
