Page 79 of Wicked Roses
“You don’t know what you started,” he grunts. “I’m going to fuck you all night.”
My eyes flutter close at the threat. There’s nothing I want more...
* * *
Salvatore keeps to his word. We have sex on and off into the early hours of the morning. We don’t stay in one spot. Instead we carry on in various rooms of the loft. His bathroom and the shower. His bed twice. Up against the exposed brick wall in the living room. He goes down on me on the sofa, and in the kitchen we make a mess of things with whip cream we find in his fridge.
It’s one of the most pleasurable nights of my life. Not once do I freeze up like last time.
By the end, collapsing in bed as morning light melts the November snow, we’re exhausted. We’re out for hours, until once again, we’re woken up by the cats. Both of them pad into the room, this time in a united front to get us out of bed.
Salvatore’s slower moving. I’m springing up as soon as I see the time.
“You took off work, remember?”
I rush into the closet and grab some clothes. “I promised I’d meet my dad downtown for lunch.”
“So what? Cancel. Spend the day in bed with me. We can order more pizza...withoutpineapples.”
He’s teasing, but serious too.
I emerge dressed in a blouse and jeans. “I can’t. My dad’s been suspicious lately. I’d prefer not to make it worse. Besides, he said he has something important to tell me.”
Salvatore holds his tongue on saying much else about Dad, but it’s clear he doesn’t like the idea of me speeding off to lunch with him. I’ve accepted they’ll never get along and settled for keeping them as far apart as possible. If they exist in different halves of my life then it’salmostlike the hatred doesn’t exist at all.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
Stitches drives me and drops me off. “I’ll park right over there,” he says, pointing across the street. “Take your time. Brought a couple comic books to keep me preoccupied.”
“You read comics?”
“Whoa. What’s with the judgy tone, Miss ADA? Don’t you watch those housewife shows where they’re always throwing drinks in each other’s faces?”
He’s got a point.
I smirk and wave goodbye before hurrying into Garden House.
“Sorry I’m late.” I smile, dropping into the seat across from Dad. The trendy bistro is as crowded as any other weekday during lunch hour. A server hands us our menus and pours sparkling water into our glasses.
“You’re dressed down today. Don’t tell me Bernstein really put casual Fridays into place at city hall? He tried for years when I was there.”
“Oh. Oh! No... I’m off... as in from work.”
Dad’s brow wrinkles. “Are you feeling okay, Delphi sweetheart?”
“Just needed some time to myself, so I took a few weeks. There’s nothing wrong.” I shift my gaze to the menu and study over the revolting drink selection. I don’t know which sounds less appetizing, strained beet juice or a creamy avocado and banana smoothie. I opt to stick with my sparkling water.
“You’re disappointed about Belini,” Dad says after a long pause. His mouth presses into a tight line. “I’ve been there. It’s rough when you believe you’ve got them, but they weasel their way out of the charge. I can’t tell you how many times it happened with that piece of shit Lucius Mancino.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“You’re going to have to get used to it, sweetheart. Unfortunately, our justice system gets it wrong almost as often as it gets things right. You have to have thick skin as an ADA. Even thicker as a DA. You can’t let one lost battle cost you the war.”
“Dad,” I say sharply, “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
He stares in shock, visibly taken aback by my tone. Our server returns to take our order, providing a much needed interruption.
Once we’re alone again, we sit in silence and sip our drinks. Around us, the other tables buzz with excitable conversation. I pretend I’m more interested in the glittering gold monogram the Garden House has imprinted on their glasses and silverware. Dad admires the rest of the crowded restaurant before returning his attention onto me.