Squash racquet back of hall closet. I’ll pick it up.
Marisa hit the button to turn off her cell phone. The message from Sal had come while she was out. She’d been so shaken by talking to Cole for the first time in fifteen years that she hadn’t realized she had a text until after she’d gotten back to her apartment.
Annoyance rose up in her. As far as text messages went, it wasn’t rude. But it hadn’t come from just anybody. It had come from her former fiancé, who’d broken things off three months ago.
During their brief engagement, she’d been sliding into the role of the good little wife, picking up Sal’s dry cleaning and making runs to the supermarket for him. From Sal’s perspective, asking her to retrieve his squash racquet from her hall closet was unquestionably fair game. No doubt Sal had an appointment to meet a client at the gym, because even sports agents had to establish their athleticism—though Sal played squash only once in a blue moon when an invitation was issued.
She contemplated heaving the racquet out the window and onto the lawn, and then asking Sal to come find it.
Before she could overrule her scruples, she heard someone turn the lock in the front door. She frowned, nonplussed. Hadn’t she asked Sal to return his key...?
She yanked the door open, and her cousin Serafina stumbled inside.
Marisa relaxed. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Of course it’s me,” Serafina retorted, straightening. “You gave me a key to the apartment, remember?”
“Right.” She’d been so lost in thought, she’d momentarily assumed Sal had come back to retrieve the racquet, letting himself in with an extra copy of the key. And he was uptight enough to do it. The rat.
She was glad now she’d kept her condo even when her relationship with Sal had started getting serious enough that they’d contemplated moving in together. She’d bought the small two-bedroom five years ago, and at the time, it had been a major step toward independence and security.
She wondered where Cole called home these days. In all likelihood, a sprawling penthouse loft. She wouldn’t be surprised if he lived in one of his own constructions.
One thing was for sure. He was still one of Welsdale’s hottest tickets while she... Well, shapely was the most forgiving adjective for her curves. She was still a nobody, even if she had a name at the Pershing School these days.
“What’s with you?” Serafina asked, taking off her cross-body handbag and letting it slide to the floor.
“I was thinking of a place to bury Sal’s squash racquet,” she responded and then waved a hand at the back of the apartment. “It’s in the hall closet.”
“Nice.” Serafina smiled. “But with all the dogs in this complex, someone’s bound to sniff out the cadaver real quick.”
“He needs it back.” She’d been hurt when she’d been dumped. But notwithstanding her irritation at Sal at the moment, these days she simply wanted to move on.
Serafina’s lips twitched. “The racquet is an innocent bystander. It’s not like you to misdirect anger, especially the vindictive kind.”
After a moment Marisa sighed and lowered her shoulders. “You’re right. I’ll tell him that I’m leaving it on the table in the building foyer downstairs.”
Ever since her debacle with Cole in high school, she’d been worried about being thought of as a bitch. She didn’t need Cole Serenghetti; she needed a therapist.
“But tell the jerk what he can go do with it!” Serafina added.
She gave her cousin a halfhearted smile. Serafina was a little taller than she was, and her hair was a wavy dirty blond. She’d been spared the curly dark brown locks that were the bane of Marisa’s existence. But they both had the amber eyes that were a family trait on their mothers’ side, and their facial features bore a resemblance. Anyone looking at them might guess they were related, though they had different last names: Danieli and Perini.
While they were growing up, Marisa had treated Sera as a younger sister. She’d passed along books and toys, and shared advice and clothes. More recently, having had her cousin as a roommate for a few months, until Serafina found a job in her field and an apartment, had been a real lifesaver. Marisa appreciated the company. And with respect to men, her cousin took no prisoners. Marisa figured she could learn a lot there.
“Now for some good news,” Serafina announced. “I’m moving out.”
“That’s great!” Marisa forced herself to sound perky.
“Well, not now, but after my trip to Seattle next week to visit Aunt Filo and Co.”
“I didn’t
mean I’m glad you’re leaving, I meant I’m happy for you.” Three weeks ago her cousin had received the news that she’d landed a permanent position. Serafina had also gotten plane tickets to see Aunt Filomena and her cousins before starting her new job.
Serafina laughed. “Oh, Marisa, you’re adorable! I know you’re happy for me.”
“Adorable ceases to exist after age thirty.” She was thirty-three, single and holding on to sexy by a fraying thread. And she’d recently been dumped by her fiancé.