“Go put something more appropriate on. Be in my office at three o’clock.” He brushes past me without another word.
Left standing alone on the patio, I close my eyes and count to ten. It’s either that or swear at his retreating back. I take a short nap in the sun on the lounger, enjoying my fake freedom. With no watch and no cell phone, I have no idea what time it is when I wake.
I really don’t care about being late or wearing the wrong outfit. However, he is right. The sooner we play out this charade, the sooner it will be over. I have no idea what his plan for my father and Antonio is, and I really don’t want to be any part of it.
But I have nothing left to barter.
Swinging my feet over the side of the lounger, I slowly sit up and notice a tray with ice water and cookies. It must have been Marie. She’ll be my new best friend. I’m not the best at cooking but I’ve learned a lot in the past few years. Mama never lifted a finger in the kitchen and at fifty-six, deemed herself too old to learn new tricks.
Granted, she was only forty-eight when we fled Italy. Plenty young to start over, had she not suffered from partial brain damage and dementia. I really don’t know what her diagnosis is. Sonny did his best to get her medical help, but the staff was all too loyal to Lorenzo, and we didn’t trust anyone not to reveal our plan of escape.
Thinking about my past won’t help me now. I drink the entire glass of water and wrap two sugar cookies in a napkin, bringing them with me to my room. I skim through the clothes in my closet, unsure what to wear to a business meeting with Stone.
Will it only be the two of us? More lawyers? More of his staff? What would the bride-to-be of a loaded mafia boss or crime lord or whatever the hell he is wear at three o’clock? I settle on a black pencil skirt and a sleeveless white silk top. Mama would have a fit seeing I wasn’t wearing hosiery. I don’t like the constraint on my legs and around my waist. Even though the selection in my drawer is soft as silk. I can wear the thigh-high stockings and garters, but they seem much too risqué for an afternoon meeting, and not the vibe I want to give to Stone.
Not that he’ll come anywhere near seeing what is under my skirt.
I push the button to my shoe turnabout and smile when a pair of red four-inch peep toes appear. I need a pedicure and haven’t seen any nail polish in the drawers. I’ll add that to my list of bride-to-be needs.
Studying my short nails, I decide a manicure is due as well. I loved being pampered as a teenager. Spoiled, as I was, but I didn’t realize it until everything was stripped from me. Or rather, I stripped it all away.
Slipping into my red shoes, I pace my room a few times until my body remembers how to walk in the heels. Stone wants me to play the part.
Little does he know I’ve been putting on a show for the past eight years.