Jace is no Italian. His strong narrow nose, square bearded jawline, and thick brow area speak more of Norse descent. His blond brows thread as he watches me study him.
“You hang with nothing but Italians, but you look like a big Viking to me.” I drunkenly giggle.
“That’s because I was raised by Italians, but my father was one-hundred-percent Danish, and my mother was Scandinavian and Italian.”
I hold my breath, waiting for him to continue. I want to know more, but once again. I don’t ask any questions when it comes to anything connected to the Di Lorenzos.
I wonder if that’s my problem? I should know more about the people I’m in business with and my best friend for that matter.
I shove those thoughts away. Dario would have told me what he felt it was safe for me to know years ago. I trust my friend.
Jace says nothing else. He finishes with my shoes and stands. With a nod, he says, “I don’t have permission to touch you any more than I already have, so I’m going to leave you to undress and climb into bed. Rest, I’ll lock up. I’ll tell Dario to check on you.”
Then he leaves. I don’t know if Dario will check on me when he gets in. Not after the drunken text I sent him to let him know I left the party to go home.
I stand and strip from my costume, then grab my journal. I’m still pissed. I think of calling one of my girls, but they’ll only tell me to tell Dario how I feel. The man is my business partner and my best friend.
I’d be complicating a good thing. I don’t want to lose my friend or the business we’ve built. My head full of thoughts and my stomach rumbling, I head to the kitchen to find something to eat.
I find some leftovers and pop them in the microwave. The chicken parmesan hits the spot. I probably shouldn’t but I grab a bottle of wine and pour a glass.
“I’m turning into a lush,” I murmur before taking a sip. I shake my head. “This isn’t you, Carleen. You’ve never been this twisted over any man.”
Except him.
The taunting thought makes me growl at myself. Aggravated and needing to vent, I open my notebook and start to write feverishly.
I just wish for one night I could show him how I feel. One night to get this all out of my system. I wish I could look him in the eyes and allow him to see what I’ve been hiding.
I wouldn’t cling to him after. I’d take my one night and move on with my life. We could keep our friendship and I’d be able to move forward to find what’s meant to be mine.
“That’s my one wish.” I sniffle and run my hand under my nose.
I refill my wineglass and stumble to my room. I’m going to have to figure something out. This is starting to hurt.
He’s not against Black women. So, it’s me.
Dario
I push my way into my apartment as my stomach growls. Jace returned to the office as I was leaving out. Gio had more he wanted to say before I could leave and come check on Carleen.
I enter the kitchen to find a plate on the island next to a bottle of wine and Carleen’s recipe journal. I smile to myself. She must have been working on a new recipe.
I cork the wine, then clear her dishes and wash them before I search for something to eat. The chicken parm I’m looking for is gone. My stomach protests loudly.
I never did get to make that recipe Carleen wanted me to make. I passed out last night. When she drinks, she usually wakes hungry. I could make the dish and leave it for her in the warmer with a note.
I turn for her recipe journal and flip it open to the page she has a pen shoved in. I notice right away this isn’t her recipe book. I should shut it and walk away, but my name is all over the page I’m staring down at. When it sinks in this is her diary, my mind screams for me to close it, but that curiosity that has burned within me since I was a boy causes me to keep reading.
I groan and pull a hand down my face. “Damn, that’s why she was pissed?”
She thought I was checking Lizzy out. Carleen thinks I’m not attracted to her or Black women. At least she thought I wasn’t attracted to Black women. Now she thinks it’s her.
Against my better judgment, I keep reading and the wheels in my drunken mind start to turn. I run my fingers over the page and the few wet spots, as if she was crying as she wrote this.
I have one wish. That’s all. Why can’t there be an alternate universe where for one night Dario could be mine? A night where he’d make love to me, and I could show him how much I love him and have always loved him.