Celeste;
The day was a flash of events. I haven't seen Romano since that morning he came to my bedroom to deliver the contract papers—which now lay upstairs, on my bed. Signed and sealed.
His is yet to be imprinted on his part.
I'd like to think he's thinking things through.
Now, it's the day after. And anxiety has been eating on my nerves at the looming dinner party that will make all these…final.
I can't think of a better word.
I'm in the lounge, where I'd bumped into Caruso on my second day in this mansion.
Goodness knows how I'd tried to not let anything regarding him pop in my mind.
Well, I'd failed—more times than I care to admit.
After that night in his bedroom, a foreign flurry sensation burns in my chest whenever I recall it.
His hands, his body. His smothering gaze.
God. I realize my breathing has turned shallow, my cheeks flushing.
Performing a show of swinging my head sideways, I choose to burn the memories away.
The man is all smoke and sin.
One I should avoid if I want to emerge triumphant in this fight. And I will.
Footsteps wrapped in boots pound against the floor. I twist around to see three armed men, their rifles hanging on their chests.
They seem to be conversing about something as their snorts and deep laughter disappear down the hallway with them.
And I am bored.
My toes touch the tiles, which singe the soles of my feet as I alight from the couch, barefoot. I pad to where the voices still echo.
"Umm, hello." Plastering a saccharine smile on my lips.
They stop, whirling around to look at me. Their shoulders tense in alert—they might as well point their guns at me.
However, upon seeing it's just the little girl their boss brought home, they relax.
I traipse closer. "Can I borrow a cell?"
They look at me like I'd just asked them about the quickest way to die, then share a look between themselves.
One with chestnut-colored hair steps forward, his hand resting on the mouth of his rifle.
"The house line is available, miss. You can ask the servants to show yo—"
"Ahh. I don't really, you know…know how to use it properly." Fidgeting with my top, I force redness to my cheeks.
I spot a knowing look settle on the brows of the two behind him.
They might think me a spoiled Gen Z. But that's the whole plot…right?
The lanky one suppresses a snigger, and I bite down on the inside of my mouth in response to his reaction.
Seeing this, the guy with his hair cropped to his head clears his throat, then says, "We don't use cellphones on duty. Only a communication radio, and it's two-way only." As if proving a point, he wiggles the device in front of me.
"Oh," I mumble, slipping a disappointed edge into my tone as I sigh. "Thank you."
"Who do you want to talk to?" he suddenly asks, suspicion heavy in his accusative gaze.
If it were before, I'd have peed my pants at that look.
Rather, I blush, fingering a spot on my yellow loose top.
My lips part. "Ahh, Romano said I can call him whenever I feel bored."
The young soldier blinks, his throat bobbing with a flustered expression.
"You see, talking to him on the landline will be quite embarrassing…the servants keep listening. So I need a phone."
He looks away from me and nods.
Well, that's a lie. I don't want to call Romano.
But they don't know that, so I smile sweetly at them.
"The servants," one of them butts in from the back. "You can ask the servants."
"Thank you." Gleeful, I whirl and disappear toward the kitchen.
Before I even arrive there, I come across a lot of them in the lobby, giving me an awfully wide berth.
I don't fucking care, snatching the arm of a girl. Her yelp pierces my eardrums and I wonder if I'd stopped a fucking banshee.
Schooling my features, I fix a beam on my lips. "Excuse me, can I have your cellphone?"
She looks confused for a moment, her body going stiff before she nods frantically. Inserting her hand into the pocket of the apron around her waist, she takes it out and hands it to me.
Smiling, I sing-song to her, "Thank you."
She literally jumps as I release her wrist.
I don't go back to my room. I head straight for the lounge, relaxing in the seat I previously occupied.
The corner of my lips tips slightly as I hold the unlocked phone in my hand. Shooting a passing glance at the camera by the corner, I pretend otherwise.
Dialing straight for Angelo's digits. As if he knows it's me, he picks up on the first ring.
"Hello, Poppy."
I grin. He really did know it was me. "How?"
"A strange number calling me from the Giordanos' residence. Why else?" His chuckle resonates.
Amusement stirs in my chest. "You have tabs on the household servants?"
Not surprised though.
"All of them." I can imagine that smug look he usually dons like a second skin.
"I see why Greg keeps you despite always disobeying him."
I guess he simply shrugs.
"Why did you risk calling?" He turns serious—rare, coming from him.
Cutting to the chase, I lower my voice. "I'm having dinner tonight with the entire family of the Giordanos. Literally all of them."
"Damn. That's…intense." Angelo jests.
"I need every piece of information I can get on them. Everything possible." My voice reeks of a tremor I refuse to acknowledge.
"Okay, hold on." I hear his footsteps against floorboards, then a screech of a chair as a bouncing 'plop' comes after.
Incessant punching of keyboards erupts in the background and he asks, "Ready?"
"Yeah." I'd never been more, actually.
And then he starts to spill. And I make sure everything sticks in my head. Word for word. Weakness for weakness.
It becomes unnervingly clear this is not going to be an easy dinner.
My pulse trembles underneath my skin.