Chapter Thirteen

Part of me was sad when Mom left Paris seven days after our arrival, but she was needed back in Chicago. But the other part was eager to finally experience the city on my own terms and be alone with Santino.

He’d probably have preferred if my mom had stayed. He knew all bets would be off once we were alone, and he was worried. For good reason. His control was slipping, and I’d make sure to crash through it like a wrecking ball.

But first I wanted to enjoy Paris on my own terms, really soak everything in. For the first time in my life, I was so far away from home without my parents, without the pressure of being a Capo’s daughter resting on my shoulders. Santino knew my flaws. He certainly didn’t expect me to act like the good girl everyone expected me to be—he knew I wasn’t. I could be good, but sometimes I just wanted to be bad, to enjoy life more than I should, to do all the things I wasn’t supposed to do. One of them was of course Santino, but Paris first.

“Let’s go out tonight. Fancy dinner, then drinks and a club afterward. I want to celebrate,” I said the moment we stepped into our apartment.

Santino’s expression didn’t exude excitement. If he realized how sexy the grim set of his jaw made him, he’d probably try to smile more often around me.

“Come on,” I said with a grin. “You’ve had to be on your best behavior while my mom was here, don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy a night out.”

“You’re overlooking something. I’ll have to watch you.”

I rolled my eyes. “We’ll have fun.”

Santino heaved a sigh but then he nodded. To be honest, I’d expected more resistance from him. Either he was glad to be out in public with me or he really needed a bit of a break. No matter the reason, I was super excited. I pushed to my tiptoes and threw my arms around Santino’s neck. “Thank you! I promise I’ll behave!”

It felt good to be so close to him, especially as he didn’t immediately try to push me off. When he grew tense, I pulled back.

A few hours later, I emerged from the bathroom, ready for the night, dressed in black hot pants and a short form-fitting black blazer with big golden buttons that made it look like a naval uniform. Beneath it, I wore a white bandeau top with narrow sleeves that left my shoulders bare. To make the look perfect, I wore a cute bonnet that rounded off the sailor look. Golden stilettos matching my buttons were the icing on the cake.

Santino’s eyebrows rose when he spotted me. “When are we setting sail?”

I turned around myself to show him the look, knowing my butt looked spectacular in the hot pants. “I’m not someone who wants to follow a trend. I want to be the person who creates a trend. Clothes are more for me than a cover for my body. I want my looks to make a statement. They are a way to express myself.”

“And you’re trying to express your interest in hooking up with a sailor and live on a boat?”

Santino stood. He’d put an effort into his clothes too. The black chinos ended above his ankle and created a nice contrast to his white sneakers. Thankfully, he was wearing sneaker socks like any person with a hint of fashion sense did. The white simple shirt hugged his muscled chest in a very pleasing way and his jacket just made it perfect.

“You can swear like a sailor,” I said with a shrug. “Maybe it’s a message for you.”

Santino ignored the comment but I knew it would float around in his brain for a while. We headed out to a small restaurant near Sacre Coeur. Once we’d settled at the table, I felt a brief moment of worry that we wouldn’t have anything to talk about and it might become awkward, but Santino nodded toward a guy who wore very form-fitting chinos and sandals with plush golden fur lining plus matching golden socks. I remembered the shoes and socks from the Balenciaga runway show in the fall.

“Explain this to me.”

“Well,” I said thoughtfully as I took a sip from the champagne. “It’s bold.”

“He’s wearing sandals in winter, with socks. How can this be fashionable in anyone’s mind?”

“Fashion always tries to break rules, at least if it wants to be progressive. Not everything is there to last of course. But someone once said you only regret the things you didn’t do, and I suppose that goes for fashion too. As a designer, you don’t want to do what everyone has done before you. You want to be innovative and surprise people. That becomes harder and harder over the years, and especially with fashion being such a fast business.”

“If something has worked for years, why change it? Why not reinvent old fashion trends and not create new completely insane ones.”

“That’s what I’m hoping to do. Rethink old trends and try to create something new and exciting with secondhand pieces. At least, I hope that’ll work out. I don’t know what to expect.”

“You always do your thing, Anna. I doubt a French fashion professor can stop you. And from what I’ve seen you always look good with your secondhand pieces.”

“Thank you,” I said, surprised. “Many people think I’m crazy for loving to shop in secondhand stores because I could afford the most expensive pieces.”

“You could, but then you’d look like all the other rich girls. You always manage to stand out.”

I set down my glass with a smile. “Did we just manage to have a conversation without fighting?”

“Don’t get used to it. I’m sure we’ll find something to fight about soon enough.”

“I have to say, I enjoy both, the fighting and the talking.”

Santino regarded me for a moment and I couldn’t read his expression which made me unreasonably nervous.

The waiter arrived with our starter then, cutting our strange moment of peace short. We ate in silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence where you’re grasping for a topic to talk about and every scratch of the cutlery echoed painfully. This just felt cozy and nice, us both enjoying the delicious food and occasionally exchanging a look when someone with odd clothes caught our eyes. One cock of Santino’s brow said more than a thousand words, and when I answered with a roll of my eyes that gave him his answer.

After dinner, we headed to a bar that also had a club on the floor below. I didn’t think Santino would join me on the dance floor. Over the years he’d always avoided dancing but this time he followed me to the center of the club where the beat had taken hold of the crowd, turning dozens of bodies into one pulsing mass. “I thought dancing wasn’t part of your job description,” I shouted into Santino’s ear. That was one of his favorite phrases whenever I asked him to do something. Not part of my job description…

He bent down to answer over the music. “This is an extraordinary situation. Don’t get used to it.” His lips brushed my ear briefly and I shivered pleasantly. Our eyes met. We were close, too close to be socially acceptable in our world, but these rules were suspended for now.

I wondered if Santino realized it as well. That in this moment, he could be whoever he wanted to be, and not limit himself to being my bodyguard. He straightened, bringing a bit more distance between us, but not nearly as much as he would have in the past.

I shrugged and allowed myself to let the music dictate my movements. My eyes closed, basking in the here and now. I rarely let loose. Dancing at social events in our circles was a statement and show for everyone around. I was being judged constantly and I acted accordingly, but here, amid a crowd of fun-hungry tourists and Parisians alike, I didn’t have to put on a show or pretend. I could be an unfiltered version of myself.

Someone bumped into my back, followed by Santino’s warning growl, and then I felt a strong, warm hand on my back. I didn’t have to open my eyes to know it was Santino. I could feel his protective presence close to my back. Still, I couldn’t resist a quick peek to see him as he danced at my side, tall and strong, shielding me from everyone around, not just with his body but also with his warning expression. I got a little thrill. Our eyes met and I smiled. It wasn’t meant to provoke or tease, for once I just wanted to show Santino my appreciation, for the chance he was giving me to do this, even if it had taken some light coercion.

Maybe it was my imagination but I thought he lightly stroked my back in response, even as his face remained unmoving. The music changed, becoming slower, and the dance floor filled even more, forcing me and Santino even closer together. His hand moved to my side lightly. The touch was still protective but I felt it everywhere. I leaned back, pressing my back to Santino’s front and my head to his chest.

“Anna,” Santino growled.

“Let me enjoy this moment. It’ll pass soon enough.”

Santino lightly squeezed my hip. I wasn’t sure if it was warning or agreement but he didn’t step back and so we swayed to the gentler beat, body against body, his heartbeat pounding against me. His heat scorched me, and the crisp scent of his aftershave flooded my nose. I could have stayed in this moment forever but the music changed once more, back to a fast tune, and we drifted apart. Eventually we moved back to the bar for another drink. Santino settled for something non-alcoholic, always on duty, but I opted for another cocktail.

I could already feel the alcohol take effect, enhancing this new feeling of unbridled freedom.

When we walked home in the early morning hours, me slightly tipsy and Santino as vigilant as always, I could tell that something felt different between us. Maybe it was that Santino for once treated me like a normal woman and not a petulant child and bother. He was almost relaxed and I too felt comfortable in a way I did with very few people. Santino felt a bit like family, in the way that I knew I could trust him and be myself around him. But definitely not in a related way. Nothing about my feelings for Santino was chaste enough for that.

When we arrived in our apartment, Santino settled on the sofa with a glass of Pernod, finally off duty. I hovered in the living room, unwilling to get ready for bed, unwilling to leave, knowing in the morning things would probably be back to normal, to us fighting and Santino keeping his distance and me trying to break through it with teasing and provocation.

“Can I have one?” I asked, motioning at the milky white drink.

Santino stood and poured me a small sip of Pernod in a long drink glass before he added water, apparently the only way to enjoy Pernod.

I settled beside him on the sofa, taking the glass and sniffing at it. I’d never had this drink before and as the strong note of anis hit my nose, I was fairly certain this would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Santino gave me a sardonic smile. “It’s not an easy drink.”

“I suppose it’s fitting. A complicated drink for a complicated man.” I took a sip and shuddered at the strong note of licorice and alcohol that burned my tongue. I’d need at least a gallon of water to dilute the taste. “Huh.” I blew out a deep breath and suppressed another shudder.

“That’s why you and I aren’t a good idea,” Santino said, surprising me.

I cocked an eyebrow. “Because I don’t like Pernod.”

“You said it yourself. I’m as complicated as that drink.”

“I know you, and I can handle it.”

Santino took another sip, watching me in the strangest way. I raised the glass to my lips again as well, trying to prove a point, which of course led to another wave of shudders as Pernod hit my tastebuds. Santino took the glass from me. “It’s a good thing to know when it’s enough, or when you shouldn’t even start in the first place.”

“Have you never heard of the term acquired taste? Over the years that’s happened with you.”

Santino chuckled and shook his head, muttering something under his breath. “You are God’s way to punish me on Earth, Anna.”

“Well, I’m a hell of a good time, that’s for sure.”

He laughed some more and finished his Pernod, then mine. “Go to bed.”

On any other day I would have made an inappropriate comment but this moment right there, and the whole evening felt too special to ruin it with something like that, and so I only leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek before I stood. “Sweet dreams, Santino.”

I could feel his eyes following me as I headed into the bathroom to get ready. Inside, I took a deep breath, trying to suppress the wave of loneliness and longing I felt. I wanted to snuggle up to Santino and talk through the night. This was such a strange thing to want, but today I felt closer to him than ever before. I’d always been strongly physically attracted to him but now another layer had been added, which was disconcerting. I wasn’t sure if I wanted this new feeling to last or pass. The latter was probably the wiser choice considering everything. Emotions weren’t practical. Not when they posed a risk for the future that lay ahead of me.

Santino was already awake when I came out of my bedroom around nine the next morning. Only the hint of shadows under his eyes and an even grumpier expression than usual spoke of a long night and a little too much alcohol. I wasn’t sure how many more Pernods he’d enjoyed after I’d gone to bed.

“I need food,” I groaned as I sank down on the hard kitchen chair across from Santino.

“Good luck with that. We forgot to go grocery shopping yesterday.”

I grimaced. Mom had reminded us to go shopping before she’d left, but of course I’d forgotten it right after. I’d never had to go grocery shopping before, without Mom.

“What do we do now?” I said miserably.

Santino smirked. “We could go grocery shopping.”

“I think I’ll pass out until then. I really need to eat.”

“You’re a drama queen.”

I scowled.

“How about we head into one of these tiny cafés you’re always raving about? Croissant and a hot chocolate will cure your hangover.”

I gave him a pleased smile. “Sounds like a plan. Let me get ready.”

I put on a cute dress, an oversized cashmere sweater, cashmere chunky cable knit leg warmers and suede boots, and braided my hair before I put a beret hat on.

Santino glanced at his watch when I emerged. “Thirty minutes? I thought you needed food ASAP.”

“We’re heading into a café in Paris. I can’t go in sweatpants.”

Santino rose to his feet. “Alllrrriggghtt.”

Despite his grumbling, I didn’t miss the appreciation in his eyes as he scanned me. I looked cute, even if he would never admit it aloud.

We strolled through the street side by side, the winter sun kissing our faces. On occasion, our arms brushed and it felt marvelous. “I think we’re pretty good together. You can tell that people think we’re a cute couple.” It was a thought that hadn’t left me all night.

Santino slanted me a weary look. “But we aren’t.”

Apparently, his lowered guards were no longer in effect. He was back to being the distanced bodyguard.

I motioned at a small corner café ahead of us. I’d seen a recommendation for it in a Time Out article about breakfast places in Paris. When we stepped in, a waiter gave us a curt nod and greeted us in French then proceeded to ask if we had a reservation. His words were directed at Santino who stared back blankly.

I replied, before Santino could ask him to speak English and cost us any chance at a table. The waiter’s face brightened when I spoke to him in fluent French, which was probably why we were lucky enough to get a table. Someone had canceled their reservation and we got a small round table near the window overlooking the street.

I settled on the chair. Santino with his larger frame bumped his knees against the underside of the table. “Are these places made for kids?”

“Not everyone’s as tall as you. If you don’t man-spread, you’ll be fine.”

Santino gave me an annoyed look, then turned the menu card over, probably looking for the English version, which wasn’t there. He sighed.

Santino was trying to find fault in all kinds of things because he simply didn’t want to be in Paris. If he’d just enjoy it, he’d find joy in the differences.

“You should consider learning French. It broadens the horizon, which is never a bad thing if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Santino growled. “And unlike you, I don’t have any spare time.”

“French people don’t like to talk in English. They’ll be nicer if you at least try to speak their language.”

A waitress sauntered over to us and gave us a tight-lipped smile. I ordered an Americano and an egg-white omelet and was about to ask Santino what he wanted when she turned to him, ignoring me. He was leaning back in his chair, manspreading in all his muscled glory and giving her a smile that suggested he had a secret to share with her. The expression made me want to stab someone with a fork, mostly the stupidly smiling waitress. “You American?”

“Italian American,” Santino said, still smiling, and making me feel even stabbier. “What can you recommend from your menu?”

She oohed and ahhhed for too long before she read the entire menu to Santino, despite other customers waiting to be served, and then proceeded to take Santino’s order in English without batting an eye. She whirled around without another look in my direction.

“You ordered half the menu. Have you invited anyone over I’m not aware of?”

“I’m starving.”

“Just because the waitress was making the moves on you and thus making an effort to talk in English doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to learn at least some basic French. It’s disrespectful to live in a country and not learn the language.”

“It wasn’t my choice to live in France, was it?”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re here now.”

“I’m being nice to the locals as the waitress can attest, while you gave her the evil eye.”

I pressed my lips together to stop myself from saying something very petty. I needed a coffee before I could embark on a verbal battle with Santino.

The waitress came back soon after with our drinks and part of Santino’s order, not my omelet though.

I took a deep sip from my coffee then glanced back toward the kitchen, hoping for my food to arrive soon. My belly was already grumbling angrily. I was always starving after I drank too much alcohol, one of the reasons why I tried to limit my intake.

Santino held out the basket with croissants: plain and chocolate. “Take one. They’re really good.” He emphasized his words by taking a bite from a plain croissant after he’d dipped it in raspberry jam.

“I have a figure to maintain.” The girls in Paris were slim and very aware of their bodies, and I knew the girls who studied fashion design would be even worse.

Santino rolled his eyes. “Your figure is fine. Eat a croissant.”

I rolled my eyes in turn. “I’m sure my omelet will be here any moment.”

Santino ripped a piece off his croissant and held it out before my face. “Come on, be a good girl for once and take a bite.”

Had he really just said be a good girl? I was equally annoyed and thrilled. Instead of a snappy comeback, I leaned forward and snatched up the piece, my lips brushing his fingers. Santino’s eyes locked on mine. He was probably as surprised by my actions as me. The buttery taste of the croissant filled my mouth. I sat back, licking a few crumbs off my lips. Santino never took his eyes off me.

The intensity of his gaze had a new quality. In the past, he only ever reached this level with pure fury, but it wasn’t fury that I saw in his eyes.