6. Gabriel

6

GAbrIEL

I ’m indescribably relieved by this turn of events. I hadn’t realized just how much I was hoping that the dinner would go well, that Bella would say yes, until she did.

The miscommunication at the beginning, I find amusing. I hadn’t thought, when I told Masseo that I wanted to discuss all of this with Bella myself, that he would keep all of it from her, and send her out to dinner with me without any information at all. Not even my name, which I hadn’t had a chance to give her in the chaos of our first meeting. It made sense, given that, that she thought this was a date. A setup for me to tell her that I wanted to arrange a marriage between us.

After all, it’s clear that her father has repeatedly drilled it into her that that’s the only purpose she’ll have.

I could see the relief in her face, too, when I explained what I’d really invited her here for. And sympathy, when I explained my situation. I watched her throughout the dinner, listened to her, trying to get to know her better. To make sure this is someone I want to bring into my home. Who I can trust with the job that I’m asking her to do.

She seemed nervous and a bit fidgety, but I’d expected that. Mafia daughters aren’t usually allowed to go out on dates alone, and I can’t imagine she’s done this before. Considering her aversion to marriage and her expectation that that’s what this was about—I can’t blame her for being nervous. I saw her relax a little, once I explained what it was that I really wanted to offer her.

What I’m the most startled by is how easy it is to talk to her, how naturally the conversation flowed—and is still flowing. After the matter of the job is settled, I’m curious to know more about her, and I don’t see any reason not to ask.

“You said you come into the city sometimes to visit your friend.”

“Clara.” Bella pokes at the thinly sliced fish on her plate with her chopsticks, finally picking up a piece of salmon and slipping it into her mouth. I’ve noticed that she hasn’t eaten much, but I’ve chalked it up to nerves. Or maybe she really is a picky eater, and she just didn’t want to disappoint me by saying she didn’t like my choices for our dinner. “I try to come see her every couple of weeks. And she’ll come to my house, too, when she isn’t working or too tired from work.”

“Where do you usually like to go in the city?” I pick up a piece of tuna, dipping it into the accompanying sauce before taking a bite. The meal is exquisite, one of the best I’ve had out in a long time, but I’m hardly paying attention to it. I’m more focused on the woman in front of me.

“All different places.” Bella waves a hand. “The park, museums—last time I was here, we went to the botanical gardens. It was really beautiful.”

“I can’t say I’ve been there. I’ll have to check it out sometime.”

It feels easy to relax, talking to her. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a conversation like this over dinner with someone. It would be nice to do it again, I think, and then I catch myself, stiffening a little in my chair as I realize the direction my thoughts were taking. This is a business dinner, not a date. It was never meant to be a date, and no matter how pleasant Bella is to talk to, this has nothing to do with pleasure. Only business.

I feel a little guilty for how much I’m enjoying her company, as the meal winds down, how much I’d like for it to continue on. I haven’t enjoyed spending time with anyone like this in a long time, and each time I feel myself starting to sink into the rhythm of conversation that has nothing to do with the job I asked her here to offer her, I feel that flicker of guilt again.

She’s an intriguing woman. Her clear interest in doing something besides marrying—even though she doesn’t seem sure what that might be, and I can hardly blame her. The way she seems to veer between poise and nervousness, confidence and uncertainty. Her intelligence, which shines through when we talk about a recent art display at the museum, and as she describes an exhibit at the botanical gardens, telling me about the region one of the types of imported flowers is from.

There are things that confuse me a little, too—like how she dresses in the summer. I recall seeing her wearing a hoodie the morning she ran into me in the hallway. I’d just assumed she got chilly easily. But her thickly embroidered shawl seems too heavy for the temperature outside, and it’s warm in the restaurant, too. But she hasn’t taken it off all night.

My assumption is that she’s just very modest. It’s understandable, especially since she thought she was here on a date—I’m sure she’s tired of men ogling her, particularly ones who probably think they have a right to, since they could all but buy her from her father if they wanted to badly enough. But still, there’s something about the way she wears it that feels off to me, and I can’t quite put my finger on why.

Dessert is the last course that’s brought out, a bowl of sweet sticky rice for each of us with fresh mango and a thick coconut syrup on top. Bella daintily dips her teaspoon into it, taking a small bite, and lets out a hum of pleasure. The sound unexpectedly sends a jolt through me, a spark shivering up the base of my spine, and I flinch.

Business , I remind myself sharply. It’s unsurprising, after how long it’s been, that a small moan from a beautiful woman would make me react that way—but it shouldn’t, when it comes to her. For a number of reasons.

Bella offers me a small smile as we finish dessert and I set my heavy black credit card down on the table for the server to collect. She tucks her shawl around her arms, and I think I catch a tremor in her fingers, but I can’t be sure. “Thank you for dinner,” she says softly. “And the offer of a job. I can’t begin to tell you how much I’m looking forward to it.”

I smile back, scrawling my signature on the receipt before standing up. “I’m looking forward to it as well. This will be good for all of us, I think.”

She waits for me before starting to walk towards the exit, a good six inches of space between us. There’s no reason for us to touch, but I remember the way she avoided taking my hand when I offered it to her earlier, to help her out of the car. I wonder if she was trying not to give me the wrong impression, since she always knew she was going to tell me she wasn’t interested in the engagement she thought I wanted.

It also makes me wonder why she agreed to the dinner in the first place, knowing she didn’t want that. Maybe she just wanted to get out of the house, which I couldn’t blame her for, but I can’t help thinking there’s some deeper reason for it. Bella seems to have layers to her, and I don’t think her reasoning for accepting is anything so simple.

She took the job, so it doesn’t really matter, I tell myself as I wait for the valet to bring the car around. I open the door for her, letting her slide in, and then walk around to the driver’s side. I remember how impressed she was with the Ferrari when she first saw it, and I feel a sudden flush of recklessness, an urge to do something that once wouldn’t have been unusual for me, but now is very out of character for the man I’ve been over the last four years.

I should take her straight home. Our business is finished, until she moves in and starts the job I’ve now hired her to do. I should be getting home, too. But instead, I look over at her, wanting to prolong the evening a little longer. I want to feel good for a little longer, and I want to follow up on her curiosity about my favorite car.

“Do you want to see what she can do?” I pat the dashboard, and Bella’s eyes widen.

“What—here?”

“No.” I laugh. “Once we get out of the city, onto a quieter road. I can really open her up there. What do you say?”

She bites her lip nervously. “I mean—I don’t want to keep you out. I’m sure you want to get home.”

“I haven’t had a chance to take this car for a spin in a while. I’m up for it if you are. You’ve never felt a rush like driving over a hundred miles an hour in a car like this.”

I don’t want to push too far. But I see her eyes light up, a mixture of nervousness and curiosity, and she swallows.

I should just take her home. I know I should. But I can see that she wants to, and all I can think is how rarely this girl has probably been allowed to do anything she really wants to do.

“It’ll be fun.” I raise an eyebrow, and Bella’s teeth sink a little deeper into her lip before she nods.

“Okay,” she says hesitantly, and I smile.

“You’re going to love it.”

Once we get out of the city, the night closing in around us as we leave the bright lights behind, I follow a road that I know has a long, empty, straight stretch that’s not often traveled this time of night. There’s no chance of an unexpected curve or unusual traffic—the only obstacle might be if there’s a cop watching this road tonight, but money can take care of that, if I get pulled over. I’ve never worried about that.

I glance over at Bella. “You ready?”

She lets out a small, stifled giggle that reminds me of that hiccuping sob that spilled out of her in the hallway. A sound that comes out without her meaning for it to, but this time happy instead of sad. She nods, biting her lip again. “You’re sure this is safe?”

“I’ve done it before. Out here. It’s just been a while.”

I don’t finish that thought, because I don’t want to follow it to its conclusion right now. I don’t want to think about the nights when I came out here desperate to feel anything other than grief, tearing down this road as fast as the Ferrari would go, Danny and Cecelia the only things that kept me from wrapping it around a tree instead of finally slowing down and going home.

I want to think about the fact that tonight, I’ve felt like a person again for the first time in a long time. A person who can have a meal with someone else, hold a conversation and laugh, and enjoy themselves. I’ve been immersed in work and fatherhood and nothing else for four years, ignoring every personal need I’ve had. I didn’t realize how far a friendly conversation over dinner could go.

I glance over to make sure she’s still wearing her seatbelt, and then I press down on the gas.

The car leaps forward, engine purring, utterly responsive to my every twitch of the wheel and bit of pressure on the gas. The speed increases, and I know better than to take my eyes off of the road as we climb to eighty, ninety, a hundred miles an hour —but I can’t stop myself from sneaking a look at Bella, wanting to see the expression on her face. If nothing else, I want to make sure she’s not sitting there in abject terror, too afraid to tell me to stop.

But she’s not. She’s sitting forward, her eyes wide, her hands gripping the edges of the seat as her lips part, and she laughs. It’s an exultant, excited sound as the speed climbs higher, the trees whipping by us on either side as I push it up to one-fifty, then one-sixty before I back off, starting to slow down before we run out of road. I slow the car to a crawl, pulling over to the side as adrenaline thumps through my veins, wanting to make sure she’s okay.

She’s breathing fast, a smile on her lips, and her eyes are bright when she looks over at me.

“Are you alright?” It feels like a rhetorical question, but I can’t stifle the need to check on her. She’s roused a strange protectiveness in me since the moment she collided with me in the hallway while crying her eyes out, and it hasn’t stopped.

Bella nods, pressing a hand to her chest. “That was incredible. It’s so smooth; it didn’t even feel like it was that fast—and it felt like we were flying at the same time. I get why you love this car.” She looks at it almost adoringly, as if she’s just realized an entirely new type of fun, her eyes still bright with it. She looks up at me, that smile still on her lips, and I feel that same jolt that I felt sitting across from her in the restaurant as she ate her dessert.

A spark, fired by the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. It skitters up my spine, warming my blood, and for a split second, the world closes in around us, and all I can look at is her mouth. Her lips are full, soft-looking, the bottom one a little fuller than the top, set in a pretty bow shape in her flawless face. Her eyes are wide, those lips parted as her breathing starts to slow, and at that moment I nearly reach for her. For that brief second, all I can think about is pressing that soft mouth to mine and finding out if she still tastes like coconut and mango from the dessert at the restaurant.

What the fuck are you thinking, Gabriel? The thought jolts through my mind at the same time that I picture Bella’s mouth on mine, and I stiffen, realizing just how far off course I’ve veered. I straighten up, forcing a smile onto my face, hoping that she didn’t just see everything I was thinking.

I told her I wasn’t interested in a relationship, offered her a job, and then took her out speeding on a back road and leered at her after pulling over afterward. Shame washes over me, hot and thick, and I swallow hard, embarrassed that I let myself spiral out of control for even that brief moment. I’m lonely, and it’s been a long time since I’ve kissed someone, but that’s no excuse.

Bella is my employee now, and if I’m thinking and acting like this already, I know I’m off to a bad start.

Maybe I should call the whole thing off. It’s not too late. The thought occurs to me as I pull back onto the road, driving at a normal speed again as I turn back in the direction that will take us to Bella’s house. If I’m already thinking about her like this ? —

But it’s abundantly clear to me that she’s happy for the chance to be free of an arranged marriage for now, and more than that, excited about the prospect of what I’ve offered her as well. It’s not just the way out that she’s grabbing at; she seemed genuinely excited to meet Danny and Cecelia, and to take the position. If I back out now, I know her father will sign a contract with whoever is first in line to offer to marry her. She’ll be someone’s fiancée by the end of the week, and married in a matter of months.

I know exactly how much she doesn’t want that.

It shouldn’t matter. She’s not my responsibility. This has nothing to do with me, and it’s not my job to give her a way out, but I can’t help thinking that I can’t take this back now that I’ve made it clear I have one for her to take.

And it solves so many of my own problems, too. Problems I’ve been thinking of for a while now, and haven’t had a solution to fix. Ones that have nagged at me with guilt, with no clear answer—how to give my children what they need, how to make sure they have more than just me to care for them, how to not overburden Agnes, how to make up for the lack of a mother in their lives. Bella is at least a partial solution to so much of that.

My resolve returns as we drive, my mind rationalizing away that moment. I was professional with her until then, and I can continue to be that way now. It was a small slip, a mistake fed by my own weakness and the rush of the moment, but it won’t happen again. I won’t allow it.

I pull up in her driveway, putting the car in park, and turning towards her. “Should I arrange for someone to come and pick up your things this week, then?”

Bella hesitates, and for a moment, I think she saw what I was thinking earlier, and she’s going to tell me that she’s changed her mind. But she just nods. “Thursday. Would Thursday work? That gives me a few days to pack.”

“Thursday is fine. If anything, that’s great—you’ll have a full day on Friday while I’m gone to test-run things, and then over the weekend, we can make adjustments.” I feel some of my confidence returning as I speak, the mood returning to something that fits a business arrangement. “I’ll let Agnes know to be ready for you to move in on Thursday, then.”

Bella nods. “Okay, then.” Her voice is a little hushed, as if she can’t quite believe all this is happening. “Thank you again for the night out, Gabriel. It was really nice. I’ll—I’ll see you on Thursday, then.”

Her hand tightens on her shawl, pulling it a little closer around her, and she opens the car door and slides out. She gives me another small smile, and an awkward wave before she turns and heads for the steps of her house, a dark shape as she walks up to the porch and slips inside.

I watch until the door closes behind her, and then I put the car in gear, driving away and back to my own house.

When I get home, it’s very late, later than I’ve gotten back in a long time. The house is quiet, and I peek into the living room to see Agnes in one of the armchairs near the fireplace, her head pillowed against the side of it. My chest tightens a little as I realize she must have stayed downstairs rather than going home, so Danny and Cecelia wouldn’t be in the house alone.

I’m fortunate to have her. And she deserves a break.

I walk over, gently touching her shoulder and lightly shaking her. “I’m home, Agnes. You can head back to the cottage now.”

She sits up, rubbing a hand over her weathered face. “How did it go?” she asks, too tired to tease me. “Did she take your offer?”

I nod. “She did. She’ll be moving in Thursday.”

“Hmm.” Agnes pushes herself upright, smoothing her light grey hair back. She keeps it short, curling just above her shoulders, and it’s pinned back away from her face tonight. “Well. We’ll see how well she settles in, I suppose.”

I can tell she’s skeptical. But all I need is to see the way she stiffly gets up from the armchair, hobbling a little before she catches her stride to walk out into the hall, to know this is the right decision.

Having a live-in nanny here will prevent this exact scenario, if I’m out. Agnes should be comfortably in her own bed with Aldo, not half-asleep in an armchair after eleven at night. With Bella here, there will be someone else to make sure the kids are alright.

I wait until Agnes is on the way down the back path to her own house, and then I head upstairs for bed, exhaustion trickling through me. These last two days have taken a lot out of me, and I’m ready for Bella to be here and settled in, so we can all find a routine.

Despite myself, as I slip into bed, my thoughts drift back to that moment in the car. To her face, flushed with adrenaline, her parted lips, that moment when I felt that spark between us. A jolt of chemistry, of attraction, that I haven’t felt in such a long time.

Immediately, I feel a flood of arousal, that spark sliding through my blood and stiffening my cock. The thought of her mouth makes me hard in an instant, the throbbing almost painful; it’s been so long since I’ve done anything about it. I push the thoughts away, reminding myself of my resolve in the car, but my erection remains, stubbornly demanding attention.

It would be better to take the edge off. To make it easier to not have these kinds of thoughts. I feel guilty for having them at all. But my hand slides down, my fingers nudging under the waistband of my pants, finding the straining flesh of my cock. My tip is already damp, pre-cum dripping from the head, my arousal hot and urgent. I haven’t come in weeks. Longer than that, probably. Since the last time I woke up from a fuzzy and unremembered dream, my thighs sticky with the reminder that I can only ignore my own needs for so long before my body will take care of it for me.

My hand closes around my cock, and I let out a hiss through my teeth, pleasure racing up my spine. It wouldn’t take long. A few hard, purposeful strokes, and I’ll find relief. The one benefit of allowing all focus on any kind of sexual pleasure to die is that when I do give in and make myself come, it’s a quick process. And that’s all it is to me any longer—a process. Something I occasionally have to do, for my body’s maintenance. Like going to the doctor, or taking vitamins in the morning.

But it doesn’t feel like maintenance. Not tonight. My cock throbs in my hand, my muscles winding tight, pleasure radiating over my nerves and tightening my balls. I glance at my nightstand drawer, where I’m sure there’s a forgotten bottle of lube, and I feel my cock pulse again at the thought of a slow, wet stroke, of several minutes spent reacquainting myself with actually enjoying making myself come.

And god, I need to fucking come.

I lick my dry lips, sliding down lower in the bed as I tug my pants down around my hips, freeing my heavy cock to lie against my abs. I slide my hand up and down the straining shaft, closing my eyes as I reach for the drawer?—

—and Bella’s face springs into my mind again. I see those parted lips, and as I reach for the lube, all I can imagine is the wet warmth of her mouth, how soft those lips would feel closing around the head of my cock, the rub of her tongue over the throbbing veins.

I snatch my hand away as if I’ve burned myself, gritting my teeth as I yank my pants back up over my hips with one hand. My erection jerks with frustration, pushing against my fly, but I suck in a deep breath, closing my eyes as I will it to go away.

If I touch myself now, I’ll think of her. It’ll be her lips around me instead of my own fingers, her wet mouth slicking my length with her saliva, her heat surrounding me. I don’t know why she’s wedged herself in my thoughts like this, why just the memory of her flushed face and bright eyes has me throbbing painfully, but I have to get a grip on it. I can’t think of her like this, not even in private. Not even if I can explain it away to myself by chalking it up to a few hours spent with a beautiful woman after years of deprivation. Not even if it’s perfectly natural to feel an attraction to her, and to struggle to keep it on a leash when it’s been so long since I’ve been with someone. Since I’ve wanted someone.

My relationship with her has to be strictly professional, even when I’m alone, even in my own mind. No matter what, or it will be a slippery slope, and one day, the fantasy in my head will slip out. I’ll let her see what I’m thinking by mistake, make her uncomfortable in some way, and everyone will get hurt.

I don’t want to hurt her. I’m doing this to help her. And even if I could somehow justify these feelings, even if I thought I could allow myself to enjoy a casual relationship, the reasons why that’s impossible go beyond just the fact that she’s now in my employ.

She deserves better than what I could offer her. Better than a casual fling with a man who has no heart left to give anyone else.

I close my eyes, switching off the light as I repeat one thing over and over in my head, insistent that it sink in. That I remember it, the next time I see her.

Bella D’Amelio is off-limits to me.