Page 19 of Isle of Seduction
“I’m fine, babe. I haven’t murdered anyone yet.”
“Need help with that?”
“Not yet, but I’ll let you know. Could you have someone send me all my clothes, my shoe collection and make sure the house is taken care of while I’m gone?”
We talk for what feels like five minutes, but is probably closer to an hour when another knock comes on my open door.
“I’ll call you back, babe,” I tell Lana before hanging up.
“Love what you did with the place, guerrieritta. Looks like… you.”
Andrea’s favoured mode of communication is snarky, so his stunned tone catches me off-guard. When I turn around to take him in, he leans against the door frame and my mouth goes dry. The fitted black dress shirt looks pristine on his olive skin, except at his forearms, where it’s drawn up to reveal a myriad of tattoos dusted with brown hair. I can’t make out all of them but The Creation of Adam takes his entire inner left forearm and I want to know what else he hides under his clothes. He looks exactly like the sort of bad decision I could make with slacks that reveal thick thighs to complete an all black outfit that fits him like a glove.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Can I do something for you?”
“Of course, wife, always.” His words settle on me like sin. He enters my space, taking all the oxygen with him and replacing it with the heady smell of his cologne, and shows me his phone. The news about us is spreading like wildfire.
Is the West Hill’s most eligible bachelor taken?
Giulia Moretti and Andrea Capaldi, a convenient love-story on the cusp of the Council Elections
Who’s the mysterious woman on the arm of West Hill’s most eligible bachelor
I snort at the cheesy taglines and raise an eyebrow at Andrea. “West Hill’s most eligible bachelor?”
“You got yourself a catch, sweetheart.”
“Doubtful. But it’s what we needed. Shall we do it again tonight?”
If he’s surprised I’m the one to offer, he doesn’t show. No matter what happens, I’ll have to spend the evening with him. For my sanity, I’d rather we do it outside, with other people watching rather than just the two of us here, in his home that smells like him and feels like him. If he cooks me yet another meal, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.
His smile widens, his straight white teeth giving him a wolfish quality.
The forty-five minute car ride feels like an eternity as we listen to Chris Isaak’s crooning voice and sexy lyrics. The irony isn’t lost on me, because it is strange what desire will make foolish people do. Thank God, our relationship is fake. No risk to do anything stupid like lose my heart.
We park at another restaurant in an up-and-coming area of West Hill. This one’s cosier than yesterday, with a French cafe style, and I know we’ll have better and less pretentious food. Chequered tiles on the floor and woven chairs remind me of Paris brasseries. The dimly lit space and the small round table we sit at invites hushed conversations and an intimacy I’m not sure I’m ready for.
“I’d like you to start your research on my opponent, Parker Addams,” Andrea asks without preamble.
“The name sounds familiar, but I don’t remember you mentioning it before.”
“You met him,” he clips, jaw tight. “At the entrance of Kiki De Montparnasse’s store.”
“Oh. I see.”
“He’s not who he seems to be, I just know it.”
“What do you have on him?”
“Nothing.”
I frown. Andrea Capaldi, cyber genius and mafia leader, has nothing on his political opponent. That’s both funny and terrifying because no one can be so clean. I tell him as much and Andrea confirms that despite his thorough research, nothing seems to have touched Addams, not even a parking ticket.
We spend the rest of the evening talking about who’s who in the Council. Andrea mentions Lewis, the current Mayor, as one of his major sponsors. The names mix with each other, so I take notes on my phone. I’ll need to start my files tomorrow and gather all I can to prepare for the fundraiser, know who to talk to and how to insert myself into conversations.
Our evening of strategizing feels like a truce, and that terrifies me as much as it exhilarates me. Andrea’s passion and need to win is like looking into a mirror and I like what I see. We’re in the car home when the conversation deviates to something more personal, more dangerous.
“Tell me about you, Giulia. And about us.” I don’t like my name on his lips. He usually uses the stupid endearments and I prefer them to his business-like tone. “If anyone asks, I want to be able to answer any questions they have.”