Page 102 of Bitter Poetry

CHAPTER 31

CHRISTIAN

It’s been two weeks since Dante announced his wedding plans with Helena. It’s all set for next week.

I can’t say that I’m happy about it. I think he should hold it off as long as possible, but apparently, Leon is calling the shots, and Leon says it’s a go.

Begrudgingly, I guess he’s right. At least Dante has excuses for stopping at his city apartment and reasons to be here.

He stayed over last night.

Carmela goes to the coffee shop today; she’s a woman of routine.

Which is convenient.

She put his necklace back on. Guessing she’s forgiving him for abandoning her. It’s not my concern anymore. At least, she won’t be soon. I haven’t told her anything about Dante turning up today. It’s not a given that he’s going to. If he thinks anybody’s following him, then he will abort. Don’t want to get her hopes up. Assuming she has hopes and doesn’t slap him across the face when she sees him.

That would be fun…

No, she won’t slap him. Her slaps belong to me. I fucking love them. I get off on them. The fact that I rile her enough for her to lose control, yeah, I like that a lot.

Dante’s different. Maybe not that different anymore. But he’s never going to give her everything she needs.

I don’t know where that thought springs from, but I shut the fucker down.

I pull up outside the coffee shop. As per usual, I open the door for her and follow her in.

“Morning, Mrs. Gallo,” Tony calls from behind the counter.

It’s pretty quiet in the seating area, although there’s a line for takeout at the counter. She usually sits by the window, but I catch her arm and propel her in the other direction.

“What the hell, Christian?” She glares at me and tries to snatch her arm away.

I smile and carry on. “This way, Mrs. Gallo.”

She huffs out her breath. I’m pretty sure she’s thinking about smacking me around the face right now, and it puts an extra spring in my step.

I direct her into a seat, this one tucked around the corner where Tony, who is a nosy fucker, won’t be able to see. She looks down at the reserved sign and then back at me. “What is this…” Her voice trails off as I pick up the reserved card and move it to another table.

Then I head over to the counter, skipping the queue where Tony is already finishing her cappuccino.

“Thanks, Tony. I’ll take it over.”

She hasn’t moved, so that’s something. I put the coffee in front of her—she glares at me—and I head back to the counter, where I slip into one of the high stools at the far end so I have a view of the door and Carmela.

“Coffee for you?” Tony calls over.

“Yeah, thanks, Tony. That would be great.”

“It’s not her usual seat,” he says.

“Yeah, some twat was gawking at her through the window last time we came. Made her really uncomfortable.”

His face blanches.

“Don’t worry,” I say cheerfully. “I dealt with it.”

He goes back to making coffee. I take out my cell phone and thumb through it. The stream of customers is steady, and soon, the tables are filling up, keeping Tony and his barista busy.