Page 25

EXCURSIONS

SANTINO

S antino grinned, reminiscing about that first time as he sat in a chair in the living room, sketching the view from the window. They’d already worked out in the gym, and she was meditating near the large windows in the bedroom.

He knew Vanessa was confused about last night and this morning, expecting he’d beast out and attack the minute they were alone together. Had it been rough holding back? Yes, fucking rough, considering he’d been fantasizing about being back inside her on the daily since they’d split.

The things he wanted to do to her, the things he had planned for that body, made him so excited he could hardly contain himself.

But he had to wait until it was right again, until any traces of resistance in her had faded.

In the meantime, he’d enjoy the cruelty he was inflicting because, despite her calling it coercion, he knew she wanted him just as badly.

It wasn’t just her obvious reaction to his reminiscing while they were side by side in bed.

It was in the way she’d stopped tossing those little wary glances at him as they’d walked the city, the way her body was beginning to move in time with his again, a secret dance that only the two of them knew by heart.

When Vanessa went to shower, she paused, as if expecting him to barge in and join her, but he hung back. Her glances in his direction were searching, but she didn’t say anything.

His phone rang. It was Gina calling.

“Yo.”

“Hey. Where are you?” she asked.

“What do you mean, where am I?” he responded evasively.

“I tried dropping by yesterday morning before work, and you weren’t home, then Angelo said you weren’t on shift last night. What’s up?”

“I needed to go out of town for a few days. It kinda just came up.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell any of us you were going out of town?

” When he was silent, she exclaimed, “Nooo…. You’re in Montreal, aren’t you?

” When he still didn’t answer, just grinned like a fool, she let out a shriek.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, you are in Montreal! Where’s that guy?

Are you with Vanessa right now, or are you just stalking her like a creepo? ”

Creepo didn’t even cover what he’d been doing the past three years, none of which she knew about. Maybe his sister really was psychic?

“He’s out of the picture. She agreed to give me one week to prove to her we should get back together.

I only fuckin’ bet my whole soul on it, so, yeah, wish me luck.

And don’t tell anybody, not even Angelo or Nico.

And especially don’t tell Ma. I don’t want her fuckin’ jinxing everything with bad energy or some shit. I’ll be back Saturday.”

“I won’t, I swear. Oh my God! Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it. But yay, I get my Vanessa back. Do not screw this up for me, Tino.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Vanessa looked at him and then at the phone briefly when she came out of the shower fully dressed. She was probably wondering who he’d been speaking to. Unfortunately, that had been a hallmark of their worst times, the suspicion without proof that had been the cause of many fights.

Their breakfast in the hotel breakfast hall was hearty yet silent.

She’d just finished her healthy oatmeal and dried fruit, and he was done with his not-quite-so-healthy first meal of the day, a salty, juicy slab of Canadian bacon, fried potatoes and French toast smothered in butter and locally harvested maple syrup.

Although she hadn’t said much, her eyes ran over him whenever she thought he wasn’t paying attention.

He was dressed casually today, ditching the button-down for his FDNY navy T-shirt, khakis and his boots.

She wore one of his favorite outfits, a light denim short-sleeved romper that showed some delicious cleavage and her long, toned, dark satin legs.

Instead of sexy sandals, she wore a pair of pink Converse in expectation of all the walking ahead.

Her hair was parted in two long braids under a straw hat. She was too fucking cute for words.

He downed the last of his coffee and broke the silence.

“I thought we’d check out the old part of the city today. Chinatown and the light show at the cathedral.”

“Okay. Those were actually on my list,” she said.

“Cool.” His phone rang. Santino looked at the caller ID and said, “I should take this. It’s Virgil.” He winked at her as he answered the call. “Hey, what’s up?”

“How’s it going? How are you liking Montreal so far?” Virgil asked.

“It’s been cool. We just had breakfast and we’re about to head out for the day.”

“I’m actually in my office. I’ll come out and meet your wife. Meet me in the lobby.”

Like everything else about the hotel, the lobby was luxurious, decorated in dark gold and brown leather.

Moments later, Virgil Li appeared, his tall, frame weaving in and out of guest and staff traffic with the practiced ease of the lean-muscled football player he’d been in college.

He came forward with his hand outstretched.

Santino had first met him at a memorable weekend party thrown by his cousins in the Hamptons on Long Island some time ago, back in the pre-Vanessa days.

They’d kept in touch. Handsome, friendly, outgoing, like most of the Lis, Virgil was a good guy.

“Good to see you, man,” he said, greeting Santino with a handshake and half hug, then shaking Vanessa’s hand, who smiled back. “Hello. I’m Virgil Li. You must be Vanessa.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” she said in return.

Virgil’s gaze turned searching from one face to another. “How’s the room? Is everything to your liking? Sorry I couldn’t get you the bigger suite, but with the festival, we were lucky to get that cancellation.”

“Are you kidding? The room is amazing,” Santino exclaimed. “And the food’s been great, too. We couldn’t have asked for better.”

“Good to hear,” Virgil said, relaxing into a pleased expression. “How’s the family? How’s Nonno?”

“Nonno’s great. He’s got his Manager by his side for the summer, so he’s happy,” Santino said with a grin, referring to Nico.

“Cool. I’ll be heading out to visit our property in Milan in July.

Parma’s not that far. I’ll stop by and pay them a visit.

In the meantime, I hope you’re ready to party Wednesday night.

Go check out the front desk. There’s a package waiting for you,” Virgil said in a low voice, peering around as if there was a horde of guests who’d get to them first.

Santino shook his hand again. “Thanks for everything, man. Appreciate it.”

“No problem. Anything for a D’Alessio. Sorry,” Virgil said, flicking his wrist to check the time.

“I’ve gotta run. Enjoy the concerts, and I’ll text you my address for that after-party.

Have fun, guys. Vanessa, it was lovely to meet you.

” He flashed them a brilliant smile and disappeared as swiftly as he’d come.

“What after-party?” Vanessa asked.

“He throws a little something at his house after the big headliner concert when most of his friends and work people are in town. Heard about them but I’ve never been to one. They sound cool. When I texted him last night and mentioned Bobby and Zoe, he said they’re invited, too.”

At the front desk, the smiling attendant handed him a manila envelope when he told her his name. Santino checked the contents but kept the information to himself while Vanessa tried to look.

“Let’s put these in the safe upstairs, then we can head out.”

After the envelope and its contents were deposited in the room safe, they left the hotel and headed for Chinatown.

It was tiny but Vanessa loved it from the red paper lanterns strung up in an outdoor dining area to the glimpses of old lacquered wood in the restaurants.

After partaking of some delicious dim sum and hot mint tea, they strolled the dark cobblestones to Notre-Dame Basilica, whose twin towers of gray stone rose high in the air.

“Not as tall as St. Pat’s,” Santino remarked on the way inside.

“Oh God, please don’t start yelling that we’re from New York,” she said with a light laugh.

“How else are they gonna know? We’ve gotta represent, baby.”

She pointed at his FDNY shirt. “I think between that and your Tims, they can figure it out.”

The interior was still a sight, with the main altar rising majestically to a high arch with soothing blue stained glass that resembled a golden sunrise. The place was smoky and sweet with incense and lit up with the glow of votive candles in crimson holders.

“I love those,” Vanessa whispered, pointing at the rose windows in the blue ceiling letting in natural light.

There were tiny fleurs-de-lis etched into the designs of the skylights, letting a viewer know this was of French origin.

“And it’s nice they acknowledged the full history of Montreal, like that lady at the shop was telling us about.

” Sure enough, alongside the stained-glass depictions of French settlers, there was an Indigenous woman standing in front of a village.

The next light show started soon, so they settled into a wooden pew and watched.

The show detailed the settlement of the colony and the building of the church, along with music and colorful flashes of light.

During the performance, he felt his phone ring in his pocket, but he didn’t look at it until the show was over and they were back outside.

He didn’t recognize the number. Vanessa glanced at the phone but didn’t say anything.

“Well, that was cool. Did you like it?” he asked as they started walking again.

“Yes. It was really pretty. But I guess we’ve seen a bunch of pretty cathedrals,” she replied.

“Yeah. We never had our big church wedding like we were supposed to,” he said thoughtfully. “It bothers me we never made it happen.”