Page 11 of Nico

“Hello.”

“Bianca,” her voice screeched on the phone. “Why are you not answering calls?”

Because I am busy worrying about my home being foreclosed on. Because I’m in debt up to my eyeballs. Oh, and because my husband stole from the mafia, and then he got sick and instead of returning the money, I decided to use it for hopeless treatments. And then you dragged me to have lunch in the same damn place as Nico Morrelli.

“I have been busy,” I answered instead.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Good.”

“Remember that guy from the restaurant,” she started. How could I forget? Nico Morrelli wasn’t a man you could ever forget. Even his scent was seared into my mind - a mixture of spice and cedar. “We’ve been dating for three weeks now.”

I shouldn’t have answered. I wasn’t in the mood for conversations. Or to hear how Angie hooked up with a man that scared the living daylights out of me. If my friend was dating Nico Morrelli, I would certainly not hang out with her again. I’d keep my distance.

The threat of Benito looming over me was enough.

I took a shaky breath, feeling like I was teetering on the edge. Any moment I would lose my composure, and I’d start hysterically laughing. Or screaming. Or crying. I wasn’t quite sure which. I hadn’t cried since the day William died. I hadn’t felt happiness since Dad’s death.

“Are you listening?” Angie asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?” She sounded concerned, but I couldn’t get any words out to tell anyone what was going on in my life. I wouldn’t even know where to start or how to explain that clusterfuck.

“Yes.”

“Why do you always have to be strong?” Her question surprised me. I wasn’t strong. Actually, I felt like a failure, weak… ready to fall apart at any moment’s notice. “Anyhow, you should come on a date with us.”

Yeah, she was crazy. “No, thank you.”

“Gabito is easy going and you’d like him.”

I frowned. “Gabito?”

“Yes, the guy I have been dating for the past three weeks. We met him at the restaurant. Have you been listening at all?”

She isn’t dating Nico Morrelli?

Since I didn’t answer, she continued on. “Bianca, remember Nico Morrelli?”

Did I remember him? Those intense eyes, the hand that just by a slight touch burned on my back. Even now after weeks, I could still feel his fingers lingering on my skin. How could I forget Nico Morrelli? Even before I met him, he was unforgettable. Now, he was the image that flashed in my mind every time I touched myself.

Jesus, help me!Just thinking about it made me ache. It couldn’t be normal to go from sadness and fear to turn on in such a short span.

“Yes,” was all I said.

“He asked me about you,” her voice was hesitant, but my heart etched itself into my ribs.Does he know?“I don’t want to upset you,” she added.Maybe he thinks about me while he touches himself too?

I slapped my hand on my forehead. Someone had to beat my head into a poll.

“Why would I be upset?” I barely choked out the words.

Whatever he was asking about had nothing to do with me and had no impact on my life.Right?He wouldn’t know what my husband had done. Or what I had done. If he did, this conversation wouldn’t be happening. I’d be dead already.

And most certainly he wouldn’t know that I pictured his hands on me as I touched myself. Fantasizing about Nico Morrelli had to stop, effective immediately.

“He is looking for a younger woman to be his companion for an event he has to attend. It could be a great opportunity,” she responded, although she made no sense. “He asked if you would be interested.”