Page 143 of Steal My Heart

“Don’t make me kill you,” I quietly warn Maks before climbing in with Nola.

Remi sips on her hot chocolate, chattering excitedly about the lounge. “But what if I don’t want a band at the opening; what if it’s just me with my piano?”

“Then it’s just you with your piano. It’s your lounge; your opening.”

“But do I have enough material to put on a solo performance?”

“If any woman can pull it off, you can,” I tell her.

“You’re right,” she says resolutely. “I’m going to have to practice.”

She doesn’t need to practice, but I don’t tell her that, because I know she will practice anyway.

“Why are we here?” Remi notices us pulling into the cemetery.

Maks opens our door for us, and I slide out, extending my hand for Remi. I lead us to the gravesite, and she covers her mouth with her hands.

“You can spit on it, or cry on it. I’ll give you privacy so you can decide.”

Remi

I don’t know how he did it, but if there’s a will, Angelo Calvani finds a way.

Running my fingers over the clarinet engraving on Charles “Charlie” Landry’s tombstone, I sit down beside the freshly packed dirt. “I should hate you,” I say, dabbing my eyes. “But really, I want to say thank you. Because you showed me everything a man shouldn’t be, and that led me to a man that is everything he should be, and more. I’m a queen, not your pawn.”

Nola comes nosing over. She hikes up her leg, peeing on my dad’s grave.

I choke on a laugh. “I take it back, Nola isthequeen.”

We return to the vehicle, and I crawl into Angelo’s lap, cupping his intense face in my hands. “I love you,” I whisper.

He wraps his arms around me, whispering against my hair.“Ti amo più di ogni altra cosa al mondo.”

I don’t know what that means, but my heart must, because it feels so full it might burst.

“Are you hungry,amorina?”

“Starved.”

“ToThe Boardroom,” he orders Maks.

My eyes meet his as I tickle his beard with my nails, my other hand fanning his inside jacket pocket, swiping the small…cloth pouch?

Kissing him as a distraction, I move the pouch to my pocket. Except I’m the one who gets distracted, but who wouldn’t get distracted when kissing Angelo Calvani? The man’s kissing skill should still be studied for scientific purposes, except it would have to be a one-woman control group…

“Remi?” He says my name against my lips.

“Yes?”

“Stop thinking.”

“Can’t; we’ve already established that my head is an interesting place to be.”

He playfully flicks my nose. “No doubt.”

We arrive at the restaurant, where I’m whisked to the empty dining room. Soft jazz plays over the speakers, with red carnations filling the room.

Angelo pulls out my chair for me, and I take a seat. He sits, scooting my chair next to his, and God, why is that still so damn sexy?