“Well, I don’t assume you care to know my disinterest in this date.”
Fuck. She didn’t want to be set up like this, either. Interesting. I pegged her all wrong.
The waitress shows up again, and I let her order whatever she wants, which is why it surprises me when all she wants are shots.
“What the hell, Lombardi?” I let slip when the waitress leaves.
“What?”
Fuck. The look in her eyes kills me, like she wants to fuck me and fuck me over at the same time. I want it all. Surely, this girl could get anyone to fall in love with her. Why would she even give me the time of day after I stood her up?
“Why did you even give me a second chance?”
“Mmm. Honestly, San Giovanni, I like challenges.” Her eyes flick up to me, her words dripping with sarcasm.
“The truth is, I think this whole setup is ancient mafia bullshit that I would rather avoid completely, but my autonomy rests upon compliance, so here I am.” I think I stopped breathing, watching as she takes two tequila shots without even blinking. Fucking hot. I’m also surprised to hear that she’s been forced here too. The thought sobers me a little too much, so for some reason, I motion for permission to take a shot that I paid for with my own money.
“Fuck. Pretty much the same here.”
“Guess we’re both screwed then.” I flicker between her eyes as she takes a martini in her hand, downing my shot as an idea comes to my mind. One that would help me get in her pants and make my family thrilled at the same time. A strange combination to throw together, I’m aware, but I’m drunk.
I pitch the idea, pray she’s into it. Fake dating is the only solution for getting what we really want. Our families are so dead set on us doing things their way that they’ve lost sight of who we are as people. I barely know Madame Lombardi, but I know her only wish in life is that Stella gets married to a family that will build their power enough to avenge her firstborn son and husband. Taking control of New York would be a war for our family, but it’s something all of them are prepared to go through if there is a marriage binding us to the terms.
It’s power. All power moves. I get it, but it’s not just business, it’s personal. And somewhere they decided that this was the best solution for us. I can’t agree; I won’t because I don’t care to settle down. I want to do things my way. Since they can’t respect that, maybe they will believe a lie that allows me my desires.
I attempt to explain it to Stella the best I can, and I really can’t tell whether she’s for it or not until I’ve finished.
Of course, she does shoot out that she has rules.
I beckon her to continue in some embarrassing British accent that sounds more like a bad impression of my brother than anything else.
“First rule— and this is immovable Antoni,” I can’t help but snort a laugh at this nickname that literally just leaves out one letter of my name. I force myself to reel it in, knowing it's only funnier because I’m blasted.
“No sex.”
I can’t compute. Here I thought I was getting a free pass to fuck, and now I can’t even look at her with her clothes off. Damn. The more I process the finality of her words, I realize what she actually meant. I study her face, but she’s not budging.
“Like… Okay… So, no sex with each other?” I’m stumbling through my words, sounding like a car that won’t start. She drives a hard bargain, but after I fight her on it, I realize there is no winning with her. She’s persistent, stubborn, like my sisters. Eventually, she makes me agree, but I don’t forget to give her a nickname in the process.Stell. Reminds me of steel, like the chastity belt she’s put around her and every other woman’s waist in a thousand-mile radius (I’d say the world, but I'm not allowed out of LA).
We talk terms a bit more; I lose my will to those too.. We have to be around each other so much that I think it’s going to be next to impossible not to fuck her, or anyone for that matter. I ask the important questions, attempting to gauge what I can get away with, but it seems like the only thing we can do is kiss while other people are around.
“Hm.” I make her wait on that one, knowing that this arrangement is the best chance I’ve got at getting what I desire, but not wanting her to see my desperation. I pick up a shot quickly, and we cheers to our silly plan that honestly doesn’t seem so silly now that we’ve finalized it with tequila.
Supernatural restraint is the only way I’m going to get through this. But in a couple of months, when we break up on great terms, our families will see that an alliance is possible without marriage. That’s a good fucking idea for my drunk brain to come up with on the spot.
My stomach feels empty, though I’ve filled it full of alcohol. I keep forgetting to wave over the waiter, and every time she does come over, we end up not being able to figure out how to order. Instead, I tell her stories about my time in boarding school. I think she thinks I’m pretty funny, but she’s drunk, so maybe not. She’s got wit, so I laugh back at her quick remarks. It's smooth between us, and strangely I’m enjoying myself on a night I wanted to be over before it started.
“We should leave.” She finally says when there’s a break in our conversation. I definitely need to eat, so when I question her, and she says McDonald’s, I nearly laugh at her, but all I can do is look at her in amusement. What a strange person she is. Likes custom designer everything but will skip on fine dining for McDonald’s, interesting. I can’t quite peg her down, and when I think I have, she pulls shit like this.
“Fuck. Alright.” I concede before letting the waitress know to add the drinks to my tab. The look of pleasure in her eyes as I agree to this annoying aspect of our deal is fucking worthy of being painted. Her hazel eyes with too many shades to count, narrowing at me, pressed up by the corners of her smirk. Lips pouting mockingly at my disdain. God, if she wasn’t so fucking uptight, these next few months would be so fucking mind-blowing. If staring at her can make me this turned on, I’m almost certain fucking her would last for days. Doubt I could stop myself once I’ve started, to be honest. It’s a shame she has no fucking idea— I guess she won’t if I can maintain self-control. Not exactly a strong suit of mine.
Stella is sliding out of the booth with me when she grabs my arm to ask if we should leave a tip. I’m honestly not thinking about anything but kissing her right now— let’s be honest, I want to take her clothes off. She’s insisting upon the tip, and after she throws a couple of hundred bucks down, I keep watching her.
I don’t know why I do it, really. It’s just so surprising-- her, the date, this whole evening. So, when she leans in, igniting a pull so strong between us that I forget I’m drunk, kisses my cheek with her pillowy lips, I fight the urge to pull her in. This isn’t the setting for such a kiss to take place. Even on the cheek, it feels risky. Why the fuck does it feel like this?
I mindlessly go straight for my wallet, toss the money over hers like a sucker, and my hand finds her back before I realize why. I felt a little out of control, a little dominated. Maybe that's why I think I’m leading her out of the restaurant, why I insist on driving (though in my state I shouldn’t) to my bodyguard, who is arguing back with me about it on the way out of the restaurant.
I thought we stayed inside all night, that the sun had risen when we opened the doors to the outside. A hoard of paps surround us, yelling at Stella.