Monster in His Eyes
Page 64
I guess I expected him to contradict me, because his agreeing catches me off guard. "What?"
"I know you don't fit in, Karissa, but that's one of my favorite things about you. You stand out."
"What if they don't think so?"
"Then it's a good thing I don't care what they think."
He says it so matter of fact, like any differing opinion is just plain wrong.
"Trust me on this," he says, reaching over and cupping my cheek. "It's going to be the best weekend of your life. And if anyone here ruins it for you in any way, I'll make certain they pay for it."
He gets out of the car without awaiting a response, and my chest tightens. Something tells me them paying for it won't be monetarily.
I take a deep breath as Naz opens my door, and before I can talk myself out of this, I step out to join him.
Eyes shift our way. I can feel them on me, meeting curious gazes as I scan the crowd. The looks aren't so much hostile as they are puzzled taking in the sight of me. The women especially regard me with skepticism. They're painted up pretty, Picasso masterpieces, while I feel more like one of his rough sketches.
Raymond breaks from the pack, stepping toward us. "Ah, Vitale, perfect timing."
Naz nods to acknowledge that, but Raymond isn't looking at him. No, Raymond is looking at me.
He takes my hand, kissing the back of it. "I'm honored you'd join us, Karissa."
I want to say it's not intentional, that I had no idea I was joining the likes of him, but I keep my mouth shut, merely smiling tersely to keep from saying anything. My mother taught me enough to know he isn't the kind of man that takes kindly to being offended.
Naz doesn't dawdle. Pressing his hand to the small of my back, he leads me past the crowd onto the plane. The inside looks bigger than it does on the outside, all cream-colored and wood-paneled, with more than enough seats to accommodate everyone.
Naz stops dead center of the plane and plops down on the end of a long couch, a small two-cushion portion segregated from the rest. I sit down beside him nervously, but he eases some of my anxiety by draping his arm over my shoulder and pulling me closer. He presses a kiss to my hair, his cologne swarming my senses, making me lightheaded, as everyone else boards the plane.
Raymond decides to sit beside me, nothing more than a cushioned armrest separating me from the infamous man. The blonde sits with him as the others file in. I peek at her, unable to fathom what she sees in him.
I know Naz is older than me, and maybe people see our age difference as extreme, but he's still quite youthful, and regal, and so goddamn sexy. There's an attraction with him I can't deny—don't want to deny. But Raymond is much older, maybe old enough to be that woman's grandfather, and has not a smidgen of the sex appeal.
In fact, he looks a little like Shrek to me.
I sit quietly, tucked in at Naz's side, my heart beating frantically in my chest, each thump echoing in my ears, an anxious rhythm I fear everyone around me can hear. They all settle into their seats, chatting, but none of the conversation means anything to me.
I feel invisible, and for that I'm grateful.
The plane takes off after everyone is buckled in. My heart is in my throat as we ascend into the air, my fist clenching Naz's suit coat. My ears pop, my stomach clenching from the altitude.
Nobody else seems bothered by it. In fact, nobody else seems bothered by anything. As soon as we're in the air they return to where they were, picking up conversation right where they left off, like this is nothing to them. My hand loosens the fabric of Naz's jacket, but I don't let go.
I won't let go of him.
His presence is the only thing keeping me from freaking out.
Beside me, Raymond is telling a story, laughing at his own jokes, as everyone around us listens attentively. He's clearly the center of their little world, the sun these men orbit around.
Everyone, that is, except for Naz. He appears to not be paying attention. He tilts his face toward me, his breath fanning against my cheek as he whispers, "You okay?"
I nod.
"You recognize everyone here?"
Brow furrowing, I shake my head. How would I? I only know Raymond, but I don't dare say that out loud. He's sitting close enough that he'd hear me speak his name.
"Huh."
I glance at Naz, his face a few inches away. "What?"
"I'm just surprised."
"You? Surprised?"
He smiles. "It happens every now and then. I just figured you'd know these faces since you recognized Ray."
Just as I suspected, Raymond perks up at the sound of his name. He stops mid-story, diverting his attention. "She recognized me?"
"She did," Naz confirms.
"Nice to know my reputation still precedes me," he says.
"Always will, boss," the guy across from us says. Boss. The word sticks out like a flashing neon sign in the darkness. "As long as Vitale's around to make sure of it, anyway."
I feel Naz tense, his body turning to stone, his arm around me suddenly boulder heavy. I glance at him again, seeing he's glaring at the man who just spoke. Everyone else seems to notice it, too. A few cleared throats and some awkward silent seconds later, the conversation veers back away from us.
Naz still glares, though.
He doesn't relax.
I don't know what the man meant by what he said, how Naz effects Raymond's reputation, but it's clear that Naz didn't like it a bit.
"I know you don't fit in, Karissa, but that's one of my favorite things about you. You stand out."
"What if they don't think so?"
"Then it's a good thing I don't care what they think."
He says it so matter of fact, like any differing opinion is just plain wrong.
"Trust me on this," he says, reaching over and cupping my cheek. "It's going to be the best weekend of your life. And if anyone here ruins it for you in any way, I'll make certain they pay for it."
He gets out of the car without awaiting a response, and my chest tightens. Something tells me them paying for it won't be monetarily.
I take a deep breath as Naz opens my door, and before I can talk myself out of this, I step out to join him.
Eyes shift our way. I can feel them on me, meeting curious gazes as I scan the crowd. The looks aren't so much hostile as they are puzzled taking in the sight of me. The women especially regard me with skepticism. They're painted up pretty, Picasso masterpieces, while I feel more like one of his rough sketches.
Raymond breaks from the pack, stepping toward us. "Ah, Vitale, perfect timing."
Naz nods to acknowledge that, but Raymond isn't looking at him. No, Raymond is looking at me.
He takes my hand, kissing the back of it. "I'm honored you'd join us, Karissa."
I want to say it's not intentional, that I had no idea I was joining the likes of him, but I keep my mouth shut, merely smiling tersely to keep from saying anything. My mother taught me enough to know he isn't the kind of man that takes kindly to being offended.
Naz doesn't dawdle. Pressing his hand to the small of my back, he leads me past the crowd onto the plane. The inside looks bigger than it does on the outside, all cream-colored and wood-paneled, with more than enough seats to accommodate everyone.
Naz stops dead center of the plane and plops down on the end of a long couch, a small two-cushion portion segregated from the rest. I sit down beside him nervously, but he eases some of my anxiety by draping his arm over my shoulder and pulling me closer. He presses a kiss to my hair, his cologne swarming my senses, making me lightheaded, as everyone else boards the plane.
Raymond decides to sit beside me, nothing more than a cushioned armrest separating me from the infamous man. The blonde sits with him as the others file in. I peek at her, unable to fathom what she sees in him.
I know Naz is older than me, and maybe people see our age difference as extreme, but he's still quite youthful, and regal, and so goddamn sexy. There's an attraction with him I can't deny—don't want to deny. But Raymond is much older, maybe old enough to be that woman's grandfather, and has not a smidgen of the sex appeal.
In fact, he looks a little like Shrek to me.
I sit quietly, tucked in at Naz's side, my heart beating frantically in my chest, each thump echoing in my ears, an anxious rhythm I fear everyone around me can hear. They all settle into their seats, chatting, but none of the conversation means anything to me.
I feel invisible, and for that I'm grateful.
The plane takes off after everyone is buckled in. My heart is in my throat as we ascend into the air, my fist clenching Naz's suit coat. My ears pop, my stomach clenching from the altitude.
Nobody else seems bothered by it. In fact, nobody else seems bothered by anything. As soon as we're in the air they return to where they were, picking up conversation right where they left off, like this is nothing to them. My hand loosens the fabric of Naz's jacket, but I don't let go.
I won't let go of him.
His presence is the only thing keeping me from freaking out.
Beside me, Raymond is telling a story, laughing at his own jokes, as everyone around us listens attentively. He's clearly the center of their little world, the sun these men orbit around.
Everyone, that is, except for Naz. He appears to not be paying attention. He tilts his face toward me, his breath fanning against my cheek as he whispers, "You okay?"
I nod.
"You recognize everyone here?"
Brow furrowing, I shake my head. How would I? I only know Raymond, but I don't dare say that out loud. He's sitting close enough that he'd hear me speak his name.
"Huh."
I glance at Naz, his face a few inches away. "What?"
"I'm just surprised."
"You? Surprised?"
He smiles. "It happens every now and then. I just figured you'd know these faces since you recognized Ray."
Just as I suspected, Raymond perks up at the sound of his name. He stops mid-story, diverting his attention. "She recognized me?"
"She did," Naz confirms.
"Nice to know my reputation still precedes me," he says.
"Always will, boss," the guy across from us says. Boss. The word sticks out like a flashing neon sign in the darkness. "As long as Vitale's around to make sure of it, anyway."
I feel Naz tense, his body turning to stone, his arm around me suddenly boulder heavy. I glance at him again, seeing he's glaring at the man who just spoke. Everyone else seems to notice it, too. A few cleared throats and some awkward silent seconds later, the conversation veers back away from us.
Naz still glares, though.
He doesn't relax.
I don't know what the man meant by what he said, how Naz effects Raymond's reputation, but it's clear that Naz didn't like it a bit.
