Shadow Rider
Page 78
The brothers exchanged a long look and she hesitated, and then glanced up at Stefano. “What?”
“He does that. He sees someone beautiful that he wants and arranges an ‘accident,’ where he can play the mortified white knight, and asks the woman out, sweeps her off her feet and gets her hooked before his true colors come out.”
“You know that about him?”
Ricco took a drink of amber liquid from the tumbler in his hand and nodded. “He uses it when he’s at parties. I’ve witnessed it a time or two.”
A little shudder went through Francesca. Unconsciously she pressed closer to Stefano. Instantly his hand went from her neck to her shoulders and he shifted her right against him before his fingers slid back beneath her hair to caress her nape.
“That’s what he did. Cella would come home laughing and talking about him like he was Prince Charming. I was happy for her. She was certain she was falling in love. They dated often over the next six months, although little things she wasn’t thrilled with began happening. First, he was introduced to me, and I didn’t like him at all. Not. At. All.” She enunciated each word. “He was too charming and he would touch me all the time. Stand too close. Breathe on the back of my neck. More than that . . .” She broke off, frowning. How could she tell them without sounding insane? She was already going to have to combat insanity charges when she told them the entire story.
“Francesca.” Vittorio leaned toward her, evidently reading her reluctance. “Cara, we’re all family here. Say whatever it is and let us decide. We hear truth. We told you that. We meant it, quite literally, so whatever you say can’t be much more bizarre than that.”
Absently, beneath Stefano’s palm, her fingers bunched the material of his immaculate pin-striped trousers into her fist, holding on for support. “I know how this sounds, but sometimes, when I’m standing a certain way and the light is just right, my shadow will connect with someone else’s shadow. We’re not physically touching. Just our shadows, on the wall, or floor. Wherever.” She bit at her lip and then took a slow sip of wine, taking her time putting the glass down. She’d started. Now she had to finish. They were really going to think she was insane.
“Bambina,” Stefano murmured, his mouth against her temple, lips brushing her skin. Breath teasing her hair. “No one is going to think you’re lying.”
She sighed and forced her shoulders straight. “I don’t know if that has anything to do with it, the part about shadows, but I just noticed that they were always touching when I would get this sensation. I could feel what the other person felt.”
The brothers exchanged another long look and she hastened to try to make her explanation sound better. “I can’t explain it, only that sometimes, I just know what a person feels. He would have slept with me, but he didn’t feel anything for either of us. Not me. Not Cella. Not in the way Cella thought. It was more like a cat playing with a mouse. He was playing her for his own amusement. He planned on humiliating her. Dumping her. That kind of thing makes him feel powerful.”
She waited for recriminations, but no one said anything. Ricco nodded at her assessment of Barry Anthon. That was the most she got from them. “I tried to tell her. It was the first time we ever had a big fight. She refused to believe me.” That had really hurt. She couldn’t understand why her sister wouldn’t believe her. She didn’t lie. She never lied. They were close. It didn’t make sense to her.
“After the fight we had, Cella noticed little things that upset her. Barry never took her out in public. He would attend fund-raisers and go to huge events where the media was all over, and he would take an actress or some celebrity. He’d tell Cella he had to, because it was important to get the maximum amount of coverage for the event as possible, but even at ball games he’d be photographed with other women. He would make little remarks to her, sneering at her clothes or shoes, or laugh because she didn’t know which fork to use at his club. She made excuses for him, saying that she probably was looking for something to be upset about because of the way I felt about him.”
Ricco shook his head. “I’ve heard him do that, put his date down. Make fun of her. Say things to take away her self-esteem. He does it to just about all of the women he dates.”
Giovanni nodded. “I heard him talk to a friend of his once, about how you put a woman in her place and she’d do anything to be with you because she knew you were better than she was and she was damned lucky to have you. He believes that shit.”
“He does that. He sees someone beautiful that he wants and arranges an ‘accident,’ where he can play the mortified white knight, and asks the woman out, sweeps her off her feet and gets her hooked before his true colors come out.”
“You know that about him?”
Ricco took a drink of amber liquid from the tumbler in his hand and nodded. “He uses it when he’s at parties. I’ve witnessed it a time or two.”
A little shudder went through Francesca. Unconsciously she pressed closer to Stefano. Instantly his hand went from her neck to her shoulders and he shifted her right against him before his fingers slid back beneath her hair to caress her nape.
“That’s what he did. Cella would come home laughing and talking about him like he was Prince Charming. I was happy for her. She was certain she was falling in love. They dated often over the next six months, although little things she wasn’t thrilled with began happening. First, he was introduced to me, and I didn’t like him at all. Not. At. All.” She enunciated each word. “He was too charming and he would touch me all the time. Stand too close. Breathe on the back of my neck. More than that . . .” She broke off, frowning. How could she tell them without sounding insane? She was already going to have to combat insanity charges when she told them the entire story.
“Francesca.” Vittorio leaned toward her, evidently reading her reluctance. “Cara, we’re all family here. Say whatever it is and let us decide. We hear truth. We told you that. We meant it, quite literally, so whatever you say can’t be much more bizarre than that.”
Absently, beneath Stefano’s palm, her fingers bunched the material of his immaculate pin-striped trousers into her fist, holding on for support. “I know how this sounds, but sometimes, when I’m standing a certain way and the light is just right, my shadow will connect with someone else’s shadow. We’re not physically touching. Just our shadows, on the wall, or floor. Wherever.” She bit at her lip and then took a slow sip of wine, taking her time putting the glass down. She’d started. Now she had to finish. They were really going to think she was insane.
“Bambina,” Stefano murmured, his mouth against her temple, lips brushing her skin. Breath teasing her hair. “No one is going to think you’re lying.”
She sighed and forced her shoulders straight. “I don’t know if that has anything to do with it, the part about shadows, but I just noticed that they were always touching when I would get this sensation. I could feel what the other person felt.”
The brothers exchanged another long look and she hastened to try to make her explanation sound better. “I can’t explain it, only that sometimes, I just know what a person feels. He would have slept with me, but he didn’t feel anything for either of us. Not me. Not Cella. Not in the way Cella thought. It was more like a cat playing with a mouse. He was playing her for his own amusement. He planned on humiliating her. Dumping her. That kind of thing makes him feel powerful.”
She waited for recriminations, but no one said anything. Ricco nodded at her assessment of Barry Anthon. That was the most she got from them. “I tried to tell her. It was the first time we ever had a big fight. She refused to believe me.” That had really hurt. She couldn’t understand why her sister wouldn’t believe her. She didn’t lie. She never lied. They were close. It didn’t make sense to her.
“After the fight we had, Cella noticed little things that upset her. Barry never took her out in public. He would attend fund-raisers and go to huge events where the media was all over, and he would take an actress or some celebrity. He’d tell Cella he had to, because it was important to get the maximum amount of coverage for the event as possible, but even at ball games he’d be photographed with other women. He would make little remarks to her, sneering at her clothes or shoes, or laugh because she didn’t know which fork to use at his club. She made excuses for him, saying that she probably was looking for something to be upset about because of the way I felt about him.”
Ricco shook his head. “I’ve heard him do that, put his date down. Make fun of her. Say things to take away her self-esteem. He does it to just about all of the women he dates.”
Giovanni nodded. “I heard him talk to a friend of his once, about how you put a woman in her place and she’d do anything to be with you because she knew you were better than she was and she was damned lucky to have you. He believes that shit.”
