Love in the City, an erotic romance novel (28 page)

Anabelle stood there shaking. Tears started to fall. She didn’t know what to believe. Her heart broke.
The fantasy had ended.

It was Tuesday night and Giorgio was home alone after getting in from a long day at the office. He looked at the clock. 9:15 p.m. He was hungry, but tired. He flicked on a lamp, took off his suit jacket, and flopped on his couch. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to decide what to do. He unbuttoned the first several buttons of his shirt.

His life seemed like it was just one frustration after another these days. He’d had it with just about everything and everyone. The business announcement they had made earlier today had been immediately met with mixed reviews and he and Anabelle hadn’t spoken since last night. He was still fuming over what he felt was a constant barrage of accusations from her. He felt attacked on every side lately.

He decided to start by pouring himself a glass of scotch. He got up to grab a glass when his door buzzer rang. He grunted in frustration. He wasn’t expecting anyone and it was late. “Seriously, can’t people just leave me alone for a change?” he muttered angrily under his breath.

He walked over to the security display to see who
it was.

It was Portia.

“What the hell is she doing here?” he asked himself. He shook his head and wondered when this miserable day would end.

“Hi Portia,” Giorgio said into the intercom.

“Giorgio, can I come up? I need to talk to you.”

“Why didn’t you call first?”

“I was just…so upset. I somehow ended up here.” She sniffed and appeared to wipe tears away.

“Listen, it’s late…”

“Please?” she said. “I really don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Why don’t you go home?”

“That’s my problem. Please Giorgio, as a friend?”

She
’s not going to give up,
he thought.
She never does.

“Fine,” he huffed, “but I’m not making this a late night. I’m exhausted.” Not waiting for an answer, he buzzed her in.

A couple of minutes later came the knock on the door.

He took his time answering it. As soon as he opened the door, she rushed inside. He closed the door and she flew into him, wrapping her arms around him, and burying her face in his chest. She made soft sobbing sounds.

He patted her back. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did something happen?” He felt her press tighter against him as her shoulders shook.

After a few moments, she took a deep breath. She wiped her eyes and shook her head sadly. “Nikolas and I had a really bad fight. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad…” he started to say.

She shook her head and stepped away. She was wearing a dove-grey cropped leather jacket over a deep green jade-colored silk blouse, sky-high silver stilettos and a tight dark grey leather skirt that fell well above her knees. Her silky blonde hair was long and loose around her shoulders. He could smell her Gucci perfume. It had been liberally applied.

He looked at her, taking note of the full makeup and dusting of sparkly powder over her neck and chest. She was completely done up and looked ready for a night on the town.

“It was really bad,” she sniffed. “Do you mind if I just hang out for a bit? Maybe we can just talk for awhile? Let things cool off? I had to get out of there.” She didn’t wait for an answer as she walked in, took her jacket off and tossed it on a chair.

“Don’t you want to talk to a girlfriend or something?”

“I’d rather talk to someone who understands Nikolas. You’re his brother. No one knows him better.” She gave him a little pout.

Giorgio sighed. “I guess,” he said. His head started to pound. He rubbed the back of his neck. He felt a tension headache coming on.

“Thanks,” she said, her tone brightening.

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

She placed her hands dramatically on her hips and raised an eyebrow. “I think something a little stronger is in order. It’s been a stressful night.”

“Okay, what would you like?”

“What are you drinking?”

“I haven’t been home long, I was just going to pour myself a glass of scotch.”

“Perfect,” she said, beaming at him.

He was perplexed by her sudden change of mood. Women really confused him sometimes.

She walked across the dark Brazilian teak hardwood floors, checking things out. “Your place is always so neat and tidy. For a bachelor, I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“Very masculine looking,” she commented, taking in the dark chocolate tones of the spacious apartment. The kitchen was accented with polis
hed stainless steel appliances.

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just headed to the kitchen to pour the drinks. He came back and handed her the crystal highball glass, half full of the amber liquid.

“Ahh, just what the doctored ordered,” she said as she clinked his glass. “Let’s sit down in the living room.” Again not waiting for an answer, she sauntered into the spacious living room. It had a large chocolate brown sectional sofa and two roomy armchairs on either side of it. There was a large intricately-designed Persian rug on the floor. The wall on the far side had floor-to-ceiling windows with a spectacular view of Central Park and New York City beyond. Over top of the sofa was a large, rectangular abstract painting by Ben Passano. It was a striking piece with browns, red, and yellow, accented by black swipes.

She took a deep breath. “It’s a breath of fresh air being here. It feels like a calm place. Very Zen.”

“I like it,” he said. He stood awkwardly on the other side of the large glass coffee table.

She turned to him and smiled. She took a seat on the sofa, setting her purse down on the floor next to her as
she crossed her long legs.

He stepped towards one of the armchairs.

“Could you at least come over here and sit with me?” she said, patting the cushions. “It’s a big sofa. There’s lots of room. She had sat down near the center of it, closing off a lot of the space that could have been between them.

“Alright,” he replied, sitting as far away
from her as he could and leaned up against the armrest.

She took a long sip of the scotch. “Mmmm, good stuff.”

He nodded and took a sip as well. “So, what was your fight with Nikolas about?” he asked, wanting to cut to the chase and get this over with.

She frowned
. “He just doesn’t listen to me. He doesn’t understand me.”

Giorgio waited for her to continue.

“We don’t see eye to eye on things a lot of the time,” she said as she swirled the scotch in her glass. “He thinks I’m too obsessed with the business. He wants me to play the role of trophy wife more. Be his ‘first lady’, while he makes all the important decisions for us and goes on most of the business trips without me.”

Giorgio looked at her as she stared into her glass. “That doesn’t sound like Nikolas. He’s usually pretty level-headed. I know that we can’t all be gone at the same time for the business. Someone has to stay back and man the fort.”

“There’s another side to him,” she said, letting out a long sigh. “I feel very constrained, like I can’t really fly, spread my own wings. I have to stay in his shadow.”

Giorgio furrowed his brow. He didn’t see his brother that way at all.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do about it, to be honest,” she said shaking her head.

He pursed his lips. He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but he didn’t want to get too involved in a marital spat, especially one involving his own brother. “I’m sure you two can find a way to work this out. Nikolas is a reasonable guy.”

She gave him a weary smile. “You always see the glass as half full, don’t you? I’ve always liked your attitude.” Portia took another sip of scotch and abruptly changed the subject. “And you? What’s new in your world?”

“Not much,” he said.

She inched over closer to him. “It’s okay, you can confide in me. We’re family. I told you some of my personal woes.”

“There’s really not a lot to say.” He stared off across the living room at the
cold, unlit fireplace. He took a drink. His mental fatigue was growing along with a now splitting headache.

Portia could tell he seemed stressed. “I beg to differ. I remember the night of the ball. That was an interesting night for you was it not?”

He looked at her. He wasn’t sure exactly what she was referring to.

“Oh come on, you can tell me,” she pressed,
shifting towards him. “Where are things at with your current plaything? The one you stole away with for a quickie?”

“It wasn’t like that and her name is Anabelle,” he snapped at her. “And things aren’t really anywhere right now.” He took a long sip of scotch. It was warm going down his throat. He welcomed the effects of the strong spirit. He leaned back, tilting his head against the sofa.

“Oh?” she asked, inching towards him even further. She was now sitting very close to him. “Do tell. What’s caused your trouble in paradise?”

He was irritated. He didn’t want to talk to her about this. He shook his head. “I don’t know. We’re just not getting along.”

“Well,” she said, placing a finger on his shoulder and sliding it down his arm, “no big deal, onto bigger and better things, right?”

“If you say so,” he replied
, feeling annoyingly crowded by her. “I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He stared into his glass. He wasn’t sure how he felt at the moment, but he had no intention of sharing any more details with Portia. She’d just twist his words. Something she seemed to do for sport.

“Understood,” she said as she looked at his chest, admiring how broad it was, and thinking of how strong his biceps had felt when she hugged him. She dropped her gaze to where he was holding the drink between his legs, his thighs parted. She smiled. She reached out towards his glass and ran her finger slowly around the rim of it. “How about refills?”

Giorgio was momentarily stunned by her brazen maneuver. Her hand was almost brushing against his crotch. He was getting a bad feeling about where things were going. “Sure,” he said, quickly standing up and not making eye contact with her. He grabbed her glass, which wasn’t very empty and headed back to the kitchen.

She watched him walk away, grinning from ear to ear. She liked having a man caught off guard. She stared at his backside, admiring how his pants fit and flattered his well-built physique. He was taller, bigger, and stronger than her husband. She gazed after him until he disappeared into the kitchen.

Giorgio set the glasses down on the island. He was rattled. He knew Portia was a handful and now she was alone with him in his apartment. He wasn’t sure what she was playing at, but he knew she was up to something. He took a deep breath. He considered what he should do when he spotted his iPhone sitting on the counter. He thought for a moment. He made a decision. He topped up the glasses, and then slipped his phone into his pocket. He headed back to the living room.

Portia had taken her shoes off and stretched her bare, spray-tanned legs out on the sofa. He noticed an extra button or two had been undone on her silk blouse. He sighed. He was starting to feel like prey on the Serengeti. He thought about what Anabelle had been trying to tell him last night.

He handed her the refilled glass of scotch.

“Thanks,” she said, her false-eyelash rimmed deep green eyes looking up at him. Her pink lip-glossed over-plumped lips curved into a grin. “Come, sit here with me. I just wanted to stretch my legs out.” She patted the sofa and moved her legs to the side to make room for him to sit. Her skirt rode dangerously high as she shifted. She didn’t seem to care or notice, but Giorgio suspected that it was a signature move of hers.

“That’s okay,” he said, taking a seat in a nearby armchair. “You go ahead and enjoy the sofa.”

She looked disappointed. She flexed her long, pink-polished toes. “I don’t bite, you know.”

“I’m good here,” he said.

“Are you sure?” she said as she lifted her leg, bending it at the knee. She held it for a moment before angling her knee towards her other leg feigning a ladylike and demure pose, but just long enough to
let him see her skirt ride up.

Before he could catch himself, he got a glimpse of her fuchsia underwear.

“I’m sure,” he said, looking away.

She took a long sip of her scotch, eyeing him. Again she wiggled and stretched her manicured toes. She was being a blatant tease. “How about a foot rub?”

He shook his head.

“What? It’s innocent enough,” she pouted. “It’s been such a hard day.”

“You came here to talk,” he said. “So talk.” He was beginning to feel trapped in his own home.

“Fine,” she huffed. She proceeded to give her arms a long, dramatic stretch over her head. As she did, her blouse stretched across her ches
t.

Giorgio could tell s
he wasn’t wearing a bra. He hung his head. He needed to find a way to get her out of his house. Fast. “Listen, how else can I help with Nikolas?”

“I need him to stop trying to control me,” Portia said, her voice cold. “He needs to just let me, be me.”