Thin Lies (Donati Bloodlines #1) (21 page)

“Because
I knew what would happen if they did,” Calisto said.

Emma
shot him a look that asked a million questions. “Should I thank you?”

“You
already did.”

“For
saving me, not for protecting me.”

There
was a difference. She had made a distinction that he hadn’t quite realized
before.

“Don’t
bother,” Calisto said with a smile.

“But—”

“Emma,”
George said from the other side of the table. “Do us a favor and play
something?”

Calisto
didn’t miss the frown that Emma quickly hid with a bite of food.

“Oh,
yes,” Maximo said. “The piano was just tuned last week, too.”

“I
haven’t played in years,” Emma finally replied. “I’ll be rusty, and it’ll sound
awful.”

Calisto
hadn’t known Emma could play the piano, but he wasn’t too surprised at the
news. Most wealthy families had their daughters in a multitude of
extra-curricular activities to fill their time and spend their money on. High-society
liked for their girls to be cultured, polite, and well-trained in all things.

Emma
didn’t look particularly pleased at being asked to play the piano.

“I
doubt that,” Calisto told her. “I’m sure it’ll sound wonderful.”

Emma
stared at him, not saying a thing.

No
one else seemed to notice his comment. He was grateful. It was a little too
comforting for a man that these people knew to be cold in his demeanor and
aloof all the other times in between.

“Play,
Emma, please,” Minnie said.

Emma
sighed. “Ma, I’m not really in the mood.”

Before
someone could pressure Emma again, Calisto stood from his chair and tossed his
napkin down. “I will.”

Emma’s
head snapped up, her eyes finding his and searching. “You play the piano?”

“Quite
well,” he admitted, offering no other explanation. Turning to the man at the
head of the table, Calisto waved his hand in the direction of the baby grand in
the corner. “May I, Maximo?”

Maximo
nodded. “Absolutely.”

Calisto
strolled across the dining room, ignoring the curious gazes of the guests.
Taking a seat on the white leather bench, he flipped open the top of the casing
covering the ivory keys. A pain settled in his chest, stabbing and heavy, but
he tampered it down.

Clenching
his fists, Calisto felt his knuckles crack. A bit of the lingering tension
drifted away when he placed his hands on the correct position to start, and
felt the ivory kiss his fingertips. The memory was right there, teasing him and
hurting him at the same time.

When
he began to play, he could see her again.

A
younger her.

A
younger him.

He
played the song she taught him first.

“It’s
a beautiful sound, isn’t it, baby?” Camilla asked.

Calisto
pressed the four keys in time, like his mother had shown him. The sound flowed
from the piano. “
Sì
,
Mamma
.”

“And
now,” his mother said, taking his hands in hers, “… we go like this.”

His
mother pressed his fingers down on another four keys.

More
sound.

More
music.

A
rhythm, she called it.

“Can
you try those now, baby?” Camilla asked. “Do you think you can remember the
first four notes and these, too?”

Calisto
nodded. “
Sì
.”

“Show
me.”

He
did as his mother asked, hitting the first four notes using only two tiny
fingers, and then following with the second set of four notes.

It
was starting to make a song.

Calisto
liked the sound.

“Who
made this?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“The
song, Mamma. You says people write them. Who made this?”

Camilla
ducked her head when her son turned for an answer. “Um, this is just something
I learned a while ago.”

“But
someone made it.”

“Composed,
baby. But, yes, someone wrote this. They made it.”

“Who?”
he asked again.

“Your
father,” Camilla said quickly. “Can you show me the notes again?”

Your
father.

Calisto,
in all his five year old glory, knew better than to keep asking after hearing
those two words. His father made his mother cry. That’s all he understood.
Whenever his father was mentioned, his mother became sad.

He
hated seeing his mamma sad.

Turning
back to the piano, Calisto pressed onto the keys again with two fingers,
playing the notes faster the second time around. He didn’t miss a single one.

“Well
done,” Camilla said. “You’re a natural, Cal.”

“He’s
very talented, but it’ll do him no good to have delicate hands, Cam.”

Camilla
stiffened at the new presence. Calisto straightened on the bench at the sound
of his uncle’s voice. He spun so fast on his seat that he nearly toppled over
the large books his mother had used to sit him on to make him higher.

“
Zio
!” Calisto
shouted.

Affonso
stood in the entryway of the music room with a wide smile. “Calisto, my boy.
Come here and stop playing around. We’re busy men, we have things to do.”

Calisto
felt his mother’s arms tighten around his middle for a brief second. It was
almost like she didn’t want to let him go. Then, just as quickly, she kissed
the top of his head.

“We’ll
practice more later,” she told Calisto.

Calisto
was already jumping off the bench, out of his mother’s arms, and toward his
uncle. Affonso was waiting with a hand open and outstretched. Calisto took it,
feeling the golden ruby ring on his uncle’s pinky finger when he grabbed
tightly to the digit.

“Cam?”
Affonso called.

Calisto’s
mother didn’t turn around after she closed the piano up. “Yeah?”

“Do
you want to—”

“No,”
his mother interrupted before Affonso could even get the question out.

Calisto
was too interested in finding out what his uncle was going to do with him today
to think about why his mother seemed sad again.

“Come
on,
zio
,”
Calisto demanded, pulling on Affonso’s hand.

“All
right. We’ll go. I’ll see you later, Cam.”

“Sure,
later,” his mother echoed.

“I’m
sorry for intruding on your lesson,” Affonso said as he turned to leave.

Camilla
laughed tiredly. “You’ve been intruding for his whole life, Affonso. Why stop
now?”

Calisto
finished the piece with a deep ache settling over his fingers and in his knuckles.
It had been a while since he played something as difficult as one of his
father’s works. It wasn’t long enough to make his hands hurt after playing,
however.

It
wasn’t a physical pain.

It
was emotional.

Far
down in his gut, embedded in his bones, and woven into his very person.

It
would never leave.

Calisto
could forget about it for a short time. He could pretend like it wasn’t there
and use his distance and disinterest as a way to keep it at bay, but it always
came back.

Those
memories, ones of his mother that tied into her past with his father, were ones
that Calisto tried to stay away from as much as possible. His childhood had
been mostly happy despite his father having died, but it still tainted the
edges of his memories with a dark, black color.

The
resounding claps brought Calisto out of the daze he was in. Carefully, he slid
the top back down over the ivory keys and pressed his hand on the glossy wood.

A
thank you of sorts.

An
apology, mostly.

Hopefully,
his mother knew.

Standing,
Calisto offered the Sorrento family and their guests a smile. “There, something
for you.”

“You’re
very good,” Minnie said.

“Thank
you.”

“Who
taught you to play?” Emma asked.

Calisto
found her with his gaze, wondering if he should answer truthfully. “My mother.
She loved the piano, and she wanted me to love it, too.”

Before
anyone could question him further, Calisto excused himself for what he said was
a bathroom break. Really, he just needed a second to breathe alone.

He
was always alone now.

Calisto
imagined that must have been how his mother felt, too. Even when she was
holding him.

Calisto

Lighting
up a cigarette, Calisto inhaled a hefty drag and let the smoke soothe his
frayed nerves. It wasn’t like him to be so jumpy and anxious. He didn’t know
how to deal with the onslaught of confusion swirling in his mind.

The
Mercedes stereo blasted hard rock into the car. Calisto closed his eyes, leaned
back in the seat, and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in time
with the music. It was nothing like his mother had enjoyed. She preferred blues
or jazz. Something with emotion soaking every note and lyric. Something she
could dance to.

Calisto
needed to get out of his head.

Opening
his eyes, Calisto surveyed the house just four doors down. He had arrived a
little late to the dinner, and no parking spots were left for him to use in the
Sorrento family driveway. He’d parked further down the street.

He
hadn’t gone back into the dinner party before leaving the house. Twenty minutes
had already passed. Calisto hoped no one noticed his absence and came looking
for him. Wining and dining didn’t hold his interest.

Not
tonight.

Ducking
his head down, Calisto took another puff off his cigarette, tossed it out the
window, and then massaged his temples. At least he could say he was cutting
back by smoking less of a cigarette at a time.

That
was something.

Right?

A
knock on the passenger side window nearly made Calisto jump out of his seat. He
found a stony-faced Emma peering in through the darkly tinted glass. She folded
her arms over her chest, waiting.

Sighing,
Calisto unlocked the door. Emma climbed in without a word.

“Party
over?” he asked.

“No.”

“What
are you doing out here then?”

Emma’s
gaze jumped to him in an instant, and Calisto could practically feel it cut
into his soul. Her worry was as clear as glass to him. Maybe she had taken note
of his desire to exit the dinner party after playing the piano.

Calisto
didn’t want her to worry.

Not
about him.

He
might like it too much.

“I
could ask you the same thing,” Emma said.

“I
wanted a smoke.”

“You
said you were going to the bathroom twenty minutes ago.”

“Don’t
you have your own business to look after?” Calisto asked, sharper than he
intended.

Emma
didn’t even blink at his attitude. “Is it me?”

“Is
what you?”

“Whatever
is wrong with you right now, Calisto. Your nastiness and your irritation. Is it
because of me and what happened?”

Calisto
frowned. “No.”

Emma
cocked a brow, but didn’t say a word. Just her look alone was enough to make
him correct his statement.

“Not
entirely,” he said. “It’s still none of your concern, Emmy.”

“You
should start calling me Emma. Might as well get used to it before we get to New
York.”

Calisto
scoffed. “Why?”

“Because
Affonso doesn’t like Emmy.”

“I
told you already, you’re sorely mistaken if you think I give a good goddamn
what that man likes,
Emmy
.”

Emma
smiled slyly, but turned her head away to where Calisto couldn’t see her face
anymore. “The party got loud after they moved from the dining room to the
living room with more wine. I’m not in the mood to listen to drunk people
tonight. I don’t even think they noticed that I slipped out when no one was
looking my way.”

Calisto
chuckled. “Bad girl.”

“Thank
you, by the way.”

“For
what?”

“Playing
the piano and taking the attention away from me. I could have played, but I
don’t like to all that much. I used to practice and have recitals when I was
younger because my father wanted me to. I didn’t enjoy it.”

“It’s
fine. Don’t mention it.”

Literally
, he held back
from adding.

Emma
didn’t let it go. “You didn’t seem to like it much either.”

“I—”

“But
you play like a pro,” she finished, cutting him with yet another one of her
looks.

“As
I said inside, my mother taught me to play when I was a boy.”

“You’re
very good for someone who only played as a child.”

“I
never said that.”

Emma
glanced down at her lap. “When was the last time you played?”

“Shortly
before I came out here. I tuned a piano for a friend of mine, and played a bit
to make sure everything was perfect.”

“Before
that?”

“What
are you digging for?” he asked.

Emma
shrugged. “Curious.”

“Well,
stop it. There’s nothing to find.”

Nothing
he was willing to share.

“I’ve
never heard that song before,” Emma noted quietly. “The one you played, I mean.
Did you compose it?”

Calisto
laughed. “No. I’m not that talented. I may understand how to play and be able
to pick up a tune easily enough, but I can’t write music.”

“But
it is an unpublished, unrecorded piece.” Emma turned in the seat, watching him
with a burning glint lighting up her green eyes. “I may hate playing the piano,
but I do like to listen to it. And like I said, I’ve never heard that before. I
was curious who it belonged to.”

“My
father,” Calisto said, wishing his chest wasn’t as tight as it was. “He
composed the piece.”

“And
your mother taught it to you.”

“Yes.
What does it matter?”

“Curious,”
Emma repeated. “You never mention them. Not with any depth. And then I see you
with the piano, treating it with kind hands, and I had to wonder about it all.
It helped that Maximo mentioned he knew your father had played the piano before
his death. I might have drawn a few conclusions.”

Irritation
simmered below Calisto’s skin. “So, you assumed the piece had come from my
family, came out here to pester me about it, and tricked me with a few
questions to get me to admit to it? What is the point in that?”

Emma’s
smile faltered. “I just wanted to know more. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“There’s
nothing to know. My father played, he taught my mother, and she taught me.”

“Does
it remind you of them?”

“Leave
it alone, Emma. Please.”

Emma
nodded, and rested back in the seat with a soft exhale. “I used to dance when I
was younger, and then when I was a teenager. Ballet, actually. My grandmother
was a ballerina. My dad’s mother, not my mom’s.”

“So?”

“So,
I grew up on her knee learning about ballet, seeing pictures of her in her
costumes and whatever else. I stopped dancing when I was seventeen.”

Calisto
looked over at Emma, taking notice of the way her lips turned down at the
corners and her hands balled in her lap. “Why seventeen?”

“My
father told me ballet was an unimportant goal for me in the end. I never really
understood why he felt that way until the whole marriage thing came up. It
makes sense now.”

“Doesn’t
explain why you quit.”

“My
grandmother died,” Emma said. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my family is
very materialistic. Being wealthy and significant is more important to them
than anything else. It was more important to them than giving me time and
attention while I was growing up.”

“Your
grandmother gave that to you instead.”

“Yeah.
Ballet didn’t quite feel the same after. I was happy to give it up. My father
was happy I gave up on a dream he didn’t support.”

“Win-win,”
Calisto muttered.

“Apparently.”
Emma lifted a single shoulder like it didn’t make a difference. Calisto could
tell by the wetness coating her lashes that it made every difference to her.
“Anyway, my point is that it’s nice you’re able to keep something close to you
that reminds you of your parents without it hurting you. I wish I had the same
thing for my grandmother.”

“It
does hurt me,” Calisto said before he could stop himself.

He
wanted to take the words back immediately.

Emma
stilled in the passenger seat. “Then why play?”

To
remember.

To
punish himself.

To
apologize.

“For
a lot of different reasons,” Calisto settled on saying. “But tonight, I played
so that you wouldn’t have to. You didn’t seem comfortable. I didn’t think you
wanted to have everyone looking at you after what happened. It was a small
sacrifice.”

“But
you hurt now,” she said, seeming confused. “Don’t you?”

“But
you didn’t have to.”

For
Calisto, that was all that mattered.

Turning
his head, Calisto stared out the opened driver’s window. He wondered if anyone
had noticed that both he and Emma had left the dinner party without a goodbye.
He supposed it didn’t make a difference.

Calisto
didn’t mind Emma’s presence disturbing his peace, either.

“Calisto?”
Emma asked softly.

“Hmm?”

Her
hand rested on his thigh, and Calisto jerked in the seat at the innocent touch.
The problem was, her touch couldn’t be innocent at all. Not with the way he
currently felt, the things he had done, or the lines he had already crossed
with a mighty “fuck you.” He hadn’t been expecting it, and he didn’t even hear
Emma move in her seat.

Calisto
barely had the chance to spin around and face Emma again before her mouth
pressed against his. It was soft at first, smooth like her plump lips, and then
her fingers dug into his leg like she was demanding something from him.

He
didn’t know what it was.

Instinctively,
Calisto wanted to push her away. He wanted to kiss her back, too. The crazy
side of his brain won, the side that listened to his selfish wants and not his
needs.

Or
maybe he needed it, too.

Calisto
didn’t know.

But
he did grab onto Emma’s dress. He fisted the fabric around his taut knuckles,
and pulled her a little closer. His tongue swept the seam of her lips, wanting
more, needing to be deeper, seeking her heat and taste.

A
little wouldn’t hurt, right?

Just
a little more.

Emma
sighed a sweet sound, giving into his unspoken demand by parting her lips.
Calisto took the offering for what it was, kissed her harder, and let his
tongue war with hers until she was gasping for air. Pulling away enough to
catch a breath, Emma tipped her head up and hummed.

Calisto
couldn’t help himself but lean forward and kiss her chin.

He
was fucking stupid.

Why
did she make him so
stupid
?

“I
should go in and say goodbye,” he heard Emma say.

Calisto
was too distracted by the flimsy fabric of her dress in his hands. A little
pull with just enough strength and he knew that the dress would rip. She was
close, and he could grab her around the waist before pulling her into the
backseat.

The
windows were tinted.

No
one would see.

A
little more wouldn’t hurt.

“Calisto,”
Emma said.

His
name in her mouth sounded divine. He would bet his bottom dollar that it would
sound even better if she was bent over something sturdy, stretched full of his
cock, and screaming his name to the heavens.

“Calisto.”

He
met her gaze, unsettled and unsure.

“Yeah?”
he asked.

“I
should go in and say goodbye.”

“You’ll
see them in New York.”

Emma
wet her lips, drawing in his attention to that pout of hers. “I meant for the
evening.”