Page 13 of Poisoned Promise
At a glance, no one would ever know she has a higher body count than even me.
“Felix?” She spins to face me and clasps her hands together under her chin, her thickly lined eyes sparkling even in the deep-set wrinkles warming her face. “Oh darling! It’s so good to see you!”
Caterina rushes toward me in an instant and clutches at my hand with both of hers.
One quickly rises to my silk tie and she grips it, then jerks me down to her level to plant a slightly sticky kiss on my cheek. “Come in, come in!”
“How are you?”
“Fine, fine.” She waves me away and loops her arm through mine, then she guides me back to where she was standing and casts her other hand in a wide arc. “What do you think? Does it look good here?”
So distracted by her, I failed to notice the new painting hanging in her office.
A full frontal nude portrait of herself stretched elegantly over one of the gold couches in the conservatory.
If it were any other woman, I’d be able to admire it but I can only spare the painting a brief glance before the uncomfortable knot in my gut tightens.
“It’s a statement.”
“You’re not looking at it,” Caterina insists, tightening her grip on my arm. “Don’t you think it’s beautiful?”
I glance again.
As beautiful as the piece is, there’s something very awkward about staring at the naked body of your best friend’s mother. “Beautiful, yes. The painter did a fantastic job.”
“Of course he did,” Caterina beams. “Look at what he had to work with.”
“You are divine, Caterina, it is true.” I meet her sharp gaze and a prickle of warmth streaks down my spine.
“And yet you cannot admire me?” She cocks her head and one long, sparkling earring trails across her shoulder. “Does the female form intimidate you?”
“Not at all.”
“Then is it me?” She presses her hand against her chest as she leans in to me. “Am I too old for you?”
Caterina, as sweet as she seems, is the sharpest blade in the drawer.
Her sweetness is merely a mask for the dark bitterness that exists underneath, and one wrong move will make me her target.
“It’s not that either,” I reply, patting her hand and stepping back until we’re no longer torso to torso. “You know that to me, you will always be Nico’s mother. Nothing more.”
Whatever anger at my rejection could brew beneath the surface is immediately quelled by the onslaught of grief that overtakes her.
Her face crumples and her gaze drops to the floor.
“Yes,” she says heavily, briefly squeezing my elbow. “I suppose that is true. What I would give for my son to be here with us now.” A final squeeze and she steps away from me, swaying back and forth as she heads for the couch resting across from the fireplace. “I have more money than I’ll ever be able to count, men who would kill for me just with a glance, more businesses than anyone before me. I’m the most powerful woman in New York…”
She makes it to the couch and sinks down onto the cushions.
“And none of it can bring my baby back.”
Fifteen years isn’t enough to dull the pain of loss, and anyone who says otherwise is a liar.
When someone is part of your life from as young as you can remember, that bond stays with you and aches like an open flame when it’s ripped apart for no reason.
“I miss him too. Every day.” Following her, I choose the seat angled across from her to spare any further awkward advances. As many as there are, I can’t hold it against her.
She’s as lonely as she is dangerous.
