My brother huffs. “What do you mean you have a date?”
I roll my eyes and lean back in the bar top chair. “What the hell else could that possibly mean, Paxton?”
He shoots me a displeased look, tosses the cooking towel over his bulky shoulder, and plants his large hands firmly on the counter space across from me. “Cancel.”
“No.”
“Disdire.”
“Still no.”
His fingertips dig deeper into place. “Julez.”
“Paxton.”
Another disapproving grumbles escapes, yet I don’t flinch a muscle.
Unlike everyone else near or around the Paxton Rossi Vortex I don’t give a shit when he gets all caveman angry. There are much more terrifying things than my big brother’s bark. Like his bite. Oh, and dolphins. Dolphins are some of nature’s biggest assholes. I’ll never try swimming with those again.
“I’m telling you, you need to cancel. Right now.”
“And I’m telling you that’s not gonna happen no matter how much you huff and puff and almost blow your own casa down.”
He gives me a short shrug. “I’ll buy us a bigger place.”
“I’m sure Ryann will love that you bought her dream house because you destroyed the one she currently lives in because your sister refused to cancel her date to eat dinner with you.”
“Refused…again.”
There’s no rebuttal from me.
“You always refuse.”
True, but why do I have to change my plans to fit everyone else’s?
“Just like you refuse to commit to coffee with Mamma or grabbing lunch with Papà.”
“What are you, their spokesperson?”
Might as well be. That’s always been Paxton’s self-designated job in our family Peace Keeper. Bond builder. Protector of the Rossi Possi.
“Julez.”
“Look, Paxton. I have a date. There will be other dinners I can attend.”
“Why are you even wasting your time dating?”
If only he knew how true that statement was. I’ve been out with four guys in the past month or so and not one of them kept my interest past the arrival of our appetizers. Can’t believe I have to say this, but American men are some of the most boring on the entire planet.
Who really cares about the mileage you’ve put on your brand new BMW just from driving the back roads to the office?
Paxton returns to his rant. “Didn’t you move back here to spend time la tua famiglia?”
No. And he knows that. Holidays are hard enough sitting around playing the Praise Paxton, Poor Julez game. Spending Christmas with them is taxing enough. All this extra together time may be the actual death of me.
“Don’t you wanna help with il matrimonio?”
My silence remains.
“Get to know your nipote and sister in law better?”
Hattie, Ryann’s seven year old, is something too cute for words, and the way she brings out the old Paxton, the Paxton I grew up adoring and following around because his light shined so bright, is incredible. She gives him new purpose, and he loves it.
Our parents love it.
I love it…
Now, if only he’d do me the courtesy of letting me find and enjoy mine.
“Julez.”
“Why do you keep pushing this subject, Paxton?”
He slowly begins to grind his teeth.
My arms fold firmly across my chest. “Why do you always push this subject?”
His jaw begins to pulse.
“Why do you always turn everything I do or don’t do into a damn problema di famiglia?”
“Because I fucking miss you!”
The impact of the outburst pins me in place.
“Sei la mia sorellina. The only one I’ve got.” His brown eyes grow a pleading glaze. “This is the most frequently I’ve seen you since…”
Even all these years later…even after a couple spent in therapy and dozens of books on how to get past your trauma, neither of us can label that night for what it was. I refer to it as “the nightmare”. Sad that even though the star of it is dead, everything about it still has a way of haunting me.
He swallows the building sorrow. “We’ve spent over a decade at a distance, Julez.”
Quietly, I retort, “I know.”
But unlike him I haven’t hated it. Once the curse of the nightmare was truly lifted, I got to enjoy the roots I had been putting down in the depths of the darkness. I got to go out into the sunlight, and enjoy a life not plagued by my Rossi namesake. I got to build and discover Julia who isn’t a huge fan of Julez.
Julia is smart and sassy. Julez struggled to concentrate.
Julia is proud of her appearance. Julez preferred to hide her figure underneath flowy clothes.
Julia is charismatic. Julez was barely able to fake confidence.
Julia is the person my family doesn’t seem able to properly acknowledge. Julez is someone they’ve never really let go.
“I just want us to be close again.” Paxton’s icy demeanor continues to melt. “Actually close. Not the bullshit I have to keep feeding myself. You’re here…You’re home. I want you to be an active member of my families. The one we grew up with, and the one I’ve built.”
Guilt grabs me tightly by the neck.
It’s not that I don’t love my family…
I just don’t love that I’m not who they want me to be.
“This weekend?” He continues to search for his desired results. “Hattie’s got a Mathlete competition. She’d love for you to be there.”
“Can’t. Have to finalize stage changes for the upcoming runway show.”
“Next weekend? Bart’s hosting dinner at his place. Mamma and Papà are coming over, too. They wanna talk about wedding details, like who’s going to be in it, where it’s going to be, and who’s gonna pay.”
“You pay. You’re a fucking thirty year old attorney with his own firm. You can afford it.”
“I can, but Bart’s demanding he handles everything for his ‘only daughter’. Plus, you know Papà and Mamma are ridicolmente tradizionale about some shit like us getting married in a church by a priest-”
“Papà.”
“And jumping a literal broom at the end of the ceremony.”
My snicker is loud. “Mamma.”
“Hattie is the only one who seems to like that idea.”
“I don’t know. I think it’d be hilarious to watch your big ass jump over a tiny broom. It’d be like watching The Incredible Hulk step over a twig.”
He gives me a sarcastic smirk that brings out more giggles. “Does that mean you’ll come next weekend to dinner and cast your vote alongside Hattie’s?”
The sweet smile I’m displaying starts to fade. “Can’t.”
“Julez.”
“I won’t be here.”
His expression grows skeptical.
“That’s Fashion Week in Doctenn. We’ve got a runway show I have to be there for. The same runway show I have to finalize the plans for this weekend. This is a huge opportunity for me, Paxton. Not only do I have a spot, but a primetime one, on Saturday night in the perfect slot. It’s an hour before the infamous Markay White Show and only two buildings away.”
He unconsciously toys with his tie.
Markay is his favorite clothing designer. The man creates all his favorite suits and ties. He’s a fashion icon that’s only seen once a year like the ghost of fashion past.
“Are you gonna be gone all week?”
“Under normal circumstances, I would be, but we’ve got summer designs that need to be discussed and a building walk through on Thursday I can’t miss. Because I’d been waiting for that to be officially put on the schedule, I’ve been waiting to buy my ticket.”
“Let me put in a call to Wyatt. Check when he’s heading out, and if you can fly with him. He always books a private flight. Too spoiled to fly commercial. Monello…”
The mere mention of his best friend’s name tempts me into glaring.
He is a brat.
And a huge dick.
I waited in the bathroom for ten minutes for him on New Year’s Eve. Ten. Only to wander out and spot him on the dance floor with his arms wrapped around a dainty blonde from behind. His face buried in the crook of her neck. Her hands were leading his downward. The asshole didn’t even have the balls to look me in the eyes and tell me he wasn’t interested anymore. That while I’m cute enough to blow him, he actually prefers to fuck something he can use to pick food out of his teeth with. Something with multiple functions. Needless to say, I was slightly sick to my stomach making the exaggerated excuse that I wasn’t feeling well because I drank too much a tad bit less of a fabrication.
His loss.
Or at least…that’s what I keep telling myself.
Every time he crawls back onto my mind.
Which is way too often.
“He probably wouldn’t mind an extra passenger.”
Instead of arguing how I would rather ride on the wing of the plane than inside near him, I question, “And why exactly is he going?”
“Normally, it’s just to keep his social résumé up to date and fuck international models, but this year he’s actually working.”
“Salad bar duty?”
Paxton chuckles and turns to retrieve something from the oven. “Dessert at one of the after parties, I think.” He removes the garlic bread he was baking. “He travels so much it’s hard enough to remember where he’ll be let alone what the fuck he’s serving.”
Curiosity gets the better of me. “He doesn’t own his own restaurant, or isn’t the star chef at one?”
“Executive chef.” My brother corrects before shaking his head to answer. “And no. Not his style.”
I clamp down on the inside of my bottom lip to prevent from digging for more information.
Paxton isn’t that dense. Too many questions about any one person and his big brother senses start tingling.
A short moment of silence passes as he tastes the red sauce heating on top of the stove. He licks away a droplet that splashed onto his thumb prior to turning back around to state, “I’ll give him a call after dinner. Get you a ride and him to guarantee he’ll keep an eye on you while you’re away.”
I don’t bother stopping myself from sneering. “I don’t need anyone to keep an eye on me, Paxton. Contrary to you and our parents’ belief, I can handle myself.”
His hard face remains unmoved.
“Three years of self-defense classes. Two years of private hand to hand combat lessons and numerous evenings spent at the firing range in various countries.” My head tilts itself condescendingly to the side. “Trust me when I say, I am not some poor defenseless teenager anymore.”
A pained glint hits his eyes at the same time he quietly states, “I know.”
“Then occasionally act like it.”
All of a sudden, a small, cheerful voice squeaks. “Auntie Julez!”
I immediately hop out of my chair and scoop Hattie up into my arms. “Well, hello Miss Hattie Pattie. How is the most gorgeous niece in the whole wide world?”
She giggles, a small blush creeping into her lighter skinned complexion. “Good! Mom, Grandma, and me went to get our fingers painted after school!”
“Oooo,” I overdramatically praise. “Let me see.”
Her tiny fingers spread wide to display the bright neon pink color.
“Love it.”
“Can Dad see?” Pax warmly questions from where he’s standing in the kitchen.
She flashes her hand his direction.
“Beautiful, just like my little girl.”
Hattie giggles and turns her attention to me. “Are you here for dinner?”
“I wish,” I sweetly sigh. “Especially since your dad is making angel hair pasta with Italian sausage, bacon crumbles and zucchini.”
Her eyes grow wide. “And red sauce?!?”
“And garlic bread!”
“That just came out of the oven,” Paxton adds to the conversation.
His daughter squeals, wiggles out of my arms, and races towards the oven where it’s cooling down. Effortlessly, he intercepts her and hauls her up into his grasp. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To the bread!”
He laughs warmly at the same time he presses a kiss to her temple right beside a loose curl. “Can Dad get a hello first?”
They lock eyes, and she beams widely. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hey, Hattie Pattie…”
Their heartwarming moment together tugs at something I didn’t realize lied beneath my surface.
Do I want this someday? Do I want a real family again? Do I want a son or daughter to come rushing into my arms because they’ve missed me? Do I want a husband anxiously waiting to see me the second I walk through the door because he’s been secretly counting the minutes since we parted? Do I wanna risk building something magical that can so easily be yanked away from me all over again?
Do I even have it in me to make those types of lasting relationships?
Am I even capable of connecting with another human for longer than a couple of months?
The clicking of Ryann’s heels across the floor snatches me out of the solemn suffocating spiral I was falling into.
“Hey Julez,” she kindly greets me on her path to kiss Paxton hello.
As predicted a peck doesn’t suffice. He keeps their mouths pressed firmly together while the hand not holding his daughter steals a squeeze of her ass.
Hattie giggles and bangs on his chest. “Come on, Dad! I’m starving!”
Paxton pulls away to give her a suspicious look. “Starving? What’d you have for a snack today?”
“Pretzels,” Ryann promptly informs.
He gags, which makes his daughter nod her agreement.
“I thought you liked pretzels!”
“Pretzel Goldfish, Mom,” Paxton cockily corrects.
His fiancée rolls her eyes at his antics. “Was he like this growing up?”
“Obnoxious or accurate?”
Paxton immediately glares.
“Both.”
“Decisamente.”
Ryann and I engage in a small chuckle.
“I’ll have you both know, I take the job of caring for my girls very seriously. I always have. I always will. Fino alla morte.”
“What’s that mean?” Hattie enthusiastically inquires.
“Until death.”
Ryann plants a sweet kiss on his cheek while I merely smile.
It’s true. Even if it gets to be a bit too much I can never doubt that my brother loves me.
Hard.
Perhaps too hard at times, but I’m fairly certain he’s just trying to make up for lost time.
Stolen time.
Ryann directs her question at me, “Staying for dinner?”
“Can’t. Have a date I should actually head home to get ready for.”
“With Uncle Wyatt?” Hattie joyfully pops in.
Horror starts to appear on my face, yet I wiggle my toes to keep myself from fully displaying it. “No.”
My brother’s expression becomes borderline hostile. “Why would you ask that, Hattie Pattie?”
She innocently beams at him. “Because that’s hers.”
“What?” We croak in unison.
“I have Auntie Eden and Uncle Thatch and Uncle Ian,” she begins to list. “Uncle Holden and Auntie Meena. Uncle Nate and Auntie Ains. Uncle Wyatt and Auntie Julez. Everyone has a match.”
The racing in my chest slowly starts to subside.
Thank God this is just child logic at work and not something like she saw us both leaving that closet at their engagement party.
Paxton’s smile softens. “That’s not exactly how that works, Hattie Pattie.”
Her brow wrinkles in confusion.
“I’m gonna let your dad explain that to you while I get going.”
She pokes her bottom lip outward until I tap it with my index finger. We giggle together, and I hug them each goodbye.
“Text me when you get home,” Paxton commands, placing Hattie down on the ground to walk me to their front door. “Text me when you’re leaving for the date, too. Where are you going?”
“Just dinner.”
“Where?”
“At a restaurant that serves food.”
His glower returns. “Text me if you go anywhere else afterwards.”
“Like a midnight stroll down a dark alley?”
“Non divertente.”
“It was a little funny.”
“Remember to text me again when you get home from your date.” We arrive in front of their door. “I’m expecting you to end up back at your own place and not screw some guy you just met.”
Knowing there’s no use in arguing against either of those points, I simply comply, “I will.”
Before I have a chance to open the door, his hand firmly stops it from opening. “How’d you meet this guy?”
“Oh you know,” I glance up with a playful gleam in my eyes, “at my weekly Fight Club. He was last week’s winner. Wore brass knuckles and knocked out six of the other guy’s teeth. Gave me one as a memento.”
His face doesn’t bother flexing a muscle.
“Used the remaining five to make me a choker.”
No response.
“The letters in between spell ‘Daddy’.”
There’s a small pulse in his jaw letting me know how I’ve gotten under his skin.
“Relax, overprotective, I met him at Happy Hour a couple days ago with Karina. He’s a hotel manager.”
“Name?”
“Not happening.”
He smugly smirks knowing his point has been made clear.
I’m well aware of the skillset his best friend can use at the push of a button. I’m also well aware of the fact that the combination of being cyber intimidated followed closely by physically intimidated will most likely keep any man I meet in this city from lasting more than a couple weeks with me.
I wish the two of them would realize I don’t need any help in avoiding long commitments.
Mastered that art all on my own.
Learned men don’t typically care for women with that type of baggage any more than I care about unfastening it to show them what’s inside.
Paxton opens the door to allow me to exit, then leans against the frame to watch me walk to my car.
Once I’m settled inside my bright red Jeep Wrangler I’m leasing for the next few months, I wave to him to shut the door. He hesitates, but eventually does as instructed. I shake my head and stick the key in the ignition. Just as I prepare to pull out of the driveway, an old beat up Crown Vic with heavily tinted windows slowly cruises by.
My heart pounds a little harder against my chest.
Is that the same car I saw when I first got here an hour ago, or has my brother’s paranoia yet again seeped into my own mind?
I continue to watch the vehicle until it disappears around the corner, turning the opposite direction I will need to.
A long, drawn out breath pushes past my lips.
Ugh.
There’s absolutely no reason to think anyone is following me.
Lurking in the bushes.
Calculating which route I’m taking home.
No one has done that in over a decade.
No one has violated my personal security or penetrated the barbed wires I keep wound tightly around my soul in years.
Furthermore, no one has gotten close enough to be any sort of true threat in any capacity. Considering the one person I was willing to give a chance wants nothing to do with me, I think it’s safe to say, my heart, like the rest of my body, has absolutely nothing to worry about.