Sharon
Sharon and Vittorio watched the sunset through the wide open double doors from their peach-dressed bed. The chilly breeze drifted in, but they hardly noticed, wrapped up as they were in blankets and in each other. One of the mansion’s staff members had brought them a tray laden with cold cuts of meat, cheese, crackers and fruit, then politely dismissed himself.
“I still can’t believe you grew up this way,” Sharon joked, popping a fat, purple grape into her mouth.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vittorio asked.
“Well,” Sharon explained as she chewed, “you just don’t… I don’t know… seem like the type I guess.”
“Like what type?”
“The super-rich, fancy-boy type,” she teased. “The first time I saw you, I just wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to have servants.”
“Technically, they’re staff. I pay them.” Vittorio argued.
Sharon rolled her eyes at him playfully. “You know what I mean. Just accept the compliment.”
“I will, thank you. Not because you told me to, though,” Vittorio smarted, tearing into a piece of meat. He was ravenous. He hadn’t had a chance to eat anything since that morning when he’d left with Sharon, then he’s spent the afternoon making love to her. Not that he’d change a single detail. He just had that sensation of raw, gnawing hunger creeping up his gut.
Sharon laughed and shook her head. Vittorio was really starting to love the sound of her musical little laugh.
Love, he thought to himself. He was still reeling from Sharon’s mid-sex confession that she loved him and even more so from his reciprocation of her love. Vittorio couldn’t believe that in just two short weeks he’d begun to truly experience love again, after spending years as an unfeeling ghost. Sharon really was turning his life around for the better, to an extent that she probably didn’t even realize.
Vittorio reached over to Sharon a squeezed her ticklish thigh, just to hear her laugh again. She giggled and kicked at him, squealing, “Stop it!”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Vittorio joked, squeezing her even more. “I own you, remember? I can do whatever I want to you.”
“Whatever you want, huh?” Sharon teased him, breathlessly. “You can do whatever you want and you’re choosing just to tickle me?”
Between her laughs and desperate attempts to push him off, Vittorio heard a tentative voice call out, “Sir?”
Vittorio looked up, the member of his kitchen staff stood professionally and stoically in the doorway. “Yeah?” he asked.
“Your early dinner is ready, as you requested.” The man gave him a quaint little nod.
“Thank you. We’ll be down in a few minutes.” Vittorio told him.
“Very good, sir.” The staff bowed his head and left just as quietly as he’d come.
“Ready for dinner?” Vittorio asked Sharon, kicking the blankets off and hunting for his clothes on the floor.
“Oh my god, yes.” Sharon gushed. “I’m starving.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” Vittorio grinned as he dressed himself.
Sharon wriggled into her dark blue pants and pulled on Vittorio’s hoodie. He couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw her. His sweatshirt was longer on her than the dresses most girls wore out clubbing.
The pair made their way down to the formal dining room, a cavernous room lined on all sides with exquisite murals of an old-school Tuscan villa. Women hoisted water jugs over their heads, their shapely bosoms peeping out of artfully sheer bodices. Grapes, vines and leaves adorned every corner in their green and purple glory. A long dining table ran down the center of the great room, the rich wood polished to a stunning gleam. Vittorio took a seat at the head of the table and Sharon plonked down next to him. He noticed her eyes roaming the walls in appreciation of the ancient art.
“My grandma had those commissioned by a guy who was actually from Tuscany,” Vittorio informed her.
“They’re gorgeous,” Sharon gushed. “I feel like I’m sitting inside the painting.”
Moments later, an attentive and professional staff brought out Sharon and Vittorio’s meal, a tender, medium-rare beef roast in gravy with garlic mashed potatoes and perfectly seasoned stalks of green asparagus. Once the dinner had been served and glasses of inky burgundy wine had been poured, Vittorio dismissed his staff with an appreciative nod.
Sharon sipped her dark wine and smiled gratefully. “This is delicious!”
“Knowing my grandmother,” Vittorio informed her, “that wine is probably older than either of us.”
“Is this your grandmother’s house?” Sharon asked delicately.
“Technically, yes.” Vittorio explained. “She and my granddad lived here full time when I was a kid, but after he passed away she started traveling a lot. If I remember correctly, she’ll be back from Paris sometime next week.”
“Does she know you’re staying here?” Sharon inquired, obviously wondering whether Vittorio’s nonna knew she was staying there in her absence.
“Yes, she knows we’re staying here,” Vittorio emphasized. “Hopefully we’ll be out of here by the time she gets back.”
“So… why are we really here?” Sharon kept her eyes carefully on her plate, cutting her beef as she spoke.
“No reason, really,” Vittorio insisted. “Not an urgent reason anyway. I’d been itching to get out here and after I heard about Rocco going sour about you. I figured a trip to the country couldn’t hurt.”
Sharon nodded, accepting his answer. She busied herself with her food and, before long, she’d cleared her plate.
“Do you want more?” Vittorio asked, his mouth full. Thinking that his nonna would definitely disapprove of his terrible table manners, Vittorio covered and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“No, I’m good,” Sharon replied, patting her full belly. “I was just so hungry.”
Vittorio finished his dinner a little slower, but eventually pushed his plate away. Between the red meat, the red wine and the excellent company, Vittorio felt himself begin to truly relax for the first time in months. Maybe even years.
He reached over and grabbed Sharon’s hand across the table, wrapping himself around her long, delicate fingers. She blushed, her rounded cheeks tinting pink as she smiled bashfully at Vittorio. He started to lean closer to kiss her, when he heard a noise from somewhere else in the house.
A door swung open and bashed into a wall. Vittorio perked up, immediately assessing that it sounded like it was most likely the front door. He dropped Sharon’s hand and stood in a tense crouch.
“What’s going on?” Sharon asked, confused.
Vittorio held a finger to his lips, signaling her to be quiet. He crept quietly towards the dining room entrance and heard footsteps clear as day in the hallway, heading right towards them. He balled his fingers into fists, his molars ground against each other as Vittorio readied himself for a fight. He couldn’t totally rule out that one of his crazy relatives had popped by unannounced for a visit, but he needed to be ready for anything.
“Hello?” Vittorio called out. His deep voice echoed down the hall to no response.
There were no longer any sound of footsteps in the house and Vittorio began to wonder if he’d imagined the door crashing in.
“You heard that, right?” Vittorio asked Sharon.
When she didn’t reply right away, he turned around and said, “Babe?”
A man Vittorio didn’t recognize stood behind Sharon, his black-clad arm wrapped around her throat and the muzzle of a gun against her head.