39

Callahan
My head throbs in the too-bright sun as I stand on the beach drinking coffee while Cerberus plays in the waves. I need to make some calls today.
Organize our impromptu wedding.
Cerberus runs back to me wind whips my face. It’s a brisk morning. He drops the ball I’ve been tossing for him at my feet and lays down, ready for more.
“You’re quite the guard dog, you know,” I tell him, picking up the ball and throwing it into the waves.
He charges after it and I watch. I love that dog. I love his innocence. The honesty of his existence.
My arm aches. It’s the same one the doctor reset yesterday. I peel back my shirt to glance at the tattoo.
Why I thought I could write a name in script no less at that angle while drunk is honestly beyond me. I shake my head at myself and finish my coffee, unable to resist looking up at her window again.
It’s been empty every time, but she’s there now, her face turned up to the sun. She has her eyes closed as I watch her.
That tattoo wasn’t the only idiotic thing I did last night. I kissed Portia. That’s twice now I’ve done it. The rest of it, tasting her, wanting my dick inside her, that I can classify as sex. I don’t have to overthink it. But kissing her is so fucking personal. And looking in her eyes when I do it is just fucking stupid.
Cerberus barks.
Her eyes snap open and they lock on mine. She’s surprised to see me here, and a moment later, she’s gone from sight.
I rub my face, push my fingers into my hair. I’ve got to get my head on straight. Keep my eye on the goal. On why I’m doing any of this.
Punish those who had a hand in the murders of my family.
Period.
Destroy Fernando Mancini.
Period.
Put him in an early grave.
Period.
The end.
If I let myself get caught up in Portia Esmeralda and how good she tastes when I kiss her, how she feels and sounds when she comes, it will weaken me. Her uncle saw it last night. Just read it right on my face when I saw her standing there in that dress, looking like she didn’t belong here on earth.
The chopper’s blades cut into the morning.
I look up at it, see my uncle in profile. I feel nothing at the sight of him.
Should I feel something?
Without looking away I whistle for Cerberus who comes running out of the water, standing a little too close to shake off the excess.
“Come on,” I tell him as we head to the kitchen door.
“She refused breakfast,” Lenore says from the sink, giving me a sideways glance.
“Hunger strike. It’s what she does.”
She turns off the tap, picks up a towel and turns to me as I lift the espresso pot to pour myself another cup of coffee.
“Why don’t you take some coffee up at least.”
“I’m not her servant.”
“Don’t be stubborn,” she tells me and shoves a second cup toward me.
“Fine.”
She nods, pleased with herself, I guess.
“I’m only doing it because I need to talk to her about the wedding anyway.”
“Sure, Callahan.” She doesn’t say it sarcastically, but I hear her.
Lenore knows me well. Better than anyone else. “Do you want me to show your uncle into the study?”
“No. Keep him here. Put Cerberus with him.”
She nods, grins because she knows how much Cerberus likes my uncle. “It’s good you’re going to ask Father Michael to perform the ceremony. Your parents would be pleased.”
Father Michael married my mom and dad too.
Without a reply because I don’t know how to reply, I walk out of the kitchen, leaving Cerberus to have his breakfast.
I’m not sure what to expect this morning. That’s the thing with her. I never know what to expect. She’s unpredictable to the point of being reckless. I’m surprised she survived Fernando considering his temper, but I guess her brothers stood between him and her. Hell, I don’t know how she survived them.
I get upstairs to find Alec standing outside her door and the sound of women talking inside.
They’re speaking in Italian so it’s probably the women doing her hair and makeup.
“Where’s the cousin?”
“End of the hall in one of the guest rooms.” The house is coming together slowly, one room at a time.
“Good.” Pushing the door open, I stop to take in the scene.
Portia’s wearing a robe standing with her arms folded across her chest obviously refusing something. She doesn’t have a stitch of makeup on and her hair hangs in loose waves down her back. She looks pissed. Again.
“What’s the problem ?” I ask.
They all turn to me and the women start. Portia just watches as they tell me she won’t let them do her hair or her makeup.
I turn to her, raise my eyebrows.
“I can my own hair and put on my own make-up.”
“That’s it? You want to do your own hair and makeup?”
She narrows her eyes, juts her chin out, then nods once.
“Fine.” I turn to the women, thank them for their time and tell them to leave. Tell them they’ll still be paid.
Although irritated, they pack up the few things they’d unpacked and are gone in a few minutes.
I sip my coffee.
Portia eyes the second cup.
“Lenore says you won’t eat. Is this another hunger strike? Because I thought we talked about how effective they are.”
“I remember. You’d have to be of some value for it to work. I know my worth to you, Callahan.”
My jaw tenses. I set her mug on the nightstand. She can drink it or not. I could give a fuck. I need to get this girl out of my head and out of my system. She’s fucking with me.
Tonight will do the trick. Fucking her will do it.
“All right. You got what you wanted. We leave at five this evening. Be ready. And fucking eat something for Christ’s sake.”
“And my cousin?”
“Will walk you down the aisle if you like.”
She appears surprised.
“If you don’t plan on being an idiot about it.”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“No, you’re not but you sure can act like one. Give me your word, Portia. Tell me you’re not going to give me any trouble.”
“Is this all because I told you to stop drinking?”
I take a deep breath in, sip my coffee and count to ten. She is right.
I was the idiot last night.
Not to mention being an asshole to her.
“Are you going to give me trouble or do you want your cousin there tonight?”
“My cousin.” She exhales at last, folding her arms across her chest.
“Good girl.”