𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 ( 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐎𝐧𝐞)

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 - 𝐒𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐨

𝐈'𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫.
~𝐑𝐚𝐩𝐡 𝐁𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢~

𝐋𝐢𝐚

My father's voice, though unfamiliar, was comforting to me. He was there, an inch away from my hand. I could touch him if I were so inclined. I did not; touching him would mean I was afraid, unsure, or terrified, part of which was true.

I stood erect, my hands on my back beside him, my eyes roaming around the men seated around the vast table, reading each of their expressions, stopping at Carrie Verratti standing against the wall between two of her grandfather's men.

The room was full of testosterone; Carrie and I were the only women. No wonder my father had said gentlemen forgetting we two were present. I would take that with him later; right now, I had a job to do because I knew after this, the three men I loved would have questions for Luc and me.

"I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to attend this Impromptu meeting," my father said. The men nodded, adding incoherent words to accompany the nods. Although I couldn't tell how they perceived him, I knew that more than a few respected him; their men were in awe of him. It was in how they stared at him when he spoke.

"I think it is important to start with introductions. On my right is Luca Bianchi, he is Bruno's son. I know most of you might know him from racing," the men clapped, smiling as they looked at him with revered glances.

"He is doing spectacularly on the track," Don Verratti said, staring at Luc with not only in reverence but admiration too. "Derek Schneider is a pussy, isn't he?"

That brought a reluctant smile to Luc's face, with the room letting out low throaty laughter. I guess it was a consensus that Derek was a pussy, not that I knew him except for what I'd heard from Luca.

There was talk of racing and cars for almost ten minutes before my father stopped it, turning his face to me; a tiny smile tugged across his lips. "This one, on my right, is my daughter Lia." They knew who I was, I could tell, just as my father knew their children and grandchildren. It was their business, in their best interest, to know us as well.

"Has your eyes." Don Verratti mumbled, and the boy there is the spitting image of Bruno." He added, pointing at Luc. Throwing a quick look at him as if I wanted to confirm that, knowing very well I could tell him by his silhouette alone, our eyes met, and suddenly I couldn't look away until he did.

This is the reason I had avoided looking at him. I knew someone might tell we were having sex by just looking at how I looked at him.

I knew I looked at him differently since the first time we slept together few weeks ago. I couldn't help it, but he somehow managed to look so nonchalant it was beginning to piss me off.

Men, especially straight men, are sometimes a different breed. A part of me will always visibly gravitate toward Luc no matter where we are; he, on the other side, will be capable of hiding his feelings for me at will. We are different, and it angers me as much as it Impresses me.

Once we were done with introductions, the men started discussing problems, including financial issues facing each of their families.

When my father first told us we would be attending this meeting, I thought the reason was to introduce us to their world, but it turned out introduction was not the primary core of it. This, I thought as each man spoke of their businesses making losses in the last few months, was a regular, usual confab.