Tangled In Strings

Chapter One

"Giovanni!"

"Scarlett!"

"How long has this been going on? Any comments on the statements you made six months ago shutting down the rumors of the affair?"

"Scarlett! How does Officer Routh feel about your relationship? Any comments on his heroic feat three days ago?"

"Giovanni!"

A timid host perches the door ajar, anxiously eying Jimmy as he sets his body like a wall between us and the persistent crowd outside. The restaurant is surrounded, and even shielded behind fiberglass windows, the paparazzi can be heard within, disturbing the calm ambiance of elegant Thai cuisine. As we pass through the aisle, we are watched closely, as we have been all night.

"Always a pleasure, Mr. Martinelli. Please come again soon," the host tells us with forced exuberance as we approach the exit, and Giovanni, who had been walking behind me, strides further until he's in front of me. Jimmy can be seen forcing the pesky photographers back to make a slim beeline for the car, which he already pulled up to the front.

Giovanni's hand slides into mine. "Goodnight, Mr. Anuwat."

The volume of their chatter crescendos into a roar the minute we are out the door. The night is stickily humid, the infamous New York Summer upon us in full force. The thin fabric of my cocktail dress sways in the wind, the slender straps settled onto my shoulders. I'm struck with a flushing heat wave, overwhelmed by the noise.

"Scarlett! Giovanni!"

"How long have you been dating? How long has this been going on?"

"Is it love?"

Is it love...

My demure gaze drifts up from my sling-back sandals to drink in the towering man leading me across the sidewalk. His jet black hair rakes down to his wide-set shoulders, ending just before his cream-colored linen suit begins. Custom made to fit his unusually large body, the material hangs just enough to grant a glimpse of the perfection that is concealed beneath. As if he can feel my eyes, he turns. I'm burned with just a look, left in awe by a man oozing awareness, so completely sure of his dazzling sensuality.

He manages a sweet balance of primitive masculinity and gentle docility, which makes him utterly fascinating to study. He seems to shine, even in the dim light; his natural tan radiates a glow that shouldn't be humanly possible to acquire without a day under the sun's rays. And yet, he does nothing to be so alluring. His eyes, so brown they seem black, bore into my own, a hint of a smile spreading across his full dark lips, lips of a true Italian man. I appraise him greedily, noting the sharpness of his features, the arch of full brows, the trimmed stubble scattered across a jaw that could cut through skin.

"Giovanni!"

"Step aside," I hear Jimmy snap to the shuffling crowd as Giovanni turns back to face front. His hand tugs me towards him to guide me to the car door Jimmy is holding open. I climb in, sliding across the leather, and Giovanni takes a seat beside me.

The flashes continue as Jimmy moves around the car, which sends the masses that were being held back surging towards the windows. After days of this, ever since the kiss at the crosswalk, we've been hounded day and night, at all hours. The radio croons soft jazz as we sit, watching Jimmy, red-faced, hop into the front seat.

My lips press together.

Tension radiates off us all as Jimmy starts the vehicle, easing us out of the parallel park into the street. The hollers echo as we drive further away from the restaurant, escaping the madness.