• Silva •
—
I will not admit this is a date, but I can't lie about Irisa's allure.
She's delectable with soft skin, a trusting smile, and inquisitive sounds as her small hand sits firmly on the crook of my elbow.
The aroma of bitter wood overpowers her honeyed scent, but it always finds a way back into my lungs as I consciously look for the sweetness.
With her here, I still detest the sultriness. It's better than being away from her, suffering from a maddening itch, and having my temper run wild.
I sit her down, her dress fluttering around her creamy thigh and dainty ankles. The fur coat swallows her as she grins happily, curiosity clinging to the fluttering movement of her lashes while her attention stays on the illuminated podium.
The VIP section oversees the faceless patrons; there aren't many here given this is an invitation-only auction.
The range of items is very different, catering to as many patrons as possible to maximize profit in one night. These auctions don't often happen, but it does stir lots of discreet talks.
An attendant presents an aged bottle of wine. I nod at him, and he unseals the bottle to pop the cork. The unmistakable smell of oak whiff towards me, and it heightens when the swirl of wine pools at the pristine glass' bottom.
"I don't like wine," Irisa whispers with unblinking eyes.
"We're here for me," I say.
She leans on her hand, closing the distance and gazing up at me with such innocent wonder.
She asks too enthusiastically, "Are you going to teach me how to be a wine connoisseur?"
"You wouldn't know counterfeit even if it's in front of you." I take the glass, noting the color under the dim lighting as a bright glow illuminates the man behind the podium.
"You'd be surprised," she retorts. "I have a sharp tongue."
The first taste coats my tongue, and acidity rolls languidly down my throat with slight burn aftermath.
"Then you have one thing in common with an oenophile."
Irisa gasps as she taps her small fingers on her lips. The radiance shining through her eyes seizes my heart in a limbo of lunacy, but incredulity takes control in the back of my mind.
Do I need to call my private doctor?
"Aren't you amazed?" she exclaims giddily.
A dry, reserved reply comes, "At what?"
"Are you always this mean?" she protests, distressed.
"You make me unpleasant." I swirl the glass, rich crimson gliding bewitchingly in the glass.
The auctioneer taps on the podium for everyone's attention, clearing his throat over the microphone and greeting our presence.
The auctioneer is not the man behind the auction, so I can expect the items won't be interesting. I wouldn't have attended this unnecessary event, but I wanted to test out Irisa's intuition.
The first item comes; an old painting that's been missing for several years after someone stole it. Old paintings have a pattern. Being stolen can raise the value, and it's one of the stupidest business tactics I've seen.
Greed and wealth go hand in hand; their symbolic color is green, and both sides benefit from it.
"My landlord just died," she mutters under her breath as her eyes stay on the wine glass.
YOU ARE READING
Silva
Romance"I gave you too much freedom; it won't happen again, little girl." Mafia boss, Silva, wants what he shouldn't have and takes what he can't desire. He should've known. Irisa offsets the brittle balance of diabolical cruelty, but it's a forgivable t...
