Novel - Drama Chapter 70 (Aliyana)
Chapter 70 (Aliyana)
“Don't give me that fucking bullshit. Where the fuck were you Aliyana?” Who the fuck does he think he
is? He has no right to ask me questions.
I shrug, “I have been standing here, in the garden for the last ten minutes.” I finish as his angry snarly
face looks down at me, blocking the suns rays with his broad shoulders. Shoulders I have imagined
naked, wondered how the flesh of it will feel under my fingers. Shoulders that were supposed to be
mine to touch.
Camilla Moretti doesn't have to wonder. That thought has my impassive face, twitching in what I know
looks like a fuck you look.
“Don't push me little girl, answer the question.” His voice is clipped, but I know he won't hurt me. Not
here at least.
I want to tell him I wasn't a little girl when he had his hands on my body, his tongue in my mouth. But
my words tend to die. Why fuel an already burning flame?
“I had plans.” Meetings to tend to.
The heat from his body is felt on the naked flesh of my arms as he stands way too close. His cologne
intoxicating. My distressed paint covered denim shorts and loose vest isn’t the best choice of clothes.
But then, I didn’t really care what I was putting on earlier. I am not the betrothed.
“Don't fuck around with me Aliyana, Deno phoned you. You just didn't give a fuck to answer. I needed
you here.”
He is so close. Too close.
“And what you need is so important? What about what I need? I am glad I didn't pick up the phone, I
am even happier that you are engaged to Camilla. I will thank her when I see her, she saved me from
being subjected to your pathetic company,” I snap and march toward the other part of the garden.
Right now, I wish he would be anywhere else besides here, with me.
His fingers grip my forearm and he pulls me toward him. Air leaves my lungs and my knees lock as his
arm wraps around my centre. It's a possessive move. The way my back is plastered to him is a sign of
ownership. He proposed to her, not you Aliyana.
“Let. Me. Go,” I bite out as I struggle.
My short legs and body are no match for his. I hate it.
“I hate you fucking asshole, cunt, motherfucking liar as…”
Marco nips my ear, hard and I instantly freeze as the air from his breath keeps me in a standstill.
Am I dreaming? Did he just...
“Did you just bite me?” I say it in a whisper, half-shocked, half unbelieving.
“Yes and I will do it again, if you ever fucking talk to me like that. Do you understand?” He clips out and
I want to do him bodily harm but he must sense my intentions because his arms tighten around my
torso.
“It’s a moot point, I don't want to see you ever again.”
He chuckles, “Too bad we don't get what we want.”
“Let. Me Go,” I snap again.
“No, you fucked up yesterday. I wanted to talk to you, and explain shit. You didn't even fuckin’ look at
me. Deno called you so we can talk in private. But you didn't give a fuck.”
“I was busy, now let me go.”
He places a warm hot closed mouth kiss on my neck.
“I am not one of your fuck boys.”
“You are right, you are an asshole,” I say it with as much loath as I can muster up, making sure I
pronounce the words properly. I am not one to lose my temper but when I do, I make sure I go all out.
“It is time we spoke about the future and you understand your part in it.”
“Like what? How I am going to kick your ass? Or the fact where my part in my future has jack to do with
you?”
“I don't remember your mouth so big! What happened to the scared little cub on the roof top?”
“Must be the old age kicking in. I hear dementia runs in your bloodline; you should get yourself checked
out.”
“Be careful Mezzosangue,” He whispers and I shudder in mock terror as his breath tickles my ear.
“I have nothing to say to you Marco Catelli.” My words are soft, bitter and even I don't believe them.
He lets me go and I turn to face him, partially in shock that I was seconds ago in his arms and that kiss.
He must see my confusion because his black eyes are looking at me right now as though he has only
realized I am standing in front of him. Why now. He is engaged, now he wants to talk.
“What do you want from me?” The question is as doubtful and full of everything I want to say but don't
as I stare at his chiselled face. His jaw is square, with a shadow of hair dusting his slight sunken
cheeks. His mouth, tightened in a firm way. Hard.
Not luscious and soft. I know the punishing kiss it gives because I have experienced it. His eyebrows novelbin
are thick and give him a sinister look when he arches the one.
“What happened yesterday?” His voice is low as it was when he whispered in my ear a few moments
ago. So easy it is for him to change his emotions.
“Ren said that yesterdays were meant to be thought of months after we lived todays. I always told him
it didn't make sense. He insisted it did. I finally get it. What happened yesterday isn't important.”
“He never talked about Chicago much. But you, he loved you. He told me about his days in this very
garden. The hours you spent here with him while you painted and he talked knowing you only heard
half of what he said. You were his missing piece.”
I smile, my body not calming even at a fond memory of a friend who didn't deserve the end he got. My
best friend, partner, teacher and my calmness.
“Why would you think that? All he ever loved and saw was Diamond. He was my brother in all sense of
the word apart from blood, but love, no, he didn’t love me.”
“He did,” Marco says with such conviction that if I were someone else I would have believed the lie.
“Do you know when I was in Chicago and he joined me on the roof top, he took one look at me and
said, I am going to call you Yana. It was coincidence that my name is Aliyana. Ren was family, but
family isn’t always loved, he said that to me once.”
Marco moves to stand next to me, hands in his slacks, just like before, only now we are standing so
close, but that wall that separates us is impenetrable.
“Yana Banana.” He breaks the silent sound with familiar words.
I tug my lips, yana banana
“Hah, it has been a while since anyone called me that.”
“Ren died loving Diamond, but he loved you too. He said his Yana was more special to him than the
days of his life all wrapped in one.” Marco's words hits me in the chest, and I turn my head to look at
his tall form. He is surreal, the length of him, that face with those black eyes that burn so hot,
sometimes I think about it and swear I could taste the fire in my mouth, smell the burn around my
soul.