Chapter 9: Boundaries

Alessandro’s pov:

Today, the sun is shining brighter than usual. The rays of the sun plant themselves on her beautiful face. Her facial features are sharp...Just like her tongue. “Eyes off of me, Mr. Bianchi,” she whispers. “Just trying to get even. You were ogling me yesterday,” I tease her. She doesn't deny it, but rather walks into the bathroom.

Yesterday, when her tender fingers stroked my rough chest, my heart pounded like never before. It was rather odd. I lay in bed, hearing her fill the tub, drop her clothes to the floor, and sit herself down in the bathtub. She hums a tune as she plays with the water. I want to walk in on her and…My phone rings and breaks me out of my trance. 

“Alessandro, you’re alive?” Harlow chuckles. “Pretty much,” I scowl. “Sorry for the smoke bomb brother, it was a borderline mistake,” he says. “I’m over it,” I say as I cut the call. “Alessandro, what happened yesterday?” Amber asks walking out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel covering her fine body.

“Yesterday?” I ask as my eyes trail on her body. She points to the scar on my chest. I say, “A smoke bomb was dropped near me while I was…Fighting a man, and he dragged a dagger across my chest because my vision was blocked with smoke.” She sits down next to me; dangerously close to me. Her hands slowly trace my scar.

Her touch is so soft, that I can’t feel it on me. “Is this what life is like for you?” She asks flashing disappointment in her eyes. “You know the answer to that,” I tell her. She sighs and walks into the closet. I re-dress my wound and head to my investigation room.

I make sure to lock the door before entering. I ring Ken. “Did you gather information about the last lead?” I ask him, a glint of hope shimmering in my voice. “I hate to break it to you, but, he’s not the one,” Ken says. I slam the table in front of me. “But I found out some credible details,” Ken continues, “That night when you were chained with shackles, do you remember seeing a blonde man with sunglasses?” I say, “No, I don’t.” 

“Well, the man was there, his name is Yeon Mang, you should question him about the incident, he will surely know more about this,” Ken tells me, “But there’s a catch. He only attends art shows, so do what you can with that information. Also, congratulations!” 

“What for?” I ask. “You’re married to Amber Williams,” he says. “Yeah, okay,” I cut the call. An art show…That can work. I note down the details about the man as Ken sends me an email about it. I need to catch hold of the man who murdered my father. He cannot live out there with his head held high in the sky. It was my last vow to my father, and I will live up to it, no matter the consequences. 

I hear a knock at the door. “Alessandro, let me in,” a stubborn Amber says, “It’s my day off and I’m bored.” I open the door and step out without letting her set foot into the room. “Boundaries, Amber, boundaries,” I scoff. “BoUnDaRies,” she mocks me. “Your art show is on Friday,” I say as she sits down at the table. “I didn’t ask for a reminder,” she says cutting into her stack of pancakes with a fork. “I am going to invite a few people,” I tell her. “Sure, do as you please, oh, wait, you do that anyway,” she says stabbing her fork into the stack of pancakes. 

I walk up to her and take a bite of the pancake from her fork. She is frozen in place as I wet my lips right in front of her eyes. I whisper in her ear, “That tastes good.” She gulps. I sit right next to her. She continues eating, avoiding eye contact. “Which school does Bianca go to?” She asks. “A private school downtown,” I say. “The name,” she demands. “Global Pros School,” I tell her. “Did you make it up?” She asks me, her brows raised in shock. “I wish I did,” I say, “But it’s the best one in this city.” She laughs to herself.

“So, do Bianca and Harlow live here?” She asks. “Harlow lives a few miles North from here, but he drops by whenever he feels like,” I let her know, “Bianca will live here for another month until she’s off to another city for higher studies, and after that, we will have the house all to ourselves.” She licks the honey drizzling from her lips seductively, teasing me.

My eyes are hypnotized by her tongue as she moves it gently and slides across her delicious lips. I want a taste. I lean in and take my sweet time cleaning all the honey off her lips with mine, tenderly. She cups my cheek as my lips brush against hers. My hands rest on her thighs which are tightly pressed together. I push her hands off my face as I continue tasting her lips. The honey is gone, but the sweet taste still lingers on her lips. I hesitantly pull away from her embrace, and whisper in her ear, “You taste better.”

Then, I walk away from her rosy cheeks. Leaving her there, craving my lips even more. But, it is me who wants another taste. Time passes quickly as I make calls so the invitation reaches Yeon. When the clock strikes 6 p.m., I find myself searching for Amber. She is seated in the backyard…Her paintbrushes and the palette? Yeah, the palette laying on the fresh grass. The hard wooden back supports her as she makes some wonderful designs on the canvas. 

The way her eyes glitter when she is proud of herself and how she frowns when the brush strokes a little too hard on the canvas are amusing to watch. I could sit here all day long, admiring this piece of art; Amber Bianchi. I startle her as I slide the glass door. “Sorry,” I say. “Did THE Alessandro Bianchi just apologize to me?” She asks. “I take it back,” I say.

Her eyes are set on the canvas. “Want to try?” She asks with sheer excitement. I want to say no, but I can’t, she compels me to say yes. “Sure,” I say. She places a fresh canvas for me. I turn on the fairy lights that Bianca had put up a few years ago when everything was normal. “Here’s how you start,” Amber guides me graciously. She adjusts her small frame in between my arms, and she presses her back against my body. “Now, focus,” she says.

Easier said than done, I think to myself as she moves in certain ways to drive me crazy. Nevertheless, we successfully finish my first art lesson after two whole hours. “Good job, the crown looks great!” She exclaims as she places my painting next to her marvelous bunch. Mine looks like that of a two-year-old compared to hers. “How was your experience, Mr. Bianchi?” She asks with a sparkle in her eyes.

“Harder than expected…” I tell her in all honesty. “Well, it wasn’t bad for your first try,” she says. “It was not my first try,” I say, “I have painted before.” She is surprised. “Show me!” She exclaims. “Someday, I will,” I tell her before walking away from the yard. As I walk to the dining table, my mind wanders to the good old days with my...I cut that flow of thought and eat dinner with Amber. We don’t converse, the silence was pleasing. Then, I head to bed as she goes back to her work. 

“Alessandro..” I hear him say. We’re standing on top of a snow-cap mountain. He is holding my hand and teaching me how to mix the colors and find the perfect shade to match the blue skies. I then try to do it on my own. We converse in Italian. “Great job, Alessandro,” he says. “Thank you, papa,” I say. 

My eyes open and I peak at the bold moonlight. For the first time in years, I have had a pleasant dream involving my father. It felt great…I turn around and see that the other half of the bed is still empty. I walk out of the room and straight to the backyard. There, I see Amber lying on the hard wooden panels, at the tip of her fingers lies one of the most beautiful creations I’ve ever seen.

It’s Bianca’s face painted on the canvas.