Ivy's Twisted Vine Redux Latrivia Nelson (best selling autobiographies .txt) 📖

You aren’t doing anything.” He looked around the room dramatically. It was amazing just how sheltered Ivy had been.

“This is something.” Ivy giggled. “You don’t indulge in candlelight dinners with total strangers when you’re engaged. Well, we’re not technically engaged anymore, but you know what I mean. If we were…”

“But I’m not a total stranger. And you do engage in candlelight dinners, and dancing, and everything else that makes you happy before you marry. It’s not like you can do it after you’re married. Right?” Nicola said playing the devil’s advocate.

“Wrong, it’s cheating,” Ivy said sincerely, her angelic wings flapping behind her.

“It’s living,” he tugged at her side. “You’re allowed to experience…experiment before you marry. That’s the whole purpose of dating.”

“Please,” she said shaking her head. He was being preposterous. “To me you are nearly a total stranger. I don’t even know your middle name.”

Nicola didn’t understand how such a question would even matter. “Michael,” he said in a matter of fact tone. “My name is Nicola Michael Agosto. Now, tell me how that makes me any less of a stranger.”

Ivy thought for a moment. He was battling her intellect so she had to give an intelligent response. She bit her lip. “Now you’ve gone from a total stranger, to at least an associate. I know where you work, where you live, your full name and your ethnic background. By the way, what does Agosto mean in Italian?”

“August. My father’s family is from Sicily. Actually, they are from a little town in Western Sicily called Poggioreale. Some time ago, like over a hundred years actually, my family owned a lot of land there. They were farmers. I think that some of them still are. When my father’s family came over they changed their surnames from Agostino to just Agosto. I don’t know why.” Noticing she had a small piece of lobster on her lips he wiped them gently. It caused an awkward moment of sexual tension that they both sensed, but ignored.

“I don’t know much about where we originated from. The line got all mixed up when they arrived in New Orleans.” Suddenly, it sounded funny to say. She giggled. The champagne had not worn off yet. “My mother is Black, and my father is Black. So, I’m Black. But I’m sure that you figured that out.”

“You’re beautiful; that’s about all that I’ve noticed.”

“Daddy’s Creole. His entire family still lives in Louisiana. Mom’s family is from Nashville. They met at TSU.” Ivy tried to fight the buzz of the champagne. “What about religion? Do you have any?” Her words fumbled out, and she laughed when Nicola lifted his eyebrow.

“Yes, I have some religion.” He laughed. She was too cute. “I’m a lapsed-ass Catholic. And you?”

“Umm. Well, I’m sort of lapsed. Although, I lie to my mom, and tell her that I go. But I don’t.” She smiled, embarrassed. “We were raised Catholic, too. Emerald and I went to Catholic schools all of our lives. But my mom is C.O.G.I.C.”

“Oh, you mean those people that wear all those really nice clothes and big hats and do cartwheels during mass.”

“It’s called service not mass,” Ivy said laughing. “And they don’t do cartwheels. They just are filled with the Holy Ghost. It’s no different than going to the club and dancing. Only they…” she caught herself lecturing him and paused. Amazingly, he was actually listening attentively trying to draw an accurate picture in his mind.

“They what?” he asked wondering why she had stopped.

“You really want to hear this?”

“Yeah,” he said urging her to finish her statement.

“Oh, okay. Well, it’s their way of dancing for Christ…praising his name.” She wondered if he followed her.

“I get it.” He said finally. “Brooks is Baptist. I’ve gone with him to church on a few occasions when his Dad invited me for Men’s Day. They are something alike I think.”

“Something,” Ivy said glad that talking about God didn’t make him nervous. She knew that Grey would try to avoid the conversation with her at all cost.

Trying to keep his promise to himself, Nicola looked over quickly for the remote, averting his eyes from hers to the table trying to avoid looking directly at her body. Tempting, Lord. So tempting. “What kind of music do you like? I have it all.” Down boy, he commanded to himself quietly as he got up from the couch.

“Do you have Ron Isley?” she asked playfully. The Isley Brothers were her favorite group when she was growing up. It was all that her mother and father played on Saturday mornings.

“Don’t play,” he said pulling out his favorite album. “Mr. Big era or old school?” He caught Ivy staring at him. “What do you like?” The question had more than one meaning.

“Everything.” Her eyes raced over his body.

The thought made him smile. “I bet you do.” Was she playing with him? “Your food is getting cold,” he said trying to reroute his attention from her ample breast. If she was playing with him, it was working.

“The food really is great,” she said placing her plate beside his on the table.

“Thanks.” He was unaware of Ivy’s own intentions. “I learned how to cook when I came to Memphis.” He put on Atlantis and sat back down on the couch beside her.

“You’re from Florida, right?” she asked picking back up her champagne.

“Yeah, South Beach. I don’t recall telling you that though.”

“You didn’t. I asked Trina.”

“Checking on me, huh?” Nicola nudged her soft side.

“Well, I had to know who I was going to dinner with. You could have been a psychopath.”

“And knowing where I’m from, where I work and my full name tells you that I’m not a psychopath, right?” He loved how protective she tried to be. It was a constant turn on.

“It made me feel better about you.”

“Well then, I am eternally grateful to Trina. Although, I also know she told you that I’m a certified dog.” Nicola raised his brow suggestively.

Ivy laughed. “She did mention it a few thousand times.”

For Ivy, their conversation