You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Arm...
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Broken Glass Chapter 8
March 14th, 1960
Graceland
Elvis can't sleep. Even after his romp with the little ice skater currently wrapped in his arms, and the lingering exhaustion that never seems to truly go away, his mind and body just won't relax.
He wants to, he really does. It was his hope that sex might do the trick, but instead he just finds himself staring aimlessly above him, uncharacteristically uncomfortable with the girl he is holding in her post-coital bliss. Honestly, all he wants right now is her out of here and back downstairs with all the rest of the Holiday on Ice company he'd invited over for a party. Maybe play in the surprise snowstorm a little.
Greta is a carryover from his time in Germany, a part of the Holiday on Ice troupe he had seen in Frankfurt. There, it was different. She'd been a welcome distraction, and he thought, since she happened to be one of the few from that company who'd come over stateside, that maybe she would prove the same here.
No such luck.
She was fine and all. The sex was fine, but something was...missing. And frankly he feels strange about her occupying your side of the bed, sullying it with her cloying perfume. He makes a note to tell someone to change the sheets before you come in.
And with that thought, he untangles himself despite the girl's disappointed sigh of protest and starts redressing. "Best get back downstairs, darlin'. Can't have folks sayin' I'm a bad host," he says disarmingly, tucking his dress shirt into the cummerbund he's refastened around his waist, throwing her a wide, bright smile he knows from experience has a warm effect on women.
She nods, getting the hint and smiling back at him while she picks up her clothes from where they'd been so carelessly discarded on the floor not all that long ago. Once they are both decent, he opens the door to usher her out and nearly runs right into you as pass through the hallway.
It is silly the way his heart races, as though he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He watches you take stock of the situation, holding his breath for your reaction. It is certainly not the first time he'd been caught with one girl by another, and he can't help feeling that he has betrayed you in some way. Perhaps it is because to everyone else in this house, you are his girlfriend, and any man in his right mind doesn't want to be discovered fooling around with one girl when he is supposed to be with another.
He opens his mouth to say something quippy to uphold the relationship ruse, but Greta chooses the moment to kiss him deeply and dramatically, as though laying some claim on him in order to goad you. It makes him like her even less.
Your eyebrow raises at him over her shoulder and there is something that flashes across your face that he can't get a read on because that overly professional look you get slides into place. He's getting very familiar with how well you bring those walls up inside you on a dime. There is something about it that unsettles him, maybe since what happened your first night here had seemed to break through those barriers deftly when the two of you were alone. But he can tell you are finding it difficult to let them down, hiding behind them most of the time.
