Michael
It’s ten a.m. when we finally leave the bedroom. Katie’s cried on and off since she woke up, trying to keep it contained, but I’ve felt every second of it.
She decided to get dressed before we go to the funeral home to make arrangements later.
Now she’s in a soft grey dress from a collection I had sent over last week.
It’s simple and muted. The fabric falls in soft layers down her legs.
I don’t like how right it looks on her for today.
She’s pulled her curls into a tight bun, every piece tucked away.
There’s barely any makeup on her face, and she’s still stunning.
She reaches for my arm as we walk down the hall, holding onto me. The second we hit the stairs, the quiet ends. The first floor of the estate is already alive.
“Boss, good morning.”
Marco waits at the bottom.
“Miss Katie.” He inclines his head. “My condolences.”
Katie gives him a small, polite smile. “Thank you, Marco.”
Beatrice steps out, and Katie’s expression shifts.
“Tesoro mio,” she says, opening her arms.
Katie goes straight into them. Beatrice leans in, speaking softly into her ear. I don’t hear it, but Katie nods and holds onto her for another second before pulling back.
“Doll.”
She looks up at me.
“Go with Beatrice to the kitchen. Sit down and eat. I need a few minutes with Marco, and then I’ll come to you.”
“Okay.” She nods.
I watch her walk away and turn to Marco.
“I need you to be me today, and for the foreseeable future. Until things settle with Katie. Likely until after the funeral.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“You keep me updated. Text messages only. Do not call me. Do not interrupt me when I’m with her. Do not send anyone to interrupt me when I’m with her.”
I hold his gaze.
“If someone does, they won’t get the chance to do it again. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Update everyone who needs to know. No one else.”
He nods.
“Go.”
He turns and walks straight for the front door.
I take out my phone and dial Luca.
“Luca,” I say. “I need a favor.”
In the kitchen, Katie’s eating waffles covered in raspberry sauce and smiling as Beatrice talks to her. I walk over, kiss her hair, and sit beside her.
“Do I need to be worried?” I ask. “Are my girls conspiring?”
They both glance at me and smile. Katie leans into me for a second before going back to her waffles. Beatrice gets up.
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
“Getting you waffles. You need to eat.”
“Sit,” I tell her. “I can get my own waffles.”
She raises her eyebrows but sits back down.
“Miss Katie,” she says. “I like when you are here. He’s such a gentlemen.”
Katie laughs. It’s good to hear. She needs that. They continue talking behind me while I plate my food. It’s nice. We’re like a little family here in the kitchen.
“Michael,” Katie says.
I turn.
“Will you bring me another waffle?”
“Anything you want, Doll.”
“Ah,” Beatrice says. “Look at how he softens for you.”
When I sit back down, Katie reaches over and takes a waffle from my plate. Her hand follows, sliding into my lap. I take it and hold it there.
After we finish, I take her out to the gardens.
“Can we walk around the pond before we have to—“ Her voice breaks.
I lace our fingers together before she can pull back. “We’re not rushing anything. Come on.”
She nods and follows me. We walk the path slowly until we reach the bench by the water. I gesture toward it, and she sits. Her eyes go straight to the pond, tracking the movement of the birds, a small smile on her face.
I watch her.
“Katie,” I say. “I have something to ask you.”
She turns her head, “Okay.”
“What if you moved in with me?”
Her smile disappears. “What?”
“Move in with me.”
She searches my face. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. You’re already here most of the time anyway.”
She swallows. “Michael—“
“You’re alone in that house,” I say, cutting her off before she can say more. “And after everything that’s happened—“
I stop. I don’t finish it for her.
“Go on,” she says, quieter now, biting at her cheek.
I lean in just enough that she has to look at me.
“Let me take care of you.”
“But my job. When school starts, that’s a pretty far drive.”
“I know.” I exhale slowly. “I wanted to talk about that too.”
Her brow tightens. She already knows she’s not going to like what I say next.
“What did you tell me your dream was?”
“Michael—“
“No.” My hand comes up, guiding her face back to me when she tries to look away. “Say it.”
She presses her lips together but gives in. “I want to be an artist.”
“Then be one.”
“I can’t just quit.”
“Why not?”
She lets out a sharp breath. “Because I live in the real world. Because I don’t have the luxury of just deciding I want something and getting it.”
“You do now.”
Her eyes snap to mine.
“Michael, we’ve known each other a month. This is insane.”
“Is it?” I ask calmly.
She shakes her head. “This isn’t normal.”
“Why does it have to be normal?”
She doesn’t say anything, just crosses her arms and looks back out at the pond. I watch her profile, the tight line of her jaw and the way she holds herself there. She’s gorgeous, smart, and insanely stubborn, and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than to take care of her.
“Just think about it.”
She stands up. “What time do we need to be at the funeral home?”
“Noon,” I tell her.
“What time is it?”
I look at my watch. “Eleven fifteen.”
“We should go.”
“Okay.”
I stand up, and she starts walking. I fall in step beside her. Halfway back her hand finds mine, and she doesn’t let go.