CHAPTER FIVE
AINSLEY
T he loaf of banana bread rankles me. As soon as Ty and Celeste leave, I’ll drop it in the trash. I don’t have anything personally against baked goods or bananas, and the combination is generally a winner. But when Celeste delivered it this morning, she informed me that Gage had baked it with Ivy.
If any part of me liked the spunky little redhead, it crumbled with the sweet bread. I hate her and him and this ridiculous life he’s built for himself. I hate that the days, months, and years I mourned were for a man who had been a figment of my imagination. I hate that when I saw him earlier, my heart thrashed in my chest. I wanted nothing more than to melt into him, to feel him, to ask him to hold me and kiss my temple and tell me it would all be okay.
Maybe even more than that, I hate that I’m once again a prisoner. That another baked good will be the symbol of my captivity. From anise pizzelles to banana bread. No escape. I have to get out of here.
“Any interest in going horseback riding?” Celeste asks, her brown eyes frolicking with enthusiasm.
My gut reaction is to spew a list of reasons why I have no desire to do anything with any of them, but maybe a horse could be my ticket out of here. Not wanting to appear too eager, I emit a slight huff. “You mean I’m permitted to leave, to do something other than read or eat or stare at the walls?”
“The horses are on-site,” Ty chimes from the kitchen table. He’s been working on his laptop here, like he needs to babysit me.
I dart my gaze to his and hold it for an uncomfortable beat. “Why am I still on-site, Ty? Everyone else comes and goes.”
He sighs and rubs his forehead. “Like I’ve said before, your case—”
“Is complicated,” I finish. “Which sounds like it’s code for imprisoning me until your friend Gage decides to end me. Is that the complication you’re referring to? Or is it that your other friend, Wells, wants to use me for something?”
“While you’re in my shelter, Ainsley, you are safe.” His tone is somber but serene, and his eyes are the most honest eyes I’ve ever seen. At the very least, he believes that vow.
Glancing away, I swallow, feeling as though I may finally break. “Your job is to help me re-create myself and get me to safety, not hold me hostage.”
Celeste ignores our sidebar and plows ahead with her agenda. “I’m going for a ride either way, so you’re welcome to come. Rena will be joining me.”
Ty’s jaw pulses as she says his wife’s name. I still haven’t apologized for how rude I was.
“I’m sorry I was mean to her,” I rush out. It’s sincere, but it sounds forced, even to me.
My psyche must be playing tricks on me with that awkward apology because I swear there was movement on the kitchen floor near the island, but I can’t see anything there now. When I shake it off and return to Ty, a proud smile is tugging at his lips. The Bratz doll makes that man turn to goo.
“She was unfazed,” he says. “But it would serve you well to bond with the girls.”
Celeste struts over to the coffeepot to refresh her cup, her attention fixed on the task. “That’s true. In fact, if you want to smooth things over with Gage, that’s an effective strategy. He’s rough around the edges, but he’s a big softy.”
And now I hate her too. Fury boils in my veins. Who does she think she is, telling me how to win him over? He was mine when she was still in braces and covered in prepubescent acne.
Her next words only intensify that wrath. “Especially Ivy. She’s the ticket to just about anything around here. You saw how he listened to her the other day. Score her approval, and you’re home free.”
“Home free?” I snap. “This isn’t my home, and I’m certainly not free. You girls all look young. Is that how the guys picked you? Were you all in the shelter, like me, distraught and homeless until they rescued you? I know I’m older, and women of age might not be of any interest. But so we’re clear, I’m not selling any part of myself to earn my freedom or room and board.”
God, I’m such a bitch.
This isn’t who I am. Not that I’m particularly warm, but I’m also not cruel or petty. Even the most affable animal snarls when caged though.
Ty’s face is suddenly drawn, like I slapped him. Or like he’s going to vomit. But before he can respond, there’s a commotion outside preceding several thumps on the door. He quickly steps out to investigate the disturbance, and something about extermination is uttered.
My heart clambers to my throat. This could be a ruse to cover an ambush from the Morelli foot soldiers.
“Celeste,” I hiss, “come here.”
Her pupils blow wide as she scurries over to me and attempts to extend some reassurance. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Go to one of the rooms and hide,” I instruct.
“I’m good,” she insists, which only pisses me off more.
My guess is that she summons confidence in any imaginable situation, but if the Morellis or Vittoris are involved, that is totally misplaced.
“Now,” I whisper-shout, dragging her with me to my room.
Unfortunately, Ty confiscated all my weapons upon arrival. All I have are two knives I swiped during meals here. One is tucked into my pants, so I pull it out, hand it to Celeste, and shove her in the closet while she chirps her disagreement.
After I grab the other knife, I throw my go bag over my shoulder and speak through the cracked closet door. “Do not come out or talk or even fucking breathe until I tell you to. Stab anyone else.”
You’re either the hunter or the hunted. The lion or the lamb.
It’s only been about a minute or two since Ty stepped out—long enough for a myriad of horrifying scenarios to flit through my brain. But then Gage’s booming tenor filters back to us, along with Ty’s and a couple of other deep voices.
Celeste pushes out of the closet. At the sight of my scowl, her face twists in a grimace that quickly morphs to empathy. “It’s okay. Sounds like it’s Gage, probably with Rex and Dante.”
On the ladder of people I don’t want to ever see again, I suppose they are a rung lower than the Morellis, so I accept the consolation.
We saunter out to discover Ty and Gage hovering near the cracked-open door in what appears to be a heated, under-their-breath discussion. I glimpse a sliver of two other men outside, both wearing gray jumpsuits and one holding a clipboard.
“Right there,” Gage says, pointing to the ground.
I follow his finger to see a giant cockroach skittering across the floor.
The scream that erupts from me is mortifying. So bloodcurdling that it startles everyone. I can do murderers and carnage. But bugs? Nope. Without a coherent thought, my legs make the decision to scramble for the couch.
Gage snickers, and his snide amusement sends me into a feral rage, so I whip the knife toward him.
“Laugh again, motherfucker.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ty grunts, bolting for me. “I knew you took that the other night.” He reaches his flattened palm out like a disappointed teacher. “Give it to me.”
I’m about to protest, but I spot three more critters, and a subsequent scream lurches from my lungs. At the precise moment Celeste jumps to join me on the couch, I thrust the knife into Ty’s hand, and she grips my arms as though I’d save her from those crawling demons. I may have extended some protection when I thought we might be gunned down, but it’s every woman for herself where the cockroaches are concerned.
“We need to tent the place,” one of the pest-control guys states plainly. “Everyone will need to vacate.”
“What did I tell you?” Gage arches a brow at Ty, and the expression Ty pins him with is pure annoyance, but then something unspoken transpires between them.
And the dominoes fall.
It was apparent that my innocent flirting with Dante—my only escape route at present—got under Gage’s skin this morning, but I had no idea how much.
Jealous enough to orchestrate a shelter shutdown?
I spin toward the man who once held my every hope. “You did this.”
“Good thing you’ve got your bag, Wicked.” He ignores my comment and throws me over his shoulder as I yelp, and he grits out a grim, “You’re coming with me.”
“The hell I am,” I shriek, punching my knuckles into his spine—the asshole doesn’t even flinch. “Ty,” I wail. Plead. Beg.
But we’re out the door and I’m being tossed into a golf cart, my bag crashing to my feet. Gage’s arm fastens across my waist like a belt, cementing me to the seat despite my squirming. And he takes off in a Fast & Furious fashion.
My skin itches, both from the lingering vision of the wretched creepy crawlers infesting the shelter and the big, bald buffoon entrapping me.
Not to mention his intoxicating caramel-coffee scent mingling with a fresh-out-of-the-shower manly cologne. His inked bicep—bigger than my head—draped over me. Or his formidable pecs that are rising and falling, rebelling against his taut T-shirt.
Toxic.
Clearing my throat, I peer out at the grounds, committing the details to memory for an exit strategy. “Where are you taking me?”
He utters a low, menacing chuckle, but doesn’t answer, well aware how that will grate on my nerves. How does he still read me after all this time?
We cruise by a gorgeous stable and a couple of horses grazing in a fenced area beside it before moving through some sort of fruit field, past an insanely gigantic obstacle course and a pond with a picturesque treed area. Once we round the tennis and basketball courts, a cozy firepit area emerges, and we finally park between a pool house and a sparkling pool, outside of a mansion that would dwarf my former ostentatious, multigenerational home.
He’s done well for himself or hitched himself to the right people—I’ll give him that.
My mother’s words from the funeral—Josh Ricci’s burial—wallop me. “We all give things up, but there is always more to gain.”
Little did we know, I was the one being sacrificed. Even by the corpse.
As much as I recognize Gage is no longer my Josh, I still don’t believe he’ll actually kill me. Take pleasure in my suffering? Sure. But I’ve endured worse. Survival mode can’t afford to be wimpy.
My best bet is to see what he has in store before I make any rash plans. I’m not in a rush to get to wherever he’s taking me though, so I dillydally with my bag and straighten my tank top and shorts for longer than necessary.
“Stall all you want,” he says, and his familiar voice twines around me in ways I don’t want it to. “We’ve got forever.”
Forever? There was a time that was a beautiful promise, not a threat.
I hope Ty and Celeste hurry. They were the closest things I had to allies. But I’d rather die than show him I give one iota about his vendetta against me.
Flashing my best saccharine smile, I lift my chin and plant my feet on the stone walkway. “Forever to fuck with you and make you question whether your roid regimen has left you a little lacking . Can’t wait.”
“That feistiness won’t do you any good here, Ains. Save your energy.”
Ains. Did he mean to call me that? It was always said with tenderness, blooming a freshness to a name that had often felt stifling. Hearing it now unlocks a long-ago dream, shaking me up far more than his antagonistic leers. I just want to hide somewhere and grieve, curl up and disappear. The battle is never-ending.
In a blink, he knocks me back to the rounded hood of the golf cart, my bag thumping against the aluminum frame with a clank that echoes around us. He leans into me so far that he consumes all the fresh air those berry fields pretended to offer.
All I feel is the heat. Humid and demanding.
He skims his knuckles down the column of my throat, slowly, like he’s memorizing the texture of each individual pore, his ambers dancing all over my face in search of something.
Fuck if I know what at this point.
“On second thought, go ahead and keep flapping that smart mouth. It will inspire me to find a better use for it,” he rasps.
My heartbeat drums to the cadence of his words, and my smart mouth is at a momentary loss. This electric current crackling between us is too enthralling for me to form coherent thoughts.
He chuckles darkly, mistaking my silence for fear, his thumb tugging on my lower lip. “Don’t worry, Wicked. I’ll be the kind of pain you crave.”
I’m torn between whether that was supposed to be delivered as a sinister threat—which is certainly what his glare would suggest—or a seductive promise. The latter is likely my own twisted libido. Although I swear his cock is thickening against my thigh. Since I’m unwilling to investigate that further, I reply with the only plausible response I can think of.
Pushing off the hood to press myself against every hard ridge of him, I trail my fingers over his bulging pecs and ripped trap muscles.
Good Lord, the man is steel.
I release a breathless whimper—the erotic kind that sounds like I’m seconds away from that blissful promise land—and lick the very spot on my lip that he just tugged on, watching as he zeroes in on the gesture. And when it’s clear he’s good and hungry, my features instantly grow cold, and my jaw snaps shut in a chomping warning.
“You should worry, Big Guy . I’ll be the kind of pain that scars.”
He cusses in response, and a choppy breath billows out of me as I peer back to where we came from, catching sight of Ty and Celeste barreling this way. Relief washes over me.
That same relief seems to flood Gage at the sight of them. I’m not sure what to make of that.
“C’mon,” Gage orders, gripping my wrist and towing me toward the back entrance of the main house as Ty and Celeste park.
Someone must have alerted his groupies that I was coming because they’re all here for a meet and greet. While Rena and Ivy flaunt welcoming grins, Wells and the other guy, whom I now know to be Liam, are patently disgruntled.
Wells slants his head and dives a hand into his raven-black hair. “Cockroaches?”
Yeah, he’s buying that spontaneous-infestation story as much as I am.
Gage crosses his arms over his beefy chest—an intimidation stance. Wells, Liam, and Ty are all fit and slightly taller than Gage’s six-foot stature, but he out-muscles them all. By a lot.
It’s maddening.
And droolworthy.
Fuck my life.
“There’s not much we can do about it.” He sighs as though this is merely an unfortunate event that we all have to deal with.
At the conclusion of his sigh, Ty and Celeste burst through the door. Liam holds out an arm, which acts as a beacon to Celeste. She strides to him and folds into his side, where he wraps that arm around her. And Rena bounces toward Ty, who snakes himself around her.
Wells flicks his irritated focus to Ty. “What the hell is the plan?”
“Ainsley is the only woman scheduled until early next week,” Ty supplies while Gage stares him down. “Pest control told me it will take them four days once they set up—”
“Are they vetted?” Wells interrupts.
Gage takes that. “Axel sent them. They are well indebted to La Lune Noire and have been thoroughly screened.”
Ty sighs, stroking his scruffy jaw. “They’ll get to us the day after tomorrow.”
“Why not now?” Wells barks, and I have a hunch this guy gets whatever he demands.
“I tried.” Ty chews on the inside of his cheek, eyes ping-ponging between Wells and the bug planter. “This is as quick as they can manage. They need to tent the shelter, and they won’t have one available for two days.”
“Well, we don’t have much of a choice other than her staying here then,” Gage says. “I’ll keep her in my—”
“Fuck that,” Liam sneers, and his gaze slices to me with what reads as a hint of mischief. “She’s violent.”
“True,” I concede. “I’m sure you have a kitchen full of utensils, an abundance of cords, and plenty of pillows. It’s like a house of horrors with me staying here.”
Liam’s lips twitch, and I think in another life, he and I would have been friends. Ty pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. And Wells cusses while whipping out a bag of candy, which is like a which-one-of-these-things-doesn’t-belong clue from a children’s show.
The girls have various levels of amusement painting their features. I bet they all have fun together. That only serves to enhance the loneliness that’s been plaguing me.
“This is good motivation to get me a permanent placement, if nothing else.” I hoist my bag up onto my shoulder since it was starting to slip and inch backward toward the door. “I can stay with Rex, Dante, and those guys until—”
“The fuck you will,” Gage growls, grabbing my bag. “You’re staying here.”
Wells snaps his head up, glowering at Gage. “I don’t like it. No one outside of those vetted sets foot inside here, and she—”
“I will assume full responsibility for her.” Gage clutches my hand.
I am left absolutely dumbfounded as to whether that is threatening or … something else I shouldn’t even consider. But it’s enough to render me speechless.
“It’s not like we can send her anywhere else,” he continues, a ring on his index finger piercing my flesh. “She will behave here”—his jaw clenches while he squeezes my fingers tighter, like an ass—“and she’s not fucking staying with the guards. Right, Tytan?”
I dig my nails into his palm, surely breaching the first two layers of skin, but the man never reacts, which has me internally groaning.
Ty pauses for half a second, his chest swelling like he’s willing air to fill his lungs. “We wouldn’t traditionally deem that a comfortable arrangement for any of the shelter women.”
“We also wouldn’t permit any of them to be in here,” Wells contends. “We can’t place her somewhere else, but—” He stops there abruptly, studying me for a beat until he returns his reproving leer to Gage. “We also can’t trust her. I’d like to know how we ended up with the goddamn cockroaches in the first place.”
So many points to ponder there. I’m not sure I’m the untrustworthy one here.
“Why can’t you place me somewhere else?” I ask, breezing past the cockroach issue. “Clearly, I need to vet all of you since there are big chunks of information being omitted.”
“Right, Wicked.” Gage’s tone drips with disdain. “You think you’re safer outside our walls? You’re smarter than that. I won’t be easy on you, but you’ll be alive. So, it’s me, the morgue, or bunking with the critters?”
As galling as his threat is, an unbidden shiver rockets through me at the thought of the disgusting bugs, and Ty shakes his head at me—an urging to shut the hell up.
“When she thought pest control was an intruder, she hid me,” Celeste says, and all eyes flash to her.
“Hid you?” Liam probes, side-eyeing me while he takes in his wife.
“Yep.” She nods. “She shoved me into a closet and told me not to come out for anyone but her.”
I don’t miss the fact that she doesn’t mention the stolen knife I gave her, which would probably negate the good deed in this conversation and would certainly sharpen the softening expressions I’m being met with. Celeste is most definitely the closest thing I have to an ally.
Ivy’s blue eyes shift between Celeste, her husband, and Gage as she deliberates. “This is your home as much as anyone’s, Gage, so if you feel comfortable with Ainsley being here, around us, around Felicity, then …” She pats Wells’s chest, which is currently puffed up and overextending his suit. “I trust your judgment.”
“Ivanna,” Wells admonishes, “this is—”
“Settled,” she returns before searing me with a chilling glare. “Protecting Celeste goes a long way with me. But as a reminder, you will treat everyone in my family with kindness and respect while you’re here.” She ends the sentence, and yet so much more loiters in the space between us, namely the previous promise she extended a few days ago.
“You stabbed a member of my family. Next time, I’ll shoot you myself.”
It’s too bad I despise her. Again, in another life, we could have been friends.
After the back-door debate about where I should stay, Ty and Rena dragged me away. I’ve yet to see my upstairs accommodations, and I’d do just about anything to simply lock myself away. I think they’re all easing into the idea of me being here. As if they’ve had a lot to adjust to.
Not me. Betrayed. Grieving. On the run after murdering my family. And stuck, seeking safety from the person who duped me more than anyone and has openly admitted to wanting me dead.
But, yeah, I’m sure life is really tough for them in this grand French chateau with the soaring ceilings, music playing, and fires always burning—in summertime while the damn AC is on full blast. Not that I ever wanted for anything materialistic, but this is an entirely different level of opulence. And it’s worsened by the realization that it’s far more than money. They ban together in their odd gangster-esque kumbaya togetherness and treat one another like equals. It’s like a cozy sitcom with a family that depicts some version of the new normal in the crime world.
I’m going to die here.
But at the moment, I’m soaking it all in. The kitchen is impressive with cherry wood, matte-black accents, stainless steel appliances, and grand architecture. The ceilings throughout the entire house are stunning, with sharp angles and beams. It’s massive and quaint, which seems to be a contradiction, but it’s the only way to describe their home.
The home they’ve made with the man who was mine first.
Rena poured me a glass of wine and scrolled through about one thousand songs with me when she first sat me on a stool at one of their two islands. She compiled a playlist of my favorites, titled Wicked, and is feeding me tidbits about whatever artist croons through the speaker. Ty watches with adoration and occasionally inserts his own music trivia.
They are that nauseatingly sweet, lose-your-lunch kind of cute couple.
I’ve taken to listening, murmuring responses, and drowning my sorrows in the wine. I think my ticket out of here is to become a quiet piece of their background. Then no one will notice me slipping away.
Rena checks a schedule on her phone and smiles at me. “Everyone should be done with work in a few minutes, except Wells and Liam. They’ll be a half hour behind, but we can still start deciding what to order for dinner.”
I’m not sure if I do it on purpose or out of habit because I was honestly pretty checked out, but I scan the schedule for anything of interest, and my breath hitches in my throat.
Ty hops up, and he and Rena begin digging through a drawer, but I’m frozen, processing the entry I can’t make sense of.
Weekly Cabrini call.
It was highlighted for Wells and Liam. The only people on a weekly call with a Mafia family are generally members of the administration. Who the hell is a Cabrini?
Ty and Rena’s last name is Reynolds, and there was some mention of her family in the hospitality industry. Wells introduced himself as Gavin Wells, married to Ivy Wells. Ivy is too fair to be an Italian girl. So, maybe Liam or Celeste?
“What did Celeste say her and Liam’s last name was?” I ask, swishing my Cabernet around in the hopes of coming off as nonchalant.
“Graves,” Ty provides with a trace of suspicion. “Why?”
So, how the hell are they involved with the Cabrinis?
I shake my head, blowing it off. “I knew it was something morbid.” I could forgo this line of questioning and search for more clues later, but I don’t plan on sticking around, and catching people off guard has proven to pay off for me. So, I go all in. “Was Celeste a Cabrini?”
“No,” Ty states in defensive mode, his spine wooden as he discreetly turns off Rena’s phone. “You know that family?”
I’m pretty sure that’s the name of the person my father wanted Josh—Gage—to hunt down and spy on in the Navy all those years ago. It can’t be a coincidence.
My eyebrows scrunch together as if I were attempting to extract a memory. “Heard of them, I think. But Italian names can be like that, so who knows?”
They seem to accept that answer because the subject is dropped, and five menus are slapped in front of me. The wine rushes for my esophagus. I’d rather discuss the Cabrinis. Or the Morellis. Or anything else.
Rena smiles and refills my dwindling glass. “The rest of the crew will eat whatever we decide on, and I know their orders from everywhere. Rex is running an errand, so he said he’d pick it up for us. It’s up to you. The Big Guy might be temperamental, but I’m excited you’re here. The guest decides on the grub.”
Ty kisses her hair as my stomach knots, and panic swarms me.
“That’s really considerate, but I’m not picky,” I stammer and sweat. “I’ll eat—”
“Give me the goddamn menus,” Gage snipes as he sidles up to the island and swipes them away. “Always fucking makes everything more difficult than it needs to be. She can eat what I pick for her.”
“You’re really selling the whole burly-grouch persona today,” Rena jeers with a theatrical eye roll. “Wouldn’t hurt to lay off a little, Big Guy.”
I’m not so sure he was being a grouch though. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but it resembles an act of mercy.
From the days when I was the lamb, but we were us .
“Why are we eating at Denny’s?” I ask Josh.
A few rogue strands of his dark brown hair graze his temple and highlight his strong bone structure. His jaw is scruffy now. And he smells like a warm hug.
God, he’s beautiful.
It took him months to talk to me after our first run-in. He didn’t approach me until after I graduated. And even then, our communication was sporadic and always in random places where we just happened to see each other—festivals, stores, football games. Until he started to volunteer at the senior recreation center George belongs to. That’s where I spend Wednesday and Friday nights, piecing together puzzles and playing Bingo and the occasional game of Scrabble with senior citizens I adore. And Josh.
But tonight we’re together because my parents go away for two weeks every fall. And somehow, Josh got George to agree to let me go out on a date a few towns away. George is more of a father to me than my actual father, although he’s more in the grandfather age range. He’s sweet and proud, and he’s been with me since before I could talk. So, I confided in him a while ago that I had a crush on Josh and requested that he permit Josh access to me whenever he could. He’s been amazing at keeping our little trysts a secret, but this came as a surprise.
Josh glides his hand across my lower back, and chills zip up my spine and down my limbs.
“Denny’s is fantastic,” he rasps. “A delicacy.”
I laugh, wondering if he notices how his simple touch affects me. “I’ve heard that on the all-you-can-eat, Grand Slam breakfast ads.”
He leans in close to my ear as the hostess guides us to an out-of-the-way booth. “Don’t knock it. I might shower you with an experience you never thought you’d have.”
Yeah, he knows exactly what he’s doing. A lot of other experiences come to mind with those words, but I stuff them down and order an iced tea from the waitress.
When she walks away, he turns to me, those amber eyes waltzing all over my face. “Any of the guys your father forced you to go out with would take you to one of those fancy places with the tiny portions and itty-bitty forks. I don’t want to spend a second worried about what we’re wearing or how to pronounce some fucked-up menu item. And if I took you to one of the mom-and-pop Italian places, we’d be looking over our shoulders all night. I want all my attention on you.”
God, this guy is going to break me. I don’t think these sneaky rendezvous will ever be enough. Revealing that won’t do either of us any good though.
Since he hasn’t filled me in on much about his upbringing yet, I don’t want to let on that I’ve heard the rumors about his mom or how he spent time on the streets, so I respond how I would if I didn’t know. “Sounds like you’ve been to your share of those fancy restaurants.”
“None,” he admits somewhat sheepishly. If he only knew that actually makes him more attractive.
“Well, no need,” I assure him. “They’re stuffy rooms with tiny portions and too many forks, and most of the people in them are just as dull.”
He bellows a laugh, deep and carefree. “I knew it.”
“You’re far too fun and interesting to set foot in a place like that.” I tack that on and relish the way he silently eats it up. I wish he understood how incredible he is, how he’s too good and brilliant and loving for the life he’s trapped in. But I know most of my compliments are hard for him to swallow, so I do my best to lightly pepper them throughout our conversations.
Sliding the menu I’ve been ignoring in front of me, he taps a picture of a breakfast sandwich. “It took us a lot to do this. Make it special.” A wry chuckle falls from his lips as he deadpans, “Get the Moons Over My Hammy.”
I look it over, deciding it might be something I like. “Doesn’t require a fork, and it’s not a hard-to-say name. It’s already a winner. And it looks good.”
“I thought you’d like that. Even the menus are better here, right?” His words are genuine, but there’s a hint of something in the side-eye he gives me that has my heart thumping into my sternum.
“Because?” I stall, at a loss for what to say.
Does he know that reading is stressful for me, that menus, in particular, are a source of anxiety, that my parents are mortified by my issues? That my father threatened the nun when she labeled me as dyslexic and warned her that anyone who mentioned it would lose their job?
There was a brief moment when I believed my father was sticking up for me, but then, when we got in the car, my mother clarified, explaining that any weakness was an embarrassment to the family. It was hard enough for them not to have a son to pass the family on to. She assured me that they’d take care of my grades. I only needed to blend in and do the Morelli name proud.
So, this is … bad. And humiliating.
Beads of sweat dot my hairline and the creases of my palms. I rub my hands on my jeans, drying them.
He shrugs off my suspicion. “Because they’re more like the vibrant ones at Bella Vita. I told you I’m not a fan of fancy menus.”
“Right,” I scoff because I don’t believe him, even though he makes a valid point about Bella Vita—a beloved restaurant of mine. “I just …”
“Ainsley”—he grips my chin, tipping it to him—“you’re the smartest person I’ve ever known. I wasn’t—”
“You don’t need to patronize me,” I cut him off, trying to think through the damage control. “How do you …”
“Hey.” He smooths his hand over my hair. It’s the gentlest anyone’s ever been with me. “It’s okay. I just … I’ve noticed your reluctance to read. You avoid playing Scrabble at the center unless George is sitting beside you. When no one’s paying attention, you play with the tiles, like you’re memorizing them. And you got flustered ordering off that paper menu at the St. Christine’s festival. You attack everything with confidence, except that.”
Tears prick my eyes. I did get flustered that time. The print was small, and everyone was ordering so fast. Several of the Morelli foot soldiers were there, along with Nicholas Vittori and his two older brothers, who scrutinize everything I do. I thought I’d covered it.
My father is going to lose it. How many people have noticed?
My breaths stagger out. “That’s not good. I’ve worked so hard to hide it.”
“This is getting all fucked up,” he grunts and clutches my hand beneath the table. “I’m not very good with shit like this. Terrible actually, but I’m trying. I just wanted you to know you’re safe with me, no matter what it is.” His thumb sweeps back and forth over my skin, like a plea that conveys every bit of the safety he’s professing. “There’s nothing to worry about, Ains. I notice everything about you. I pay attention to how your mind works. It’s fascinating.”
“Fascinating?” I parrot.
“Yes.” He sucks in a deep breath, like he knows his next words could get him killed. “I’m sure you’ve been made to believe that it’s a weakness, that it’s something to be ashamed of. But I’m telling you, I’ve never known anyone stronger, wittier, smarter. The fact that you have to work a little harder only proves that strength.”
His shading on who I am cocoons me in a foreign warmth. I’m nineteen years old, and no one has ever said anything like that to me. I mean, George is encouraging, but still cautious and very aware of what my father would disapprove of.
My worth has always been about being a Morelli. I’m not sure how to handle being seen as more. But I know the only place I truly want to exist is on the receiving end of those amber eyes.
The memory is nearly crippling. We hung out at George’s after that, bingeing some of my favorite black-and-white films that I was shocked to find Josh enjoyed. He built me a fort to watch them in because I had told him all my favorite memories happened in homemade tents, and he said he wanted to be sure he got top billing. He already had, but the fort definitely elevated him to the pinnacle of them all.
It was the best night I’d ever had, up until our other secret dates. Each one was better than the last. I can’t bear to remember the good though. It was excruciating when I thought he’d died, but the memories were also a gift then.
Now it’s … debilitating. And angering. What was the point? None of it was even real. No matter how mad he was about what I had done, he still chose to abandon me, to build something new, to believe the false picture that had been intentionally crafted by the monsters who stole everything from us both. Nothing I did was really a choice.
He was the best man I’d ever known, but it was all a lie.
As that vexing notion clobbers me, Gage reads some menu items aloud—things I like—griping about how he can’t decide what he wants. And the out-of-the-blue gesture mimics a time when he saw me as more and I saw him as everything.
It stirs something inside me that is far more dangerous than his wrath. Hope.
Maybe a part of us isn’t dead.