Chapter 23
DANIKA
When Tommy gets home, he’s carrying a large box in his arms with Sante in tow, doing the same.
“What’s all this?” I call from the kitchen as they march through the living room toward the primary bedroom hall.
“Your stuff.” The words are tossed over his shoulder before he disappears around the corner. A few seconds later, the two walk purposely back to the front door and disappear again.
I sneak a glance at my mom, who is staring at me with her eyebrows riding high on her forehead.
“Oh! The gravy is boiling.” I rush back to the stove and turn down the heat, stirring the viscous liquid to keep it from getting lumpy.
Mom and I have been stress cooking for the past hour.
We’ve managed to make enough food to feed a small army.
“Check on the rolls,” I tell her in part to distract her from asking me questions I’m not sure how to answer.
When the guys return, they’re both pulling hotel-style luggage carts full of my things. Boxes. Canvases. My pink bedside lamp.
“Are you moving me in here?” I blurt, completely forgetting about my mother.
“That’s usually how marriage works,” Tommy answers distractedly.
“ Marriage ?” Mom blurts.
I cringe, squeezing my eyes shut.
This is not how I planned to tell her, which is to say, there was no plan because I had no idea how to broach the subject.
She’ll never understand such a fast-moving relationship, especially in light of Biba’s involvement.
I don’t want her to think poorly of Tommy or minimize what he’s doing for me.
If she thinks he’s taking advantage of the situation for his benefit, it’ll color her perception of everything.
“Tommy just asked me earlier today, actually,” I try to explain. “With Gran going missing, it didn’t seem like the right time to tell you.”
As if any time would be the right time to tell her I’m getting married.
Mom eyes Tommy as he wheels the cart toward the bedroom while Sante pushes his cart down the guest hallway. “Dani, that’s awfully fast. Why the rush?” she asks warily.
“There’s no rush, Mama.”
It hits me that Tommy said we’d marry immediately but never explained what that means. I assume in a matter of weeks, but there’s no telling with him.
I give her a reassuring smile and take her hand in mine.
“We haven’t set a date or anything. I don’t even have a ring, so don’t get all worried.
It’s more of an understanding about the future, that’s all.
” I don’t think she’s buying it, but she’s wise enough not to push further with Tommy and Sante around.
I’m relieved to have a little time to come up with a more convincing explanation.
“Any word on Gran?” I ask when the two guys return with empty carts. The tension in the air shifts to a blanket of worry at the change in subject.
Tommy frowns. “No, but we’re working on it. I promise.”
I nod and force a thin smile. “I know you are, and we both really appreciate it.” I look at Mom, who nods as well.
“Food ready?” Tommy asks in a welcome redirection. “It smells delicious.”
Mom and I jump into action, explaining the options.
Sante doesn’t join us for dinner. That leaves the three of us at the kitchen bar, eating as much as we can while trying to distract ourselves from the herd of elephants in the room.
In an unexpected twist of luck, Mom excuses herself for the night as soon as we finish eating.
Maybe she’s feeling as overwhelmed with life as I am.
Whatever the reason, the reprieve from an inquisition is a relief.
Tommy and I put the extra food away and load the dishes in the dishwasher. Mom and I cleaned as we cooked, so the kitchen isn’t in bad shape. I’m glad because a full stomach combined with a day of worry is quickly drawing on exhaustion.
“Come have a look at what I brought over,” Tommy says, taking my hand to lead me back to the bedroom. “I’m sure I probably missed a few things and may have brought stuff that needs to go back, but it’s a start.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you.” I look at the small pile of boxes and am struck by just how little I own. We never had enough room to have much stuff. “What about the boxes on Sante’s cart?”
“That was all art stuff. I had him put it in the spare room. I figured we could convert it to a studio.”
“You’d really do that? Let me have a whole room for my art supplies?” I’m not sure where I thought they’d go. With his propensity for tidiness, it wouldn’t have surprised me if he preferred to rent me a space outside the apartment rather than bring that sort of chaos into his home.
“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he chuffs.
“I’m sorry, it’s just really generous and caught me off guard.”
His dark eyes warm to a sultry mocha as he loops a finger into my jean shorts and pulls me closer.
“Nothing generous about it. I want my wife here where I can see her.” His hand cups the back of my head, fingers threaded through my hair as he angles my head to the side.
“Where I can touch her,” he whispers by my ear before grazing his teeth over my lobe. “Taste her.”
A battalion of goose bumps stands in formation down my arms. “Oh,” I breathe, my brain short-circuiting.
What were we talking about?
“Let’s get you unpacked.” Tommy gives my backside a pat, then drops to his knees to open the closest box.
“We don’t have to do it now,” I tell him. Between the exhaustion from before and my newly frazzled brain cells, the last thing I want to do is unpack. “It can wait.”
“No, it can’t,” he says firmly.
“There’s no rush, Tommy. I’m not going anywhere.”
“It’s not about rushing,” he says, irritation seeping into his voice.
“It’s about needing my bedroom to be a certain way before I can go to bed.
I can’t go to sleep knowing there’s a pile of boxes in here.
” He’s talking while emptying the box, not looking at me.
He’s obviously agitated, but I get the sense he’s also embarrassed or worried about my reaction.
“Okay,” I offer gently. “It’s probably best to get it done now rather than put it off for later.” I kneel beside him and start on the next box. After a minute, I pause when I realize he’s still staring at me. “What?”
“I knew you were perfect.”
Heat warms my cheeks. “I’m far from perfect, Tommy.”
“You’re perfect for me, little thief, and that’s all the perfect that matters.” He returns to his task as if he didn’t just say the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.
I tuck the words away in my memory bank like I would a cherished ticket stub into a keepsake box.
Even his nickname for me, which isn’t all that applicable, but I sort of love it anyway.
That’s how I feel about Tommy in general.
He has a way of endearing himself without even trying.
His methods are unconventional and unintentional, and I think that’s precisely why they’re so effective.
It’s impossible not to fall for a man who’s so transparently himself while being unerringly devoted to the people around him.
My wandering thoughts are a revelation I didn’t see coming.
I’m falling for Tommaso Donati.
Piece by piece, he’s unveiled himself to be a man of character and commitment. A man with a decidedly dry sense of humor yet a passion for life. He’s seductive and thoughtful and protective and honest to a fault. He’s a criminal and a killer. My savior and damnation.
Tommy is too complex to label except for perhaps with one word. A word as simple as it is monumental.
Mine.
Tommy is mine .
I’m struck by the resounding sense of rightness that settles over me at the thought.
I don’t know how it’s happened in such a short amount of time, but I can’t deny the feeling.
I want him to be mine as much as I want to be his.
And that’s what’s going to happen when we’re married.
We’ll be bound together for the rest of our lives.
Are you seriously prepared to make that sort of commitment?
I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.
From captive to roommate to husband, all in a matter of days. I’m a little afraid to ask what fate has in store for me next.
“I didn’t realize you had so little stuff.
” Tommy studies the tiny corner of his massive walk-in closet that now houses my entire wardrobe.
“And I checked my card. You still haven’t ordered anything.
” If I didn’t know Tommy, I might be offended at his comments, but I know he’s merely stating the obvious.
There’s no judgment involved, so no reason to be upset.
No, I don’t have much. That’s a fact. He’s not intending to imply I’m poor or less than.
“I don’t need much.” I smile at him. “And now that I have all my stuff, I have plenty.”
He huffs. “Go get your tablet while I take these boxes out.” He goes about his task, removing all evidence of my move. I have no reason to argue because I have no clue what he intends, so I get my computer and sit on the bed reclined against the headboard.
When he returns, he flips on the overhead light, then squats beside the bed. I’m about to ask him what on earth he’s doing when he pulls out the long gun case.
“Did you want me to do something in particular with my tablet? Or were you just wanting me to occupy myself while you clean your gun?”
“You’re supposed to be shopping,” he says while setting up his gear on the bedroom floor. “Where do you like to shop?”
“Resale shops, mostly.”
Tommy pauses to shoot me a glare. “You’re not helping. When you treat yourself, where do you go?”
I think for a moment, my lips pursing as if that somehow helps my brain trudge along. “I guess I like to window shop at Anthropologie.” The stuff’s ridiculously expensive, though, so I never buy anything. I leave that part out as I doubt he’d want to hear it.
“Good, that’s a start. Pull up the site, and I want to see your cart before you order. It had better be full, or I’m going to hire a personal shopper to do it for you.”