Chapter 31
MOLLY
I walk into my living room to find Enzo on the floor.
He’s lying on his side. He's taken the seat cushions and lying on them on the floor, only most of his body is on the two cushions, and his legs are on the floor.
I wince. He looks awkward. And that looks painful, but he’s clearly fast asleep. I knew the couch was too small. I knew it.
I decide not to wake him so I go and take a quick shower instead and hope that by the time I come out he's awake.
As I linger under the tiny little shower, I miss the big sunken bath and the lotions and salts in the penthouse. I miss the vast space and luxury of that place. I loved taking my baths there.
But now I’m worried about what Enzo will make of this.
My water pressure is weak, and this shower cubical is cramped.
I shiver in embarrassment.
We are from such different worlds.
I don’t understand why he’s so insistent on making sure I’m okay.
I am okay.
But I didn’t sleep knowing that he was in my apartment. Something fluttered low in my belly every time I thought of him right there, on the other side of the wall.
It’s ridiculous for me to feel this way. A man like Enzo Knight would never look at someone like me in that way.
And yet … he’s done so much for me. He saved me from falling into the path of the taxi, and then he arranged for the private jet.
He had security come up to the apartment.
He takes care of me in a way no one has.
My heart feels too big for my chest, full of something I don’t know, because I’ve never felt like this before.
He’s taken care of me since this entire mess started, and for once, instead of being the person worrying about everyone else, someone is worrying about me.
But then I remember I'm supposed to be walking away from Luca’s project. Enzo says he's here to do some work on it, but it sounds too convenient, like he’s searching for a reason to be here.
One thing is certain, it won’t be easy for me to walk away, not now, but I should.
I quickly finish up, get dressed, slipping into a turquoise top and a pair of flared jeans. I quickly towel dry my hair, look in the mirror and try to make myself a little presentable.
I find Enzo sitting at the small kitchen table. Am empty cup of coffee by his side.
“Good morning,” he says as soon as he sees me. He sounds oddly very perky and happy even though he looks rough. Large dark bags sag under his eyes. I wince at the thought of him sleeping on the couch.
“You didn't sleep well, did you?”
He sits back. “I was out like a light.”
He’s being polite. “Tell the truth, Enzo. Don’t be polite. Be honest.”
“I didn’t fall asleep for hours, but when I did, I was out like a light.”
“I knew it.”
“But I did sleep well later …”
Tonight, I’m not taking ‘No’ for an answer. He’s sleeping in my bed and I’m taking the couch. Now that he’s here, in my apartment, in my jurisdiction, I’m going to take care of him.
I open the fridge and look inside.
How the tide has turned. In the penthouse there was everything. The fridge was stocked. Here, because I've been away, my lettuce has gone limp. My bread is probably days past its best before date. I have a yogurt which is in date, just about, some eggs, and some chives.
“I don't want you to go to any trouble for me,” Enzo says, probably because I’m staring too look at the insides of my refrigerator, in dismay.
I close the door. “You can't stay here and not eat. Besides I like cooking.”
“I noticed that about you.”
“How about a cheese and chive omelet?” I pull out a block of cheese and sniffing it. He gets up from his seat with a dubious expression. “It’s not growing furry bits, is it?”
“I promise not to poison you. I wouldn’t want your father suing me.”
“Let’s not mention anything about my father …” He sounds tired, and seems easily irritable.
“I wish we could get into a taxi and …” I stop myself in time. The words sprang out at the memory of what we left behind.
“And what?” he asks, his voice soft.
“I wish we could go back to that nice coffee shop you took me to, or even the bookshop.
I loved that. Even Central Park, the conservatory.
No I didn't really thank you for all the places you took me to.
I'm so grateful that you did. I'll probably never go back to New York again and I'll never forget that trip.”
He's watching me. “You never know.”
“I won't know. Why would I go back?” I draw in a long breath. People like me don’t get to jet set around like Penelope.
Penelope.
She’s waiting for my decision. I need to tell her.
Enzo’s phone rings, but he doesn’t jump to answer it. He’s staring at me quietly. Heat creeps into my cheeks.
Why does he have to look at me like that?
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I busy myself getting an egg whisk. “I'll quickly rustle up a nice little omelet for us,” I mumble.
Enzo answer his call, then walks away. I let out a sigh of relief. Relief from what, I’m not sure, but I notice that the dynamics have changed slightly.
I’m more ‘me’ here. I’m more comfortable and relaxed in my apartment, and though Enzo made me feel at home in the penthouse, I always felt a little cautious. Now the roles have reversed.
Enzo is the one who seems quieter, and more pensive.
I watch him now and then as he paces around my tiny space. He reappears, still on the phone, and walks past me as I turn around to get some plates out. We bump into each other. Something in my heart trips. A rush of heat darts through me.
“Sorry.” His voice is a surprised whisper, but he doesn’t move away. Neither of us do. His body is so close to mine I can feel the warmth coming off him, and something strange happens inside me.
A little pull. A feeling that I want to stay exactly where I am.
This is nice.
I move away, try to pretend nothing happened.
“Is it okay if I take a quick shower?”
I hear echoes of me asking him if I could use the bath in the penthouse.
“You don’t need my permission to do anything.”
“Noted.”
Strange how we seem to have swapped roles.
“I was just about to put out our breakfast,” I moan.
“I’ll be very quick,” he promises.
I have no choice but to wait for him, because I don’t want to eat my breakfast all alone. There will be plenty of time for that later.
He reappears a short while later. I’ve kept the omelet warm in the frying pan, and though it’s a bit crispy, it will do. I portion the omelet into two plates, pour coffee into our cups and grab the cutlery.
I notice that he's not wearing a shirt or a tie. He's very casual this morning. He must have packed casual clothes, which his strange because I remember him telling me specifically that even when working from home he always dresses the part.
He sits down. “Sorry I didn't help.”
“I didn’t expect you to. I like making breakfast for you.”
“You like taking care of people.”
“So do you,” I retort. I sit down. “I like making people happy.”
“You do that as well. You do make people happy.” He clears his throat, gets busy with his fork, cuts a piece of his omelet off. “I can see that about you,” he says, sounding a little flustered, which is odd, because this man never gets flustered. “And the children in your class must be happy.”
That was a long statement. So unlike Enzo. But thinking of my children brings a smile to my face. “Not long to go now.”
But it also fills me with a sense of sadness because it means things will return to normal. It means Enzo will go back to New York, and I’ll stay here.
We won’t be working on Luca’s project together.
“How long before this dies down?” I chop my omelet into little pieces.
“I don’t know. These things have a life of their own. We’ll have to hide here for a few days and then gauge it.” He takes a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim.
I like the idea of hiding here.
“I got to see a bit of your world, Enzo, so now you get to see a bit of mine.” I watch him as I chew.
He nods. “It’s been eye opening.”
We smile at one another.
“You're not wearing your business attire. Which means you didn't pack business clothes. Is this a vacation for you, Mr. Knight?”
He cocks his head at my formal tone.
“I didn't see the point of walking around with stiff shirt, and cufflinks and a tie.”
I glance at his simple polo shirt.
“That's probably not a simple little polo shirt from Walmart, is it?”
He looks down and looks back up. “No.”
“Should I ask how much it costs?”
“Not if you don't want to choke on your egg.”
I grin. “How about adding some color to your wardrobe?”
He almost drops his fork. “No. Stop. No.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. Sitting here with him like this, teasing him over breakfast, my heart flutters happily inside my chest.
“I'm not going to do any work today,” he announces.
The casual way he drops that news means it takes a while for it to register. “You're not?”
“No.”
Maybe he needs a break, just like I did when I was at the penthouse. Ideas pop off in my head.
“Why don’t I take you sight seeing?”
He makes a disapproving noise, but that doesn’t dampen my enthusiasm. “I can show you Chicago.” There are so many places I could show him.
“We can't go out, Molly. We can't risk it again. I don't want anything to happen to you.”
“What’s going to happen to me?”
In answer, he lifts his brow, but says nothing.
We carry on eating. A startling thought goes through my mind: Having Enzo here makes this apartment feel even safer.
Something pinches in my chest. I’m going to miss this. Him sitting across from me. The strange feeling that everything is okay when he’s here.
I won't go back to New York and we won't be working together.
He just doesn't know it yet.
***
ENZO
Despite telling Molly I wasn’t working today, I realized I still needed to check if I had meetings on this week. Sitting on her couch, I quickly check for emails on my laptop.
“Let me show you something.” Molly comes and sits next to me, causing a dent in the seating cushion so that we’re almost pressed together. The heat of her body where she touches me makes it difficult for me to focus.
“It’s here … somewhere.” She angles her cell phone so I can see the screen, What I see is thirty notifications and a plethora of tabs.
Is it really thirty-four?
What I see is utter chaos, and I can’t deal with that.
My world has to be neatly ordered. Molly swipes through and I catch a brief glimpse of her calendar.
More messages. Photos. Something that looks like a grocery list. The weather.
A screenshot of a bank statement. Five missed calls.
All I can do is watch quietly, and try not to be triggered by the mess.
“It’s here … somewhere.” She taps again.
I watch, mesmerized. I find it amusing, endearing, and so different from how I operate.
Not the phone, but Molly.
She isn’t stressed or flustered. She’s happy. Calm. Like this is normal.
A phone screen like hers would have me pulling my hair out. But I’d never have a phone screen like that. Too many open loops. Too many things that needed addressing, reading, responding to.
I could never handle that.
“Molly !” I exclaim, because now, even my patience has worn out. “This is chaos.”
“It's organized chaos.”
“There’s nothing organized about chaos!”
“Do you remember dancing outside the Doge's Palace?” she asks, absent-mindedly.
My heart gives a stupid little leap. “You've been thinking about that?”
“Not usually, but it just popped into my head now, because you're here.”
Because I’m here.
“What about it?” I ask, curious to hear her take.
“It was so nice, wasn't it?” Her eyes search mine again, giving me hope. “It was like a fairytale.”
She starts scrolling again.
“Things like that don't happen to people like me, but this time, they really did. I went to Venice, to a masked ball, and met you, and we danced outside.” She turns to me again. “Imagine how bored we would have been if we'd stayed inside.”
I would have died from boredom. I would have probably gone home hours before that. Maybe even missed dinner, had Molly not approached me when she did.
“You saved me,” I murmur.
She did. Not just in Venice. In many ways. She’s introduced chaos into my ordered life, and I’m starting to discover that I like it.
She's swiping again. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“I forgot to pay my electricity … again.”
“You don’t have it on auto pay?”
She makes a face. “It hit once before payday and resulted in a returned payment and a fee, so I switched it off. I pay manually now because I need to know I have enough to make the payment.”
Have enough to make the payment.
I’ve never had to worry about things like that. I don’t even know what that uncertainty would feel like, and a twinge of guilt catches me at the thought of my privilege.
“What happens if you don’t have enough funds?”
“I somehow manage to get them. I usually know when I’ll have a shortfall, but with the Venice trip and everything, it skipped my mind.”
“I see.”
“I need to go through my figures for this month then make payment.”
I can’t wrap my head around this. I have several auto-pay methods, including a backup should the first fail. My finances are in order. My financial life runs like on autopilot. I’ve never worried about money.
Yet, even though Molly has to juggle to make rent sometimes, she’s careful. She lives without a safety net but she’s happier than I am.
“What?” she asks, when she catches me watching her.
“You seem ... very relaxed.”
“About electricity?”
“About life in general. You constantly have lots things going.” I nod at her phone. “A million tabs open.”
“It’s not a million.”
“Not yet.”
“This is nothing.” She waves at her phone dismissively. “You should see my computer.”
“I couldn’t cope.”
She laughs. “You’re very funny.”
“And you … are something else.” I wave at her. “You’re always in motion. Like remembering your utility bill while trying to find something on your phone.”
Her eyes widen. “Do people not do that?”
“Until you, I’d never met anyone who did. You’re one of a kind.”
She peers at me.
“You don’t seem to be the slightest bit overwhelmed. In fact, you seem to invite it, and relish it.”
“Overwhelm?” she asks, like it’s a foreign word. And maybe it is to her. She seems to consider my words. “That’s because I know things always work out.”
She says it with such conviction, like it’s a fact. A law of the land. As instinctive as breathing. I don’t have that kind of conviction. In my experience things don’t always work out.
She stops scrolling and sets her phone back on the table. “I can’t find it. I give up.”
“Never had you for giving up.”
“That’s because I know that later I’ll find whatever it was I was looking for. I know I will.”
She assumes ‘later’ will be better. It doesn’t surprise me that she forgot to pay her bill. Molly is the type of person who assumes that all people are good. That mistakes can be fixed. That life will unfold the way it's supposed to.
How does someone live like that?
I couldn’t.