Chapter 23
TERINA
Present
Renzo’s house is a time machine. The ancient brownstone has been fully updated with modern versions of the materials used in its heyday. The style is an authentic expression of historic charm, but everything is new.
Old homes that preserve original materials rather than remodel with modern replicas seem to cling to the present, haunted by the ghosts of the past. But when I’m at Renzo’s, it’s different.
His house gives the sensation of actually living in a bygone era.
It’s like walking through a portal to another dimension every time I visit.
Today, it’s a little less noticeable since my thoughts are focused elsewhere. And by elsewhere, I mean a lumbering musclehead who finds it amusing to ruffle my feathers at every opportunity. I want to return the favor. It only seems fair.
I’m probably asking for trouble, but holding my own where DiAngelo is concerned is the one bit of control I have left in my world. If I can’t stand up to him, what power do I have?
I wouldn’t do anything to put either of us in danger. That would be ridiculous. But when my brother asks how things are going, I recognize an opportunity when I see it.
“It’s an adjustment. I didn’t realize having a bodyguard meant being watched at all times,” I say the word with just enough innuendo to plant a seed of impropriety.
Renzo’s eyes narrow. “What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing,” I answer innocently. “I’m sure you and DiAngelo know exactly what you’re doing. I just didn’t realize I’d have eyes on me day and night, but you trust your best friend, so I’m sure his degree of supervision must be necessary.”
It occurs to me as I’m talking that if DiAngelo gets reassigned, he won’t be in the line of fire any longer.
At least, not because of me. I love and hate the idea at the same time, making me realize I have more of a selfish streak than I realized.
I want him safe, but I don’t like the prospect of losing him either.
When I steal a glance at him, his cutting glare slices into me.
Yikes!
It looks like it’s time for a subject change. “Anyway, I think I’ll go wash my hands. I didn’t get a chance to wash them after yoga.”
Renzo wears a dumbfounded expression as I slip away in search of the nearest bathroom.
I take my time, splashing a little water on my face in anticipation that the two men will be in Renzo’s office talking for a while.
However, upon exiting the bathroom, I discover their meeting has yet to begin because DiAngelo is lying in wait for me instead.
It seems ambushing me outside bathrooms is the new favorite pastime for all the men in my life.
Arms crossed, he leans against the wall opposite the bathroom door. “What exactly were you trying to accomplish in there with that little performance?”
“I don’t think I said anything that wasn’t true.” I hold my ground with a small lift of my chin.
“You were trying to get me in trouble.” He peels himself off the wall and inches closer.
“If the truth makes you look bad, that’s not my fault.”
Slowly, he walks me backward into the bathroom. It’s a small interior room with no windows, so we’re now totally ensconced in shadow. Again, I’m peering up at him in the dark, golden brown irises ringed with green stare back at me. Just like last night.
My thundering pulse pounds in my ears and throat … and lower.
My body remembers.
It preens and blossoms in his sight.
“As if you didn’t get off on me watching you, literally,” he says in a lazy rumble.
“I … I was already coming—you had nothing to do with it.”
DiAngelo shakes his head slowly. “You and I both know, you didn’t come until your eyes met mine.” He leans in closer until his lips are inches from my ear. “Seeing me watching you is what pushed you over the edge, and no amount of denial is gonna change that.”
I force myself to take a shaky breath and ignore the fact that my center is weeping with need for this man.
“Doesn’t mean I wanted you watching me.” The fight has left my voice breathy and soft.
“No,” he muses softly. “I don’t think that’s it at all.
I think you enjoyed it more than you want to admit, and that’s the part you don’t like.
That’s why you want to embarrass me in front of your brother.
You want to punish me for exposing your dirty secret, but the problem is, you can’t top from the bottom. ”
I want to lash out at him—to argue and rage at him—but his last words trip me up.
“What do you mean top from the bottom?”
He stands tall, pulling back so that I can see the devilish glint in his eyes. “It means you’re pretending to be something you aren’t, and I see through the charade. You try to be tough, but you’re scared underneath it all. You’re frightened, and you’re ashamed.”
My hand strikes his cheek before my actions register.
I can hardly believe I’ve slapped him, yet I’m too upset for remorse. “Fuck you, DiAngelo.”
His gaze slowly swivels back to mine as smug satisfaction hooks his lips into a smirk before he turns and disappears down the hall. I’m left reeling—my spine rigid with anger while tears pool in my eyes from frustration. I want to rage at him for seeing me more thoroughly than he should.
Who gave him the right to strip me down and expose me like a flower ravaged of all its petals?
I wipe away angry tears and sniffle, making me aware of the pine scent filling the bathroom from a small burning candle.
I immediately blow it out, then march to the sitting room at the front of the house.
I’m about to sit in one of the two armchairs when I notice yet another candle on a console against the wall.
A new wave of frustration washes over me.
Why are there so many damn candles in this house? It’s always like that, no matter the season. We’re in the middle of a July heatwave, and my idiotic brother has candles burning all over his house. Who does that?
I round the chair toward the back of the room and suck in a lungful of air, then freeze.
The flickering flame captivates my attention. Mesmerizes.
Its subtle movements reflect off the lake of translucent wax below like a stoic memorial poised in the center of a reflecting pond. It’s beauty and danger and comfort and pain all in one. Hope and horror.
I envision myself dipping the pad of my finger into the hot wax and lifting it away to watch the liquid harden as it cools.
A shiver wracks my body. Or is it a shudder?
It’s hard to say.
Whatever it is distracts from the ugly thoughts and sings me a sultry lullaby. A siren’s song of comfort and peace.
I clamp my eyelids shut.
This is because of the upcoming anniversary—that’s why you’re feeling weak. Do not let it win.
That’s right. The anniversary of Craig’s death is only a few weeks away. It always makes July so much harder, and with DiAngelo added to the mix, it’s no wonder I’m a mess. But this, too, shall pass.
Feeling a smidgen fortified, I open my eyes and finally blow out the flame. I then press the wooden lid onto the glass container that houses the candle to seal away any further temptation.
Because the candle does tempt me.
DiAngelo may have stumbled upon a nugget of truth, but he wasn’t entirely right. A dirty secret does haunt me, but it’s so much worse than a sexual kink. Something grotesque and shameful. Something he would likely never understand, and I will never be able to atone for.