Chapter 16 Naomi
I’m still reeling like a spinning top when I plop into my bedroom and stare at the one across the yard, whose bed I left just this morning. I’m bundled in a coat, and it’s not Valentino’s. I don’t even know whose it is, but I don’t really care about this right now.
What did he mean by, “Your father’s going to be there soon,” when he rushed me out of his study after watching me down a minuscule cup of espresso, wrapped me in this coat at the door, then tumbled me into his arms to carry me over to my side of the yard and dropping me on the threshold of my kitchen door?
My fathers in DC; he’s not supposed to be home before sometime Monday. After the gala last night, he’s to meet with party people in the capital during brunch today, then there’s dinner with a big donor tonight. The flights are booked for Monday morning.
The house feels strange. Empty. Void of life. I shiver even in the warm coat. This has always been home. I’ve never felt out of place here, so why this sudden unease now?
Words Valentino spoke drift back to me. I’d been doing my best to forget them all of yesterday. Indulging in our mutual desire kept them at bay, kept everything far away as we lived for just each other’s bodies and pleasure.
But here, now, I don’t have this diversion, and the hard truth hits me like a slap.
What did my father do to my mother? Valentino implied… No. I can’t even think of this.
She was fifteen, though. I remember being that age, staring at Val next door. If he’d wanted me, I would’ve gladly given myself to him. It had made sense at that age. Heck, even at eighteen, I was still pursuing him.
Except with hindsight comes distance and perspective. Val was a grown man all along, who knew right from wrong. Two silly teens in the same year having sex, while not exactly great as fifteen is still so young and green, is not the same as an adult having his way with an underage minor. The law prosecutes this, and there’s a reason why. Even the age of consent is never lower than sixteen in the whole country.
My mother was fifteen. My father was twenty-seven.
Bile roils up in my throat, and I dash into the bathroom to empty my guts out. When I think of how Val implied it wasn’t love—I can’t even think of what that actually means; the word is too heinous, let alone the crime—I dry-retch over the bowl for a long time as tears burst from my eyes and sobs start wracking my body.
When I gain some semblance of control over myself, I get up, wash my mouth and face, then go back to the bedroom, ditching the coat which feels like a heavy vise around me. I yearn to be in my own clothes, and I raid the closet for the softest, oldest T-shirt and pajama bottoms I own then put them on. The clothes feel like a semblance of comfort, though it’s not enough. I’m all alone in this big house which now feels alien to me, tainted.
A glance across the yard shows the curtains are drawn in Valentino’s bedroom. When I press my nose to the glass, I can see a soft light in the kitchen. It’s early morning and still grey outside, cold and damp. I shiver again. What I wouldn’t give to be in Valentino’s study which is warmed by a hearty wood fire. Or his bed, where his big body warms me…
I gulp down a rush of emotion and grab my phone on the desk where I left it. From memory, I input Val’s number, which he gave me sometime this weekend, in my contacts then pull up the text app.
Me: I miss you.
The message goes, two grey ticks coming up. I wait, but they don’t turn blue.
He’s not checking his phone.
I’m feeling increasingly alone now. I call, but it diverts straight to voicemail.
The world is now tunneling around me. Of all the times for a panic attack, now’s not it. Worse, I can’t be this person, this weakling who reels with a little bit of truth thrown her way.
And it’s Valentino’s truth. Not my dad’s. I have just one side of the story here. Why am I choosing to believe him and not the man who has lovingly raised me for my entire life?
Anger surges, and I get up from where I slumped on the floor.
The phone rings in my hand. The screen reads ‘Tina’—it’s the name I assigned to Valentino’s number, so it won’t look suspicious if someone sees a call or text thread between us.
My heart is in my throat as I rush to answer. Seeing him reaching out battles with the anger inside. A part of me knows he’s not lying, that he’d never lie to me. Which makes the liar my father… I quell the thought and bring the phone to my ear.
“Val,” I say, breathless.
“Naomi. We can’t be talking right now.”
His voice is as hard as ice. I blink and falter.
“What…what do you mean?”
He sighs. “Things have happened.”
“What things?” My voice is escalating.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Val, please. After everything—”
“Stop, Naomi. This is serious.”
“And we aren’t?” Did I shriek?
“That’s not what I meant.”
So…we are serious?
“Please, Val…”
“We have to cool it for some time.”
“Why?” After what we had this weekend, he’s playing hot and cold with me now?
“Your father’s going to be here soon.”
“No. He’s coming home tomorrow—”
“He isn’t. In fact, he’s turning up right now.”
Indeed, there’s the sound of a car drawing up in front of the house.
“I have to go,” he says. “We can’t be meeting anymore.”
I can’t get in a word before he’s cut the call. I’m numb for a second, then a surge of rage makes me throw the phone at the window. Pathetic, because neither the glass nor the phone breaks.
The front door closing snaps me out of the maelstrom of misery trying to take hold inside of me.
“Naomi? Darling?” my father calls out.
I jump to my feet. Thank goodness I’m home. How would I have explained it if I’d been next door, probably naked and in Valentino’s arms, with his cock inside me since all we seemed to do was fuck?
I blink as I recall his words. He knew…and he protected me in his own way, by sending me back so I wouldn’t get compromised next door with him.
“Naomi?”
“Coming,” I call back, except my voice is grainy and throaty.
There’s a knock on my bedroom door, and I retrieve the phone from where it’s landed on the floor and go open the door.
My father is grinning from ear to ear, and he wraps me in a bear hug.
He suddenly pulls away as he sniffs the air. “Why do you smell like sandalwood?”
Crap. Valentino’s scent is all over me.
“You look terrible,” he continues as he pushes me at arm’s length to give me a once-over.
I roll with the opening. “You know I haven’t been feeling well. It’s something to help with my sinuses.”
He scrutinizes me for a long moment, then releases me. There’s a spring in his step as he moves back into the hallway, and he seems to be vibrating with glee.
“You’re back early,” I say.
“Something’s come up.”
He’s rubbing his hands as he says this, and I can’t for the life of me stop myself thinking he looks like a villain from a cartoon as his thick eyebrows draw together.
What’s wrong with me? I can’t let doubt slither into me. Valentino said his piece, but I now have to find out my father’s side. Only then will I be able to find a thread of the real truth in this whole matter.
“Come downstairs,” he says. “We have to talk.”
My steps are almost reluctant as I drag myself down. Something in the way he said that has me unsettled. I falter on the last step when I see who’s standing in the vestibule.
My dad chortles a laugh. “No need to be shy. It’s just Thad. You two will be seeing a lot more of each other very soon.”
What does that mean? And why does his laughter sound like the cackle of a mad scientist? Here I go again, letting the cartoon villain idea get to me. I wince when Thad’s lifeless gaze lands on me. Except, it’s not so lifeless now. I don’t see fire or hunger, or God forbid lust, in them—I am dressed in a Hello Kitty T-shirt and my pants have goofy hearts on them, though I don’t think that’d be a turn-off for Valentino—but there’s something unsettling in those pale eyes. Like he’s assessing me, finding me lacking, yet putting the pieces back together to collate a satisfactory whole.
I shiver and shake the unsettling feeling away as I follow my dad into the kitchen. Thad falls into step behind me. My spine starts to crawl with unease at his proximity.
My father turns and grabs me by the shoulders, guiding me to a chair at the breakfast nook. He plops me down then takes a seat in the booth to the side. Our knees are touching, and he reaches for my hands which he clasps.
“I have wonderful news,” he starts.
I frown in question.
“They didn’t announce me in the running for Mayor yesterday.”
I don’t know why, but a sigh of relief courses out of me. So, this whole political nonsense is over. We can all go back to our regular lives. I can get away from here, go back to Salt Lake where Carson Felix will hand me the job he’s already promised me should I need one someday. Without the weight of a campaign and the lens of the media and political observers on us, Valentino and I can attempt something long distance or I could get my own place—
“They’re going to make me Governor!” my father says with a flourish of jazz hands.