Twenty-Eight
TWENTY-EIGHT
Mia
I LOOKED FROM Zalen to the box, and back to Zalen again. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said, surprised that he would have bothered with a welcome gift for me.
Luca raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to play chef for us tomorrow, either,” he pointed out. “But apparently you’re not letting that stop you.” He glared at Zalen. “Which means you need to be home by nine p.m. tomorrow, by the way.”
I wondered if that meant Zalen had been at the Hope Project tonight, even though it was a Sunday. From what Luca had told me, the center was closed on Sundays.
Now, though, I tore my attention away from the exchange in favor of opening Zalen’s mystery box. It was about eight inches square and unmarked, not particularly heavy or particularly light. Something inside it shifted and rustled when I tilted it. I picked at an edge of the tape with a fingernail until I could peel it away and lift the top flaps open.
Inside, a black bag with gold foil accents lay nestled among the shredded paper packing material. The faint scent of coffee beans tickled my nose—arabica, I was pretty sure, but it had an intriguing fruity, floral note. ‘Pacamara Limited Edition,’ read the label.
“Oh, wow ,” I said. “Zalen, you shouldn’t have!”
He mustered a smile for me. “Luca said you were a coffee fiend. I usually go for tea myself, but I’ll make an exception for this stuff. There’s a grinder in the cabinet under the cutting board, and the coffee machine’s over there.” He pointed. “Hopefully it’ll go some way toward making up for our odd hours of coming and going.”
“ Thank you ,” I said, opening the top of the bag and inhaling the scent like a junkie taking a hit. “Sorry, Luca, but Zalen’s my favorite now.”
Luca snorted, and Zalen chuckled.
I made myself stop mainlining the smell of coffee beans and straightened. “Right. Like Luca said, I’m making dinner for everyone tomorrow. Nine p.m. sharp. You’re vegetarian. Anything else I need to know? Food allergies or intolerances? Other preferences?”
“No, I’m the only snowflake in the bunch,” Zalen said. “And I’m sure anything you make will be wonderful. We all work tomorrow, but if you need to buy anything, it can go on the joint household expenses.”
“Thank you again,” I said, cradling the coffee to my chest like a treasure. “For everything, I mean—not just the fancy caffeine delivery system.”
He offered another one of those weak smiles that didn’t manage to chase away the shadows lurking behind his eyes. “You’re welcome. Thanks in advance for feeding us tomorrow.”
Luca leaned his elbows on the counter. “You look like someone who got bad news today. Why are you working until almost ten o’clock on a Sunday?”
Zalen took in a slow breath and let it out. “It’s Tony.” He glanced at me, adding, “Kid stuck in a terrible home situation. We’re trying to help him, but...”
“Wasn’t the judge supposed to rule on making an age exception for emancipated minor status on Friday?” Luca asked, his voice sounding carefully neutral.
“Yeah,” Zalen replied heavily. “No joy there. He’ll have to wait until he’s sixteen. Which we’d pretty much expected.”
Luca frowned. “But...?”
“But he ran away from home last night. His mother called the project this afternoon to accuse me of harboring him.”
“Which you aren’t?” Luca asked.
“No, Luca. I’m not harboring an underage runaway at the Hope Project.” Zalen’s tone was dry, but he didn’t sound angry that Luca had asked.
“Just checking,” Luca said. “I’m sorry, Zalen. That really sucks. I know this kid’s case is personal for you and the others.”
“They’re all personal.” Zalen straightened his shoulders, visibly shaking off the heaviness. “Anyway, make yourself at home, Mia. Our house is your house. If you need anything, just ask.”
“Thank you, Zalen,” I said. “I’m sorry to hear about this kid Tony. But I hope you know how important the work that you and the others are doing is to the community.”
“We do what we can,” he said, but his expression held a haunted air.
I finished my Pepsi and chatted with Luca, resisting the urge to add a cup of expensive imported coffee to the caffeine and sugar I’d just imbibed.
“It’s getting late,” he said reluctantly, after I’d crushed the empty soda can and put it in the recycling bin under the sink. “I should probably call it a night.”
I nodded. “Are the others already in bed?” Not that I’d expected a full welcoming committee or anything, but I was a bit surprised not to have seen Byron or Emiel at all.
“Emiel’s upstairs—he’s got the attic bedroom,” Luca said. “It’s kind of an unwritten rule that no one bothers him up there. Byron’s out tonight, which is pretty much par for the course. He’s usually quiet when he comes in, so hopefully he won’t wake you.”
“Gotcha.” I wondered, a bit uncharitably, if Byron was in some anonymous hotel room with a stranger at this very minute. I was disturbed by how much the idea bothered me. Apparently, blatant hypocrisy and I were going to be spending some quality time together for the foreseeable future.
I grabbed the strap of the overnight bag and hefted it over my shoulder.
“Goodnight, Mia,” Luca said.
“Goodnight,” I told him, having absolutely no idea what was appropriate with a friend you’d fucked once during a post-traumatic fever dream, who was now your roommate.
He might have been dealing with the same issue, because we parted with a supreme level of awkwardness that had heat rising to my face. I took my bag to the guest bedroom tucked at the back of the main floor, while Luca disappeared up the staircase to the second floor.
Someone had left the lamp on the bedside table turned on for me. It was draped with a length of red chiffon—one of Luca’s contributions. The effect was a low, warm glow that immediately soothed something buried deep in my hindbrain.
I’d been prepared to make the bare minimum of changes to the room during my stay. I was used to beta bedrooms—they were all I’d ever known. But Luca had vetoed that plan, instead digging up mountains of cushions and blankets from the depths of the huge house. A few of them smelled like him—honeysuckle and fresh mown grass. Most were neutral and would pick up my own scent as time went on.
I hadn’t let him talk me into getting rid of the nice double bed altogether. I was sure Zalen would have been fine with it—he seemed surprisingly laid back for an alpha. Yet moving furniture around when I was only likely to be here for a few weeks felt like taking advantage. Like I was taking liberties when I didn’t have the right.
So, Luca had huffed and helped me arrange far too many pillows against the headboard. He’d also dragged in the biggest beanbag chair I’d ever seen, grunting and mumbling curse words as he pushed and shoved the thing through the doorway.
The room had a large window, but it was hung with heavy blackout drapes that sheltered me from the outside. That had been a minor bone of contention between Nat and me early in our marriage. I’d wanted blinds and thick curtains kept closed all the time. He’d said that not being able to see out the window made him feel claustrophobic.
I’d won that one eventually. And then it had become moot, when he’d started sleeping in his office rather than in our bedroom.
Unexpectedly, my throat grew tight and heavy. I swallowed hard, refusing to get maudlin on my very first night away from the marriage.
I hadn’t redecorated our master bedroom into a nest after Nat quit using it. I wasn’t sure what had stopped me, to be honest. It seemed ridiculous now, not to have done it as soon as I had the chance. Had I been worried that he’d think it meant I wasn’t invested in our marriage anymore?
I shook my head sharply, trying to dislodge the unwanted introspection. Luca was right—it was late. I cleaned up and got ready for bed in the guest room’s en suite bathroom, then I came back in and regarded the bed full of pillows and folded blankets. Instinct made me want to pull everything into a chaotic heap and burrow into it. Habits instilled in a childhood spent with beta parents balked at making an unnecessary mess that I’d just have to clean up in the morning.
In the end, upbringing won. I shook out two blankets and turned back the comforter, crawling in and grabbing a single pillow to hug to my chest.
It was one of the ones that smelled faintly of Luca’s summery scent. I turned off the chiffon-covered lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The caffeine and sugar from the Pepsi churned through my bloodstream, while unwanted thoughts churned through my mind.
I’d turned down Nat’s heartfelt offer to stop seeing other people... to get into couple’s counseling and try to fix our broken marriage. Instead, I’d chosen to move out and stay with people I’d only known for a few weeks—at least one of whom was involved in an illegal fighting ring with dangerous gang ties.
I’d slept with two of them, and I had absolutely no clue where I stood now with either of them. Did Luca assume we’d go back to being platonic friends? Did Byron have any interest in a repeat performance, or did he only do one-night stands? Was he okay with me being here, or did he find it hopelessly awkward? He’d certainly made a point of being elsewhere tonight.
God. What the hell was I doing? How did I think this was going to help my situation in the long run? The gaping maw of uncertainty stretching out beneath my feet suddenly felt insurmountable. Would my restaurant be okay? Would Nat and I be able to act as business partners while our marriage unraveled?
Sudden panic at the idea of the Elderflower Inn failing grabbed me by the throat with choking intensity. Tears gathered behind my eyes, hot and stinging. In the dark of the unfamiliar bedroom, surrounded by a mountain of pillows I was too timid to use as a proper nest, I let them fall.
I tried to keep my hitching sobs quiet, and hopefully I succeeded in this house full of sharp-eared alphas and omegas. Eventually, the tears stopped. I lay staring into the impenetrable dark, knowing I needed to fall asleep and unable to do it.
I hadn’t unpacked my alarm clock, and my phone was plugged into the charger on the dresser, out of reach. I didn’t know what time it was, but I was sure at least a couple of hours had passed when a faint knock tapped on the closed door.
“Mia?” Luca’s voice was pitched low enough not to wake a sleeper. “I can’t sleep. Are you awake?”
I turned on the bedside lamp and padded to the door in my T-shirt and loose shorts. Opening it, I met Luca’s red-rimmed gaze with my own.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m awake.”
“Can I come in?” he asked, uncharacteristic hesitancy in his tone.
A flood of relief I didn’t want to examine too closely washed away some of the tension in my shoulders.
“Sure,” I said, and opened the door wider to let him in.