Chapter 9
Delaney
I screwed up.
As his wife, I should know he has siblings.
Though I don’t think he caught my flub, he can’t be trusted.
The wrong slipup could cost me everything.
He’s intelligent and quick, even with a concussion, but hoo-daddy, he really needs to work on his patience.
He has absolutely none. And I’m trying hard not to dwell on his anger issues.
I think I’ve discovered limits he didn’t know he had.
I need to try harder to stay on his good side.
“I love it,” I reply, holding my hand up in front of me and looking at the cubic zirconia shine like a diamond on my ring finger. “I’ll take it.”
“Would you like me to put it in a bag for you, Delaney?” Darla has been more than helpful, and the best part is she’ll keep my secret. Just one of the benefits of growing up in Clinton Hill. New York is a big place, but our little neighborhood is still cozy and welcoming, especially for the locals.
“I’m going to wear it.”
She rings me up and gives me a discount because we do the same when she comes into the restaurant. It’s just what neighbors do for each other.
I throw away the receipt as soon as I see a trash can on the street.
No evidence. I check out the ring again, finding myself smiling too big, considering it’s fake and all part of this charade.
But still, I like it. It’s dainty with the thin gold-ish band and the sweet little diamond.
Would this be the ring Mr. Tribeca would buy me?
If we were dating for real, I think he’d get the ring I wanted, not just one that shows off his wealth.
That’s probably why we’d never work out.
Money wafts, like he was born to emit the scent of wealth.
Although I do really love that soap he uses. Pure money, baby.
The smell of fresh garlic bread reaches my nose before the restaurant comes into view. Before crossing the street, I tuck the ring into a pocket inside my purse, then look both ways before taking another step. I have no intention of ending up like Warner did.
Bayetti’s Italian Eatery has been a neighborhood staple for three generations.
Plenty of celebrities have visited over the years.
We've also attracted our fair share of tourists since being named on a “Best of” list ten years ago, but it’s the locals' support that keeps us here. Unfortunately, the restaurant has really started to show its age. The green script above the door has faded with time. The gold script painted on the large front window is flaked. The thick wood trim around the windows could use a new coat of red paint. The brick could even benefit from a power washing along with the sidewalk out front, but it’s never felt so good to come home.
I walk in the front door and greet the new hostess. I pass customers who have stopped in for an early lunch, through the heavy wooden four-top tables, and weave along the red vinyl booths that line each wall. I duck under a large tray of food, but stop to ask, “Need any help, Luca?”
“All good, Delaney.”
As I push into the kitchen, the staff is hustling, so I don’t want to distract them.
I turn into a narrow corridor, pass the bathrooms, and enter the last door on the right.
My dad looks up at me over the top of his glasses.
He smiles and then rocks back in his office chair.
“My sweet Delaney.” He holds his hand out to signal the chair that’s crammed in the minuscule space beside the door.
The room really only holds his desk and a small one in the corner, two beige filing cabinets shoved in the opposite corner, and this chair. I’m used to the cramped quarters, so I sit. “Hi, Dad.”
“How’s my little cannoli?”
I still smile every time I hear the well-earned nickname. “Yeah. It’s all good. How about you?”
Taking his glasses off, he sets them on the desk and pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s staving off a headache. “I’m good. Though I can’t say the same for these books. I’m surprised we haven’t been audited with such bad bookkeeping.”
“I thought Joe was doing the books on the side of his day job?”
“Your brother is, but it’s a full-time job, and he can only work on it at night.” He smiles, showing off the lines that dig deep into his cheeks. “Did he tell you he has a new girlfriend?”
Why is Warner suddenly on my mind? I glance down at my naked finger and shake my head. “No, I hadn’t heard.”
His hair is graying, but I don’t remember him without even a few here and there. It’s so easy to see against the dark color. “She’s a buyer at Macy’s in the men’s shoe department. That’s how they met.”
“Oh yeah?” Imagining my brother trying on shoes and flirting with someone isn’t so far-fetched. “I’ll have to get the details when I see him next.”
“Your mother said you’ve been staying with friends from school.”
It was one thing to fib in a text to my mom, but telling a bold-faced lie to my dad’s face is a new low for me. “It’s been fun.” Not a lie. It’s been a ball torturing Warner.
“It’s good to get out of the house sometimes, to live your life like the young woman you are instead of being stuck with your folks in an apartment above a restaurant.” He shuffles some papers, but then his smile fades as he looks at me. “How are you really doing, kiddo?”
His calming voice has always been a comfort to me.
He just has a way of making me feel safe to be me and say anything I need to get off my chest, to confess secrets and crushes.
This isn’t something I can share with him.
Anthony Bayetti would send me to an early grave if he knew what I was up to.
That’s why he can’t and won’t know. He’s too proud to ask for help even when he needs it most.
Good thing for him, I have no pride to worry about.
There is no low too low for me to go, apparently.
I should feel more shame . . . or any at all, but as I look at the lines weighing the corners of my father’s eyes, my resolve solidifies.
This is all for him. He’ll understand when I save the family business.
I stand and shimmy along the wall to get to the other side of the desk. He stands to wrap me in those big dad arms of his and kisses the side of my head. I whisper, “I’m doing good, Dad. No need to worry about me.”
“It’s my job to worry about you.”
When we part, I tap the desk. “It’s your job to cook these books.” I laugh. “Legally, of course.” As I maneuver out of the tight space, I add, “Don’t want our family fighting tax evasion charges.”
He chuckles as he settles back in his chair. “Bayettis are always on the right side of the law. And if we’re not, we’ll blame your brother.” His chuckle is hearty, though I know he’d never let anything happen to us. When the laughter softens, he asks, “How’s the job search going?”
“Crickets.” I shrug. “You might be stuck with me at the restaurant forever at this point.”
“I can think of worse things. Seeing you every day would be a dream, honey.” He’s a big guy, old school about stifling his emotions, but sometimes they get the best of him.
Inhaling a deep breath through his nose, he appears to suck back whatever he was feeling.
“I know you’ll get something soon. Hopefully, it will be in the city so we can still see you. ”
Standing behind the chair, I grip the back of it. “I hope so, too but teaching positions seem to be hard to come by in Manhattan. I’ve been applying in the boroughs, but I might have to expand my search out to Jersey.”
“What’s meant to be yours will be.”
Silently, I manifest with him, but mine involves a contract being ripped up, and Mr. Landers learning a hard lesson. Not sure if that is possible, but I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen. I laugh while opening the door. “You have such faith in me, Dad.”
“Always. I’d bet everything I had on you, Delaney.” I know he would. He would for any of his kids.
“Love you.”
“Love you, cannoli.”
Giggling, I close the door. My smile travels with me as I work my way back to the front of the restaurant and out the door.
In the sunshine of the block, I walk to the next door and punch in the code to release it.
I don’t bother checking the mail, hurrying past and dashing up the stairs.
I unlock the door located on the first landing and shoulder check it open.
Sometimes it sticks. This time, it didn’t, so I stumble inside.
I catch myself before landing on my face. “Jesus.”
“Language, Delaney.” I want to roll my eyes, but if I did that every time she warned us about our choice of words, my eyes would be stuck at the back of my head.
“Lorenzo oiled it the other day,” my mom says from the kitchen.
“But you wouldn’t know since you haven’t been home in days.
How are your adventures away from your family? ”
I exhale the exasperation that will be heard in my voice if I don’t release it and walk to the other side of the peninsula where she’s making cookies.
Uh-oh. It’s almost like she knew I’d stop by and was preparing for her guilt trip.
“You make it sound like I’m purposely avoiding you guys. ” She might not be entirely wrong.
“You’re not?”
“No, I’m not.” I can’t resist her double chocolate cookies, and she knows it. She must really be upset that I’ve been gone. I reach for a cookie, but a plastic spatula swats my hand. I angle my head. “I can’t have one?”
“No. Not until you tell me what’s going on with you.”
“Nothing is going on with me,” I reply, keeping my tone even so I don’t raise suspicion, though I think it’s safe to say it’s already raised as high as it can go. Nothing gets past my mom. “I’ve just been hanging out with a friend.”
A smile and her eyes gleaming in delight are the first warning. She’s about to come in for the kill. “Is this a male friend by chance?”
I’m twenty-four. It wouldn’t be so out of the ordinary if I had male “friends” as she likes to call them—guys I might be dating versus actual friends who are males.
I’m not sure Warner would classify as a male friend or a male “friend” of mine.
He’s just a male. The enemy. “Might be.” Might not be, but I really don’t want to go into this.
“I’m not ready to talk about it just yet, but I promise not to keep you out of the loop forever. ”
“Forever?” The ends of her bobbed brown hair sweep over her shoulders in reaction.
So many of my features came from her—my blue eyes, hair color, even my shorter stature.
Growing up in Connecticut, she has her quieter, deep-in-thought moments.
Pleasant small talk comes naturally for her and rubbed off on me, though I’m certain Warner would argue otherwise.
Sometimes she leans into my dad’s Italian side with gestures of love, kisses, and hugs.
We’re not shy about making our feelings known, and I adore the warmth I feel in this home.
I grin, already cruising to my bedroom. “Not forever. For now. I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, Delly.”
When I open my bedroom door, particles of dust float in the ray of sunshine streaming in through the window. You would have thought I hadn’t been here in months. Two days have already changed things. I even feel different standing here, like the little girl no longer exists.
I’m not really married.
I’m not playing house.
I’m not dating him, and I sure as heck am not in love.
This is ridiculous. It may not be a fully thought-out plan, but it has enough legs to get me going. It’s up to me to stay on track. No emotions needed. No feelings should be involved. Other than detest. That one I’ll allow when it comes to Warner.
I grab a suitcase from under my bed and lay it open on the mattress.
A few things from different drawers get tucked, a couple pairs of flats, and then I stand at my closet, blanking on what I should pack.
I shouldn’t overthink it. It’s a heist of his heart so that I can inject some humanity back into it.
“Black, it is.” I pull a black sweater, a blue satin tank top that always looks good on a night out, and some fitted pants from the shelf.
I tug a red dress from the hanger and neatly fold it on top.
After adding a pair of jeans, I give the case a once-over before slipping over to my dresser to grab a body spray.
I set it back down when I remember how divine his soaps smell.
My spray smells cheap in comparison. I return it, but spot a framed photo of me shoved against the windowsill by books I had to read for class.
I grab it and a few other knickknacks and place them on the dress so they don’t break.
Dabbing a little makeup on, I don’t overdo it, but I do add some color back into my face. Exhaustion has zapped more than my energy and installed dark circles. Nothing a good concealer can’t cover. After adding gloss to my lips, I toss it all in with my clothes.
Last order of business—tuck the newly broken phone into the base of the suitcase. Once that’s done, I seal her up.
Trying to exit without a scene will be an interesting task.
I know as soon as my mom sees the suitcase, I’m going to be given a hard time again.
But as luck would have it, she’s standing at the bay window on a call.
I hug her from behind and kiss her shoulder.
“I’ll be back in a few days. Text if you need me. ”
Whispering, she says, “Take a cookie.” She nods, but I can tell she’s pulled back into the phone conversation. “Mom, I said I’ll come out next Friday . . .”
I grab a cookie and the case on my way out. As soon as the door closes, I breathe easier. I don’t know why. I’m leaving the safety of my home to re-enter the lion’s den. Shoving the cookie in my mouth, I think, Lord help me.
It’s a quick subway ride down to Tribeca.
Not enough time to talk myself out of following through with this plan.
Fully commit, I remind myself as I walk down two blocks to his building.
Just before I reach the door, I stop and slip the ring on again.
I wiggle my finger, admiring it before looking up to see Baker already holding the door open for me. “Showtime,” I whisper under my breath.
“Need help with the case, Msss . . .?”
“Landers. And I got it. Thank you.”
I don’t hang around to spot his reaction. It will make me too nervous, so I keep walking like I live here and enter the elevator. Punching the button for the penthouse isn’t something I ever thought I’d be doing. If I’m busted, this might be the only time, so I savor the thrill it brings.
When I reach his door, I check the time. I’ve been gone for hours. What am I walking into? His anger again? His frustration? Irritation with me? Only one way to find out.
I steel my nerves and knock loudly. Annoyingly loud.