Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Today, for breakfast, I made scrambled eggs. It’s Chiara’s favorite, and I figure it would be a good way to start a conversation with her.
I don’t want talk to her about it, though. I mean, what am I supposed to tell her about relationships? And how unbelievable does everything sound coming from me? I’m her older sister who hasn’t even been kissed, while she seems to have more experience already.
She comes out of the bathroom, avoiding eye contact. We haven’t really spoken to each other since it happened. It seems like she’s embarrassed as hell. I need to change that and make her feel good again.
We’ve already drifted apart enough.
“Here, piccola. Your favorite,” I say gently, placing a plate in front of her.
“Grazie,” she says, still not meeting my eyes or making any move to start eating.
“We need to talk, Chiara. I’m not mad about what happened. I know you’re responsible and smart. You’re being careful, and you can decide what you want to do with your body. You’re old enough,” I state, trying to be supportive and hoping to keep her from getting defensive.
She glances up at me, sitting up straighter. “I am,” she says.
“And, because you’re smart, old enough, and responsible, do you see why this situation was problematic?” I ask.
She nods. “It was dumb of me to bring him here. Roberto is dangerous, and it wasn’t respectful toward you. I’m sorry.”
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. She understands what irritated me and even washed the linens yesterday.
“That’s all I wanted to hear. Thank you,” I say, reaching out to squeeze her hand.
“So, was that your first time I ruined, or…” I trail off, curious.
She snorts. “No.”
Okay then. “That was Leo, right? Or did I miss something?”
“No, it’s Leo,” she says dreamily, her eyes lighting up.
“So, it’s official and exclusive now?” I inquire, and she beams at me.
“Yes, he asked me to be his girlfriend that night.”
“I’m happy for you,” I tell her, and I genuinely am. I want her to be happy, even if it’s with that boy.
“We have some time. Do you want to tell me about him?” I ask, truly interested.
She beams at me before she launches into a monologue about how sweet and good-looking he is, what a great kisser he is, and how he has her picture as his phone background.
She tells me he holds her hand in front of his friends, and I listen intently, realizing that I haven’t been asking about her life enough for the past few months.
A familiar feeling starts to creep in. It’s a feeling I’ve tried to suppress, especially when it comes to my younger sister.
Jealousy.
I shouldn’t feel this way.
My gaze drops to my hands. She’s my sister. I should be happy for her, and I am truly happy she is happy. But I can’t help but compare myself to Chiara.
Why does it seem like she has everything I’ve ever wanted?
I take a deep breath, trying to push the bad feelings away.
I know it’s not fair to her. After all, she has her own struggles.
I can’t let my insecurities get in the way of our relationship.
It’s already stained enough since I’m always focusing on her health, safety, and homework, but I haven’t asked about what’s happening in her life lately.
I need to change that.
Chiara is going through this shit show with me too, all while navigating the life of a teenager. She seems to handle it much better than I did, but I silently vow to be a better big sister. Chiara needs that just as much as she needs me to take care of everything else.
With hopes that Sophia has some updates on my parents’ case, I settle into my desk chair at the lab, but again, she disappoints me.
“This stuff takes time sometimes.” She shrugs. “But it doesn’t mean we won’t get it.”
I nod, trying to be patient. I waited five years. I can wait a little longer.
We shift our focus to another case, allowing my mind to be occupied for a while.
A couple hours later, I’m so engrossed in my work at the lab table that I don’t even notice the guys entering the room until there’s a soft tap on my shoulder. I turn and peer up into Josh’s dark eyes.
“Hey, sorry but you didn’t hear me,” he says.
I glance around and see Clay and Sophia chatting at her desk in the back of the room.
“Are you going to join us for dinner again today?” Josh asks, redirecting my attention back to him.
“No, I think I’ll just finish this,” I reply, not wanting another incident like yesterday.
“Is it me?” He laughs, but his eyes carry a hint of hurt. “I ask you every day, and yet when Clay asked you once, you came?”
Shit, that sounds bad. “It’s really not you. He bribed me,” I tell him, hoping he understands.
“Hmm… I have nothing to bribe you with, but you know, I’m not opposed to kneeling in front of you,” he says, letting his finger trail down my forearm, a mischievous smirk on his lips.
Images of him kneeling before me, with both of us wearing much less clothing, flood my mind, and I have to clear my throat before I can respond.
He’s just kidding. A guy like him would never want a girl like me.
“No need to kneel. I’ll come without you kneeling. I mean, I’ll come with you guys,” I blurt out, stumbling over my words, my face turning as red as a tomato.
His smirk transforms into a genuine smile, those damn dimples laughing at me.
I need to create some distance between us, so I walk over to my desk, remove my coat and gloves, and grab my backpack. Josh is already waiting by the door, and we’re joined by the others as we head out.
As we walk, Josh speaks quietly. “If you don’t want to go to the cafeteria because of Del Moro, I could talk to him. He’s a rookie and shouldn’t be bringing that kind of behavior to the workplace. He’s a fucking cop. He should be protecting people, not bullying them.”
My head turns sharply toward him. “No!” I blurt out, and he furrows his brows. I continue in a much softer voice, “Please don’t talk to him. I know from experience that involving other people will only make the situation worse. I can handle it on my own.”
He doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he nods. “If you say so.”
We enter the cafeteria, and I stick by Sophia as she grabs herself a veggie sandwich. Then we head to the table that seems to be their usual spot and sit.
Clay sits next to me, placing two plates in front of us.
I’m already getting angry, but he interrupts me before I can say anything.
“Shh… calm down. It’s not from me, it’s from Xander,” he says.
I glance down at the plate filled with potato hash, carrots, peas, and a chicken breast, noting Clay has the same food on his plate.
“He told me to buy you dinner because he has a proposition for you,” Clay continues, smirking.
I’m hungry, and the food looks healthy, so no one can say the fat girl eats crap again. Plus, they didn’t say anything yesterday when I ate in front of them. I take a bite of the potato hash, which turns out to be super delicious.
“So, Xander wants to know what you’re doing tomorrow,” Clay begins as I continue eating.
“Why?” I ask, my tone laced with suspicion.
“He has a big back piece scheduled for tomorrow. Usually, he avoids scheduling major pieces on Saturdays since it’s the busiest day for calls and walk-ins.
Normally, he pauses his work to handle clients, but with this particular piece, he’d rather not.
He wants to know if you’re available to help him out, answering the phone and greeting walk-ins so he can focus on the client.
In exchange, he’ll give you the premium tattoo cream,” Clay says.
“What time would he need me?” I ask.
“The shop is open from nine to five on Saturdays,” Clay states, returning his attention to his dinner.
I think about it. I have work in the evening and some studying, but I’m sure I can bring my laptop and study during the lulls when no one calls or walks in.
I get that this is a cheap trick to get me my cream without just pushing it on me for free.
But my tattoo is becoming itchier by the hour, and that cream would be a relief.
Besides, as Clay said, if Xander needs to concentrate on his client, it’s not like he’ll be there by my side chatting for hours.
And if he really needs some help, I can do this for him. After all, he came for me too.
“Sure, tell him I’ll be there at nine,” I say, focusing on my plate.
“Great! He’ll love that, kitten. You’re saving his ass,” Clay says.
“Kitten?” I glance at him.
“Yes, kitten. You’re like a black, feisty little kitty cat. Rawr,” he teases, forming claws with his hand.
“Oh my God, that’s just embarrassing,” Sophia mutters.
“I don’t know if I prefer that to Karen,” I say flatly.
“You do because best friends call each other pet names.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.
“Sure, Clay,” I say, making him laugh.