44. Audra
The next day…
The house feels too quiet. I'm curled up on the worn couch with a mug of coffee—that tastes like acid compared to the coffee I've gotten used to at Gabe's—that's gone cold, staring at nothing, while the weight of yesterday's conversation with Kelly and Maggie still sits like lead in my chest. My phone buzzes on the coffee table.
Mom. I almost don't answer, but guilt wins.
"Hey, Mom."
"Sweetheart…" Her voice is softer than usual. "I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have pushed so hard. I just… I worry about you."
"It's okay," I say automatically, even though it isn't. Not really.
Deep down, her words from yesterday keep echoing. The way she accused me of never being there for her. That's when I realize it wasn't just Pete weighing me down. She is part of that weight, too. I just never let myself name it before.
If you move in with Gabe, he'll find a nice place for Mom, a treacherous little voice whispers. A real home. Proper care. Security. I shove the thought away hard. I can't base my life on getting rid of her. That's not fair to either of us.
"I'm telling you," Mom starts again, like she's been waiting for an opening, "you need to come back."
I close my eyes briefly. "Mom?—"
"No, listen." Her tone turns serious. "Men like Gabriel D'Amato? They don't come around twice. He likes you. That's obvious. And men like that—powerful men—they protect what they like."
Protect. Is that what he's doing? Or am I just… convenient? A piece on the board I don't fully understand yet.
"I don't know what he wants from me," I admit quietly.
That's the truth of it. The part that won't settle. Mom waves it off, I can practically see her doing it through the phone. "Does it matter? He kept us safe. While your dead husband nearly got you killed, Audra. And then where would I have been? Did you ever think about that?"
"Yeah, yeah. Pete, Pete, Pete," she says it like his name is an inconvenience. "Pete was… nice. He wasn't right for you. That man is."
I stop myself from rolling my eyes. Because… translation: Gabe is the kind of man who can offer her a better life. Better than Pete ever could. Anger sparks hot and sharp inside me. Has she always been this much of a user? Using me. Using Pete?
"Mom, I can't just jump in with Gabe. Pete is barely?—"
She interrupts, "You're scared."
"No shit."
"Not of him."
That makes me pause. In my mind, I see her head tilt, watching me too closely. "You're scared of wanting him."
My breath catches. Is that true?
"Mom—"
"Don't," she cuts me off. "Don't lie to me. I heard you, remember? And I've seen the way you look at him."
Heat crawls up my neck, a messy tangle of annoyance, embarrassment, and guilt.
"I just watched my husband die," I snap.
"And?" she shoots back. "Does that mean you stop feeling? Stop wanting? Stop being alive?"
"Yes," I bite out. "That's exactly what it means."
But even as I say it, I know it's a lie. At least for me. Because my body didn't get the memo. My mind didn't. And definitely whatever twisted, hungry part of me that keeps pulling me back toward Gabe like gravity didn't.
Mom sighs dramatically. "I'm just saying… if you come back now, we can fix this."
Fix this. Like I didn't threaten his men. Like I didn't burn part of his kitchen and walk out. Like he'd just forgive me.
A strange, unsettling thought slips in anyway. Would he?
He was nice enough in our texts. He even joked about it.
The doorbell rings. "Mom, I've got to go."
Just like yesterday, there is nobody there, but there's a large basket with an even larger bow on top.
"Let me help you." From out of nowhere, Brick emerges, carrying a box bearing the picture of the coffee maker I loved so much in Gabe's kitchen.
He pushes by me.
"Why don't you come in?" But there is no sting in my voice because… hey, coffee maker?
"Where do you want it?"
I have no idea. My tiny kitchen has no room for that monstrosity. I'm going to sell this place anyway. I'm not going to live in this house with the ghost of Pete's betrayal hovering.
"How about here?" Brick puts it down on the tiny kitchen island. It takes up the entire surface.
"Perfect."
He walks around me and collects the basket. He puts it on the coffee table that creaks under the weight. "Why don't you check this out, while I set the coffee maker up?"
"Sounds good," I agree, already halfway to the coffee table.
There is a note, and I read it first. It's inside a tiny envelope and written on expensive-looking stationery.
Shit. Why does he have to be so… perfect? No, I'll be there for you. No, that's not Gabe. Gabe says. I'll come.
I dig through the basket and find so many thoughtful goodies, it brings tears to my eyes.
This man, who has enough money to buy Vegas if he wanted to, sent me the throw blanket I liked from his couch, the coffee and creamer I liked—not to mention the coffee machine Brick is building right now—a grunt from him tells me he's still hard at work.
A notebook and pen, more snacks, and, of all things, a puzzle.
I smile when I see that. He must have raided the gift shop at his casino.
Fluffy socks that bring tears to my eyes.
And my favorite bath soap—how he figured that one out is a mystery.
Two days later
Every day, more gifts arrive. Yesterday, it was a huge bouquet of flowers held together by a diamond tennis bracelet that probably cost more than my car.
I love it. Not as much as the blanket—it doesn't keep me warm—but it satiates the part in me that has always yearned for luxury items. In the evening, a five-course meal arrived.
My stalker must have noticed that I wasn't eating.
We've been texting, and it has been… nice.
Today, though, I'm hard at work packing up all of Pete's stuff. I've decided to put in boxes and storage, and Kelly and Maggie can go through them to see what they want. Right now, I just want him out of this house.
The more I think about what he did, the angrier I get. How dare he make that kind of decision without me? And not only not tell me about it, but also have the audacity to comfort me when I got my period and had a breakdown that I wasn't pregnant. Every. Single. Month. For years.
Why?
That one question is driving me to madness.
I get that he wanted me all to himself; that much is obvious, but there had to have been more. Some kind of sick satisfaction over my misery. I shake my head. Even as angry as I am, I can't see Pete doing that.
The ringing of the doorbell distracts me from throwing all of Pete's shoes into a box—this morning's delivery was more boxes, thank you, Gabe. When I open the door, I'm surprised to see Jenna and a woman I don't know, but who is just as gorgeous and expensively dressed as Jenna.
"I hope we're not disturbing you, but when I came by the penthouse to introduce Violet to you," she elbows the other woman, who grins at me, "Gabe told me where you were."
"So we thought we'd bring you something and offer our company if you're up for it." Violet holds up a bag of bagels.
"How did you know I can't say no to bagels?" I ask, ushering the women inside. "Come in."
"Actually, your mom told us, after I left the strawberry cake with her this morning," Jenna winks. "Oh… cozy?"
I laugh. My little house is anything but cozy, especially now with several boxes already packed with Pete's stuff and stacked half-heartedly in the hallway. The huge contraption of a coffee maker is taking up the entire kitchen island. Funny how it never looked that big in Gabe's kitchen.
"Coffee? Gabe sent me a gourmet coffee maker."
Violet moves some of last night's leftover dishes to the side to find a spot for the bagels.
"Yeah, uhm, sorry," I mumble.
"Don't be. We're the ones intruding on you. Like I told Jenna, you're probably not up for company." Violet tilts her head at me in question.
"Yeah, yeah, but you two have so much in common, I just had to introduce you, and you're leaving tonight." Jenna pokes Violet again.
At my questioning look, she explains, "Violet is Enzo's long-lost daughter. She only flew in last night, from New York, and is leaving in a few hours."
I feel bad, without knowing why, really, because it wasn't me to ask them here. "Oh, I don't want to take away from your dad's time with you."
Violet waves her hand. "No worries. He's busy with Massimo doing something." She looks at Jenna, who shrugs.
A few minutes later, I have the breakfast table cleaned off enough for us to sit around it, with the bagels and coffee spread out in between us. I even found some paper plates.
"You're gonna think me a snob, but it's been a long time since I ate of one of these." Violet holds up a paper plate.
"No, I'm actually envious," I admit. If I never see another paper plate in my life again, it'll be too soon.
It was Pete's genius idea, after I made a list of shared chores, since we were both working. His chores included the dishwasher, so he went out and bought a bunch of paper and plastic disposables. That was the first and only time he pissed my mom off. At least officially.
"So how come you're hanging out here? Did Gabe piss you off? Violet is from the New York family. We can figure something out to make it look like an accident if Gabe stepped over the line."
I shouldn't laugh. I really shouldn't, because Jenna is actually serious, and Violet looks like she'll back her up a hundred percent. And knowing that they're not joking, I should be running in the opposite direction instead of feeling myself drawn to them.
"It wasn't Gabe," I admit.
"Violet here knows something about controlling mothers," Jenna prods.
I send a curious look at the other woman, who shrugs.
"My mother took my siblings and me from our father, telling us he was dead." Violet confides. "I grew up believing we were poor and clawed my way up to become a nurse, until…" A wistful smile tugs on her lips, and for a moment, she looks far off.