Chapter 20
Dahlia
Rain pelts the roof and bolts of lightning crack through the sky almost continuously. A chilly breeze blows through the room, causing the floor-to-ceiling curtains to dance. It’s the perfect day to curl up with a book and nap the day away. I’ve tried. After Troy disappeared from the bedroom and didn’t come back, I fled to the third story and tucked myself away in the screened-in room.
A soft blanket covers my legs, and a book lays on my lap. I found it on a shelf in the living room. It looks good, a sports romance of all things, but I can’t get into it. My real-life hero is somewhere in this house and isn’t talking to me.
I don’t blame him.
Calling Burt was reckless. I understand my emotional response, and I give myself grace for it, but I can’t excuse putting us both in danger—no matter what.
If something were to happen to Troy because of me …
I take a deep breath to steady myself and to offset the panic rising quickly inside me. I can’t go there. I can’t think about something happening to him.
Not when we’re just getting started.
My instinct is to find him and apologize and to try to make things right. I know I was wrong. But I don’t know him well enough like this—not yet—to know if he needs time to calm down, or if he needs me to go to him.
The unknowing hurts. A lot. Because all I want to do is be his partner, but that requires knowing the other person intimately. And, obviously, I don’t.
I close my eyes, resting my head against the back of the sofa and wish this mess was over.
But somehow, I got to keep him.
“Hey.”
My head snaps up and my heart springs to life. The sight of him leaning against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets—his eyes sad and weary—shatters my heart.
“Hey,” I say carefully, setting the book on the end table. “I was going to find you, but I thought maybe you needed some time to cool off.”
“I yelled at you.”
It’s a simple sentence that’s anything but that. It’s a confession of his worst fears, an admission of wrongdoing—it’s a forlorn acknowledgment that he’s accepted defeat. All I can think about is the comparison he must be making between himself and his father … because he was upset.
Oh, Troy.
“You didn’t yell at me,” I say softly. “We were having a heated, serious conversation. It’s okay.”
“I don’t want to yell at you. I don’t want it to be like that.”
I gulp back a wave of emotions and pull my blanket back. “Come here. Please.”
He trudges across the room and sits beside me, so I crawl into his lap. His shoulders slump as he wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly, burying his face in my hair.
“Do you know how I know it’ll never be like that?” I ask.
“How?”
“Because it kills you to think you hurt me. Even though you didn’t. And I know your heart, Troy Lucas Castelli, and you wouldn’t hurt me. You’d die first.”
He sighs, planting kisses to the top of my head. “I’m sorry, Doll.”
“For what? For being upset that I did something stupid? No. I’m sorry. I let my fear and emotions get the best of me and that was irresponsible.”
“All I could think about when I saw you on your phone was someone on their way to hurt you. And I just … dammit, Dahlia. I can’t even think about it.”
“And I can’t think about anything happening to you, and to know I was so selfish today just …”
My lips tremble as I struggle against the tears.
He blows out a long, tired breath.
“I just want to protect you and make you happy,” he says. “And I worry I can’t do that. I worry I can’t keep you safe and you’ll see that I’m a fraud.”
“What?” I pull away from him so I can see his face. “I’m the safest when I’m with you. I’m the happiest when we’re together. Don’t you understand that? These past few days have been stressful, sure, but I’ve smiled more, laughed more … felt taken care of in a way I never have before. And that’s because of you.”
His eyes fill with relief, and he settles back against the couch. “Are relationships always this stressful?” He chuckles. “I’ve never thought much about it. I’ve never been interested in it. But now I realize that it hurts me more when you’re upset than it does when I’m upset. And, when you think about it like that, why do people do this?”
“What are you saying? That you don’t want to do this?”
He laughs, pulling me into him again. “Right.”
We sit quietly for a long time, listening to the storm rage outside. I want to ask him if we have to leave now that I’ve screwed up—but I don’t. Because the thought of leaving our little cocoon is depressing.
Troy must be thinking the same thing because he sighs.
“I told Ford what happened today,” he says. “I’m waiting to hear what he wants to do.”
“What do you think he’ll do?” I sit up and pull the blanket over me again. “You know what? I say we go back.”
“No.”
“Landry Security is wasting so many resources on this. You’re wasting so much time.”
“Not what I would call it.”
I roll my eyes. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you guys to start with. I knew you’d overreact.”
“You haven’t seen overreacting yet.”
“Please.”
He sits up, stretching his neck back and forth. I know this motion. I tease him about it in the office—that he’s limbering up for a fight.
Only, here, it’s just me. So …
“Should I stretch?” I ask.
“What?”
“You’re doing the neck thing.”
He laughs, his chest shaking with the force. “I’m going to tell you something.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“And you’re going to listen and not panic and not start being bossy.”
“I make absolutely no promises with those terms and conditions.”
He shakes his head. “Ford’s meeting with your father right now.”
I spring off the cough. “What? Why’s he doing that?”
My heart pounds. Do they know something I don’t? Was I wrong this whole time? What the heck have they been doing and not telling me—about my life?
“I didn’t want to tell you this because it’s a theory.” His voice is too calm, like he’s talking to a wounded badger. “But I had a thought last night when I was digging around while you slept, and Ford’s checking it out today.”
“With my dad?”
He nods carefully.
My hands fly to my hips. “What’s the theory? And don’t tell me you joined everyone else and think that I’m being overly naive.”
“No one thinks that.”
“Yes, they do. And I even understand it a little bit. Joseph Dallo looks like a terrible person. I’d probably think I was naive, too. Except, I know I’m not. And I know he’s not behind this. Won’t you guys just freaking believe me?”
He smirks. “Are you done?”
I lift my chin. “I don’t know. Let me think about it.”
“The theory is that it’s Alexis.”
My jaw drops to the floor. “Alexis?”
Troy nods.
I sit beside him and let my brain sort that out.
“Did she know about you when they got married?” he asks.
“Um, I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.” I think back to the first few times I met them both. “Yeah, I don’t know. We have a weird relationship, which I guess is to be expected. I can’t really read whether she’s just naturally a colder person, or if she’s just chilly to me. Why?”
“Well, your dad married Alexis just a couple of months after your mother died. And it hit me last night that maybe she didn’t know about you, because you didn’t know about them for another year and a half, right?”
I nod.
“She’s thirty years old, Dahlia. She’s dating a man in his sixties. That had no kids until recently. And he is worth a lot of money if you believe even a fraction of the online guesstimates.”
Wow. “Okay. You suspect she married my dad for his money, thinking he was childless with a huge estate to go somewhere. So she marries him, plays the doting wife?—”
“I’m not saying she’s digging gold. She might really love your father. But people factor children into marriages every day, and there’s not always that much coin on the line.”
That’s true.
“On another note,” I say. “Can you imagine being as wealthy as my father and never being able to trust anyone? You’d second-guess literally everyone that you come into contact with, wondering if they liked you or what you could do for them. That would be so crummy.”
“Yeah. I don’t have that problem. I know flat-out that you like me for my cock.”
I snort. “Among things.”
“There are other things.”
“Yes. But your sparkling personality isn’t one of them.”
He grabs me, sets me on the couch, and then kneels between my legs. His elbows rest on my knees as he smirks up at me.
“I’m sorry,” he says with complete genuineness. “I need to know this. I’m going to try to be the best man you’ve ever known.”
I touch the side of his cheek. “You already are.” I lower my mouth to his but pull back before he can deepen it. “And I need to know that you know that I don’t expect you to be perfect. I’m obviously not.”
We laugh together.
“And we’re going to have arguments, Troy. And we’re going to see things differently. And we’re gonna fuck up. Probably you more than me.”
I wink at him, making him laugh. The sound is music to my ears.
“We’re going to have to trust each other,” he says. “It’s a big deal to me. More than most people, I think. I can’t deal with people in my life that I can’t trust.”
“I understand. And I can’t deal with people in my life that don’t let me love them. It’s a part of who I am.”
A soft grin splits his cheeks.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“No, what?”
He shakes his head as if he’s embarrassed. It’s adorable, even if I don’t understand it.
“So what do we do now?” I ask. “We’re waiting on Ford to tell us if we can come home or if we need to stay on the run?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you think he’ll say?”
Troy shrugs. “I don’t know. It depends on what happens in their meeting, I guess.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Whatever keeps you safe. What do you want to do?”
I rest back on the couch and wonder what I’d choose if I could pick anything at all. Would I go home? Would I stay here? Would I fly to a tropical location and drink cocktails out of pineapples?
But as I imagine every scenario, they all have one thing in common. He’s about six-three, with slate-gray eyes, and a mouth that can perform magic. No matter where I see myself, I see him there, too.
“Do you know what I think?” I ask.
“No. What?”
“I think you’re stuck with me, Mr. Castelli.”
He smiles. “Do you know what I think?”
“No. What?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
My blood heats as I absorb the way he looks at me.
“I have an idea,” I say.
“Tell me.”
“How would you feel about ordering a pizza for dinner and just lying in bed for the rest of the day? We can watch a movie or, you know, you could find other ways to entertain us.”
He hops to his feet. “I’ll get the menus.”
I laugh, getting up, too, and follow him downstairs.