Chapter 21
Dahlia
“To be clear,” I say, groaning, “this is not what I had in mind when I suggested you could find ways to entertain us tonight.”
He either misses the sarcasm altogether, or he’s a sadist who enjoys torturing me. Either way, his amusement at my displeasure from doing squats and lunges across the backyard for the last eternity is misplaced.
“You did great,” he says.
“I never endeavored to be great at this. Being a mediocre lunger and squatter is something I can absolutely live with.”
He holds the door open for me. “You should never accept mediocracy, especially in something that you hold the potential to excel in.”
I stop in the foyer and smirk at him. “There’s one time and one place that I care about my ability to squat. And, fortunately for me, it’s your stamina in that situation that’s the weak link.”
“Smart-ass.”
I laugh, following him into the kitchen. “The pizza should be here any time. Think we have enough time to grab a shower?” I smack his ass as he walks in front of me. “If we shower simultaneously, it’ll save time in the end.”
“Has that ever worked for us?”
“Not once.”
We laugh together, something I’m grateful for. I wasn’t sure how we’d navigate our earlier tiff—he had every right to be angry—but we seemed to find a helpful way to communicate our way through it. I was glad he trusted me with his concerns about shouting. It made it easier to be genuine in my remorse, too.
I appreciate so many things about this man. But one of the biggest things I love about Troy falls into a category that none of the men I’ve dated before have ever scored in.
Effort.
He’s surprised me with his ability and desire to show up for me—and not just in his protective hero role. I knew he was a loyal, dedicated man. But I can see he’ll show up as my boyfriend, as a man, as a friend. He’ll show up as a person who wants to do more and better—to grow. At the moment, that manifests itself in running the bath a little cooler than he’d like it because it’s my preference or asking why I feel a certain way—not to pick a fight, but because he wants to understand my position. He’s demonstrated it by standing with me when everyone else thought I was wrong, or by apologizing for his part in a disagreement with no reservation.
I smile at him.
“What?” he asks, handing me a bottle of water.
“I was just thinking about how things work out sometimes. One of the worst days of my life turned into the most beautiful thing in my life. It’s funny how that happens.”
“It’s like it’s fate or something.”
“Do you believe in fate?” I ask, my stomach growling.
He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. I think people like to believe it when it serves them. Take us, for example. I want to think it’s inevitable that we wound up together. It makes me hopeful that I can’t fuck it up.”
I kiss him quickly.
“What about you?” he asks.
“I didn’t used to.” I walk alongside him upstairs to our bathroom. “I thought that every day you made a series of choices that led you to another series of choices. And your choices were affected by other people’s decisions. Like the world is a huge algorithm. But now? I don’t know. I mean, we fit so well together that it’s hard to imagine now that there was an opportunity of us not happening. You feel like the …”
I blush, stopping myself short of finishing the sentence.
“Of what?”
“Nothing.”
“No, of what?” He slips his shirt over his head, distracting me with his wide shoulders and cut abs. He tosses it on the bathroom vanity. “Finish it.”
“You feel like the only thing in my life that was bound to happen. I know that sounds so corny.”
He grins. “Up until a few days ago, I thought my life was a fucked up and pointless series of events. I mean, what on earth could’ve been the purpose of going through some of the shit I have?” He shrugs. “But now, instead of feeling like a path of destruction, my life feels like a lane leading me right here.”
“I’m so glad I give your path some structure.”
He smirks, grabbing his half-hard cock through his sweats. “You give more than my path a little structure, Doll.”
The humid air shifts, and I know where this leads. I start to undress to make the process easier when Troy’s phone rings.
The levity on his face falls. My stomach churns. It’s time.
“Ready for this?” he asks.
I force a swallow and nod because it’s all I can do. I’ve fought thinking about this and now it’s here—Ford’s meeting with my father.
Their conversation will either complicate things or improve them. While being in flux has been nerve-wracking, it’s better than hearing Ford say he still suspects my dad is involved or that he’s angry that we’ve questioned Alexis’s potential role in this mess.
She is his wife, after all.
Troy answers on speakerphone.
“Castelli,” he says, squeezing my shoulder.
“Hey. Is Dahlia there with you?”
“I’m here.”
“Good. I just left your father’s office.”
“How did it go?” I ask, hoping my voice sounds calmer than I feel.
“He’s a very interesting man. Not what I expected.”
That doesn’t answer my question, Ford. “That’s lovely. How did it go?”
He chuckles. “He was very welcoming, much more than I would’ve expected from a man going through the legal battles he’s currently embroiled in. We sat down over coffee, and I told him about the stalking and the emails. I stopped short of accusing Alexis. I just threw some crumbs down and watched to see how he dealt with them.”
“Dammit, Ford. You’re not getting points for storytelling here. Spit it out,” I say.
He laughs. “Okay. He?—”
Ding!
Troy bristles, his shoulders stiffening. “Hold up, Landry.”
I glance out the window. There’s a car parked in the driveway. I can see enough of the wording on the side to recognize the local pizza parlor we ordered from a while ago.
“It’s just the pizza,” I say. “Want me to get it?”
Troy looks over my shoulder toward the road. He nods warily. “Yeah. I already paid and tipped them. Grab the pizza and lock up behind you. Hang on, Landry.” He swipes around on his phone. “There. The security system is off. I’ll reset it as soon as you close the door.”
“Thanks,” I say, kissing his sternum before heading downstairs.
My nerves are jumbled. What happened in Ford’s meeting? Saying he’s a very interesting man isn’t exactly helpful. Is my father angry with me that he had to meet with my boss? Or will he appreciate they’re not leaving any stone unturned?
Does he have any answers or not?
I swing open the door. “Hey—Oh my God.”
Troy
“I’ll wait until she’s back to go into the details,” Ford says. “But I have to admit one thing. Dahlia was right. He’s much different in person than they portray him online.”
“Does that surprise you?” I ask, pulling two towels out of the linen closet and putting them in Lincoln’s bougie towel warmer. “When is the media ever right about someone? Claiming people are decent human beings doesn’t sell subscriptions.”
“You’re so right. And they’ve made a pretty penny selling the story that Joseph Dallo is an asshole in bed with the cartel and planning on ruining humankind.”
I laugh, even though there’s nothing funny about it. “So what’s your gut reaction?”
“Oh, I have more than a gut reaction.”
My ears perk up. “What does that mean? Do you know who’s behind all of this?”
“Yes and no.”
Fury greets me like an old friend. “Who the fuck is it?”
A car horn blows outside, which is an odd occurrence in this ritzy neighborhood. It goes off again, this time followed by an engine revving and a crash.
“What is that? Hold on, Ford.”
I peer out the window, curious but also … unsettled.
Headlights sweep the shrubbery just before the pizza delivery car bolts down the driveway. The car jumps the curb, clipping the light pole at the bed where the driveway meets the road.
“What the fuck?”
“What’s going on?” Ford asks, concern dripping in his tone.
I turn to find Dahlia but then notice one thing that sends waves of panic crashing through me.
Someone is in the passenger’s seat with a bag over their head.