87. Riley
EIGHTY-SEVEN
The minuteour suite door closes, I kick off my stupid flats and leave them in the corner. The shoes, while cute and new, hadn”t been as great for walking as I”d hoped. My left heel sports a blister that would make a Marine weep.
I hobble over to the sofa and fling myself down on my back. A sigh leaks from my mouth and I shut my eyes. It”s ten o”clock, we”re in New York, and I”m absolutely beat from this fucked-up day. Under any normal circumstances, I”d want to go to a club, drink at a bar, or just walk around to absorb the energy of the city.
Now all I want is to take off my bra and go to bed.
After the shooting, Mia and I had waited in the dank bar for Gabriel and Mia”s husband Rocco. (He”s also Italian, of course). When Gabriel arrived, he was pissed that we”d been in the crossfire, and doubly pissed that I was drinking alcohol since I”m still on antibiotics.
We”d gone from there to dinner, which stretched for hours. Years. An eternity. I think the thing that eroded my mood was the fact that Mia seemed completely unfazed that we”d narrowly averted death.
Combined with Gabriel”s constant concern, it was like emotional whiplash.
”That meal was great, wasn”t it?” Gabriel says, easing into a chair and unlacing his shoes. ”The osso busco was perfection.”
I grunt in response, my hand covering my eyes.
”What”s wrong?” he asks. ”You got real quiet there at the end.”
I remove my hand and open my eyes. ”I dunno. Getting shot at does that to a person. Makes their life flash before their eyes, PTSD, you know. The works.” It”s impossible to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
Gabriel sighs and moves to sit on the edge of the sofa, near my waist. ”But the shooting wasn”t targeting you. It was the store clerk.”
Mia”s husband Rocco had found out through a cop buddy that the shooting was an estranged boyfriend of the store”s saleswoman. ”Like that makes me feel any better.”
”I know. It was a lot. I”m sorry.” Gabriel leans down to kiss me.
I wrap my arms around him. ”I need a hug.”
”Mmmm. I”ll gladly give you a hug.” He settles half on top of me, scooping me in his arms.
”Why is it I feel so safe with you when I”m in your arms, but every other moment I feel like my life is at risk?” I murmur into his ear.
He presses his nose into my neck. When he speaks, his voice is muffled against my skin. ”Do you really feel that way?”
”Sometimes. I hate it.”
Gabriel”s silent for a while. After a few minutes, he sits up and stares down at me while brushing the hair away from my face. ”I need you to be honest with me about something.”
I don”t speak for a beat. The air in the luxury hotel suite is silent but for the distant whisper of the air conditioner. ”Okay,” I finally say.
”Do you think this relationship is good for you?”
I hesitate for a second, worried about what message that pause will send. ”I...don”t...know,” I eventually say. The words come out like molasses. Excruciatingly slow.
His intense gaze pierces into me, and I”m caught in its intensity, my feelings and breath trapped in my throat.
”I wish I could respond differently,” I finally manage to utter, my voice shaky. ”I want this relationship to succeed because I love you. I love being with you. Not just in bed. You make me laugh and you”re smart, and...”
I let out another sigh.
It”s the undeniable truth. My heart is consumed by adoration for this man. I crave him in ways I never thought possible, needing him like I”ve never needed anyone else before. He embodies everything I”ve ever desired in a man.
Except for one crucial detail. His family”s business. It casts a gray shadow over everything.
”But...?” he prompts, his face etched with concern.
”But your life is entangled in the complex.”
A furrow forms on his forehead, and he lets out a sigh of exasperation. ”It”s ironic, because before I met you, I never considered my life to be complicated at all.”
My fingers instinctively seek solace in his dark, soft hair. I revel in the sensation, playing with one short lock that always flops over his forehead and makes him look boyish. ”When it”s just us, everything feels perfect. It”s the intrusion of the outside world that poses a problem.”
His eyes, as black as coal, study my face intently. ”What can I do to help? Short of abandoning everything and whisking you away to a secluded Caribbean island?”
A playful smile tugs at my lips. ”Doesn”t sound too bad, does it?” I tease.
”Babe, if it were possible, I”d do it in a heartbeat. But you know I have responsibilities.”
Of course, his burdens. The weight of his family”s legacy. There was a time when I found it impressive, even awe-inspiring, and a little frightening. Now, though, I”m just... weary. Annoyed, perhaps. I release a tired sigh. ”I understand. I wouldn”t want you to upend your life for me.”
”It”s not that I wouldn”t want to, Riley. It”s that I can”t,” he confesses, his voice tinged with frustration. ”You”re right about my complicated business life. It”s all I”ve ever known. I guess that”s why I don”t see it as complicated.”
The clenching and throbbing of his jaw muscles tell me that he”s over this conversation.
My hands glide down his chest, seeking comfort. Suddenly, an overwhelming fatigue washes over my body. ”Can we not dwell on this tonight? Or while we”re here in New York?”
He nods, but a worrisome crease crosses his face.
”I”m just... pretty tired,” I admit.
”Okay.” He rises from the bed and extends a hand, helping me to my feet. We prepare for sleep, and I settle into the plush hotel bed. The sheets caress my skin with unparalleled softness, probably because the thread count is about six million and they were blessed by angels or something.
As I fade away into sleep, the final sensation I experience is Gabriel turning away from me, rolling over in silent protest of our conversation. I”m too exhausted to engage anymore.