37. Baldo
We’ve been in New York for a month, and we’re still hanging in some sort of suspended state. Growing closer every day, our relationship has found its own rhythm. I’m happy. Trying not to think about the fact that it’s only for the time being.
At least the inheritance issue has been resolved. Rupert has released the funds to Brook, and she’s disbursed some of it to different charitable organizations already.
I promoted some of my most reliable managers in Europe and Asia, and along with Chloe—who is still complaining about the distance—we’ve found ways to manage the business even with me here.
And still, the planner in me, the controlling bastard that I am, has been restless. Brook asked for patience, but fuck it’s hard.
She spends as much time with her dad as possible, but she hasn’t talked to him about us yet.
And so while my life feels like a smooth ride beside the woman I used to think I had lost forever, it’s only a question of time before things crumble.
Because we need to talk to our parents.
We don’t attend events, because I don’t want to pretend to be her brother for the fear of having our picture taken and Micah finding out.
I don’t want to miss family dinners.
Or avoid my mother.
All the while, my patience is running thin.
The elevator door opens into a large foyer of the Madison Club where my brother, Gio, is a member.
I’ve been avoiding a meeting with all my brothers, though I’m not sure why. Well, one reason is that I blame them all for making my relationship with Brook so difficult. So taboo.
“Here he is.” Gio stands as the hostess leads me to his table.
Fuck, but it’s good to see them.
“Sorry I’m late.” I take a seat after we shake hands and give each other a half-embrace.
Massi, Gio and Andrea are staring at me.
“What?”
“When was the last time the four of us got together?” Massi asks.
I shrug.
“Please, spare us the sordid journey down memory lane. We’re here now.” Andrea opens his menu.
He’s always been the troublemaker, having issues with substance abuse and the lifestyle his fame as an artist threw at him.
But he’s also partied in Europe enough for us to get together more than I have with my two older brothers.
We order lunch and talk shit, mostly about business.
“So, Lo told us you and Brook…” Gio leans back, smirking.
And here we go. “I guess everyone knows now.”
“It’s weird.” Massi taps his lips with the napkin.
“Not for us.” I drum my fingers on my thigh.
“Don’t get all offended.” Gio chuckles. “If you can manage her, go for it.”
“What do you mean, manage her?”
“Look, I haven’t spent much time with her, but she’s been partying and wasting her trust fund in Europe doing God knows what—”
“Stop right there, Gio. Brook has a very successful career, and the fact that none of you knows about it says more about you than about her. She’s a strong, creative person, who isn’t full of herself and enjoys life.
“And if any of you think you’re better than her, enjoy your high horse. None of you have any right to judge because none of you, including her sisters, haven’t given a shit about what she’s been through. Or what she’s achieved in life.”
I push my plate away, appetite gone.
“Nice speech, asshole.” Andrea leans back, stretching his long limbs to the side of him, a playful smirk on his face. “You really care about her.”
“So should you. We’re family, after all, as you keep reminding me.” I yank the napkin from my lap and drop it on my unfinished meal.
“Sorry, I guess you’re right.” Gio raises his arms in surrender. “But it’s not like she stuck around or tried to share.”
“Or maybe it’s not like you cared enough about her for her to want to share.”
All three of them stare at me.
“Are you in love with her?” Massi asks.
That renders me speechless. “What does it take to get a drink here?” I snap.
Gio chuckles. “You’re in love with her. Now I didn’t see that coming.”
“Looks like we’ve missed a lot when it comes to the two of you,” Massi says.
“Okay, so what now? You’re going to propose?” Gio asks.
“We’re already married, dickhead.”
Andrea laughs. “That’s right, cart before the horse and all that. What I don’t understand is why you’re still pretending.”
You and me, bro, you and me. “She’s not ready to talk to Micah.”
“As weird as it would be for him, I’m sure he’d get over the sibling thing. It’s not like you’re blood related.” Gio gestures to a server and orders three whiskeys, since Andrea doesn’t drink.
“I’m not so sure about that, but in any case, it’s Brook who needs to tell him and she’s been stalling.” I run my fingers through my hair.
“Did you tell her you love her?” Massi asks.
“Kind of a moot point since he hasn’t admitted it to himself yet.” Fucking Andrea cackles.
I glare at him, which only makes him laugh harder.
“Okay,” Massi says, “I can’t believe we’re spending our lunch talking about relationships like some chicks, but here are my two cents. By all means, give her time, but it took me seventeen years to sort my shit out with Gina, and I lost precious time with my son because of that. And these two learned it the hard way too. Being scared of love is in our blood, but you need to grow some balls.”
“Hey, I told Ivy I loved her immediately.” Andrea spreads his hands, palms up, in protest.
“Yeah, and spooked her.” Gio rolls his eyes. “As much as I hate to admit it, Massi is right. If she’s stalling, she might need reassurance that she’s not jeopardizing her relationship with Micah. That you’re in it for real.”
* * *
I busy myself with the new club for the next two days. Mostly because I’m a fucking coward. She might need some reassurance, but what about me?
Am I ready to bare my soul, only to be put in second place? And it’s not like I can even hold a grudge. It’s her father, after all.
The man who was a father to me growing up. A man I used to respect, who brought up four amazing women, and in the process held his own with the four of us. Not trying to take our papa’s place, but to fill the void as much as possible.
The man who helped Mom through the rough time when she was left alone with four boys. It was thanks to Micah that she started smiling again.
I don’t have many memories from those early years because I was so young, but I know Micah has been the best thing that could have happened to Mom.
He taught me how to ride a bike, swim, shoot a gun. He drove me to school, built airplanes with me. Was there when I got hurt. Cheered me from the sidelines when I played football in elementary school.
He loves Brook, and he’s fighting a life-threatening disease. Who am I to challenge him?
And yet he’s the reason I didn’t get a chance to be with her when she needed me the most. And I want to be the man who can forgive him, but the sad truth is, I can’t.
Doesn’t Brook deserve better from me?
“Mr. Cassinetti.” Pietro, the concierge, grimaces, or smiles, I guess, when he sees me. “I hope you’re having a good day.”
“Thank you. It’s been busy. Is my wife home?”
“Yes, yes, she is. About that…” His eyes dart around, avoiding me.
What the fuck is happening?
“We asked Mrs. Cassinetti on several occasions to keep her music down, but—”
“Well, my wife likes loud music.”
I leave him standing behind me and get to our elevator.
Not very neighborly of me, but loud music means Brook is dancing. And a dancing Brook is working through problems.
Hopefully she’ll dance herself into a solution that saves us both from this limbo.
Sure enough, I hear the beat while still in the elevator. When I step out of it, she is swaying and gliding in front of the wall of windows.
She pushed the sofa to the side to make more room. I get closer and lean against the wall, enjoying the performance.
The bass pulsates through the air. The city lights cast a soft glow over Central Park, but it’s Brook who illuminates the room, her silhouette a vivid contrast against the sprawling darkness outside.
She moves with a raw, uninhibited energy, her body synced perfectly with the rhythm of the loud music that fills the penthouse. Each movement is fluid.
I’m mesmerized, rooted to the spot. The world narrows down to this singular, captivating scene.
She embodies freedom in this moment, a spirit untamed by the concerns that weigh us down. A part of me envies that abandon, the ability to just let go and be consumed by the sheer joy of the moment.
She spins, arms outstretched, and suddenly, I’m hit by a wave of emotion so intense it nearly knocks the breath from me.
In that moment, her steps falter as she locks eyes with me. And I realize there is no joy etched on her face. She’s been crying.
The sight propels me forward, all the hair standing on my nape. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“I officially lost the TV series.” She wraps her arms around my waist. “I can’t believe fucking Dylan stole this from me.”
“Goddammit.” I hold her close. I have half a mind to get my jet ready and fly to London to beat the shit out of that bastard. “You should have let me deal with it.”
She pushes away, her eyes blazing with angry energy. “Oh really, are you going to fix all my problems? And I’ll just sit around and look pretty?”
“Fuck, Brook, that’s not what I meant. I know that you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself…”
“Yeah, is that why you kept watching me for years and interfering every time I got into trouble?”
“Whoa, whoa, let’s step back here. I understand you’re upset. You lost a project that was important to you.”
“But I wouldn’t have if I let you deal with it. Right?” she challenges.
Any other day, I’d let her use me as her punching bag. But under the spell of our idle, unresolved relationship, I’m not a willing participant tonight.
“You know what? Fuck it.” I spin around and march to our bedroom.
I get to the bathroom, practically rip off my tie and get undressed.
Fuck Dylan and the lost production. This explosion is a consequence of my expectations, and her inaction.
Of my whining for attention, and her only giving it part-time. Fuck. What’s wrong with me?
Stepping into the shower, I let the hot water melt some of the tension from my shoulders. Part of me is expecting Brook to join me, but another part is still reeling from the unexpected fight.
Perhaps it’s better she stays away until we cool down.
I put a towel around my hips and walk out to the bedroom, but Brook isn’t there. I don’t find her in the living room or in the kitchen.
A cone of light gives me her location. What is she doing in the guest room? We have never used any of them. Okay, maybe once we fucked there against the window during our primal play.
I tap my knuckles on the smooth wood and turn the knob. “Brook.”
It’s locked. She fucking locked herself in. I barely stop myself from kicking the door off its hinges. Instead, I knock again. “Brook.”
“I’m going to sleep here tonight. I need some space.”
I lower my head against the door, my worst nightmares coming to fruition.
She’s retreating already. And after I solved her inheritance problem, she has no reason to stay.
Fan-fucking-tastic.