Remy

28. Olivia

OLIVIA

Monday night was hard.

Seeing Dad the next day and having to pretend I don’t know he’s dying is even harder. The only saving grace is my acclimation to dishonesty. I lean into our shared bond of mistruths and concoct a lie to excuse being melancholy. To warrant hugging him a little tighter. A little longer.

Apparently, one of my fictional high school friends died in a freak moped accident while in Thailand, so I’m super sad.

I give no names. No descriptive details. Dad’s too busy pretending not to be exhausted to ask challenging questions. And I don’t harbor any guilt because it gives me the excuse to be clingy.

I use getting to know Lucy as justification to have lunch upstairs with them every day. The problem is, with each shared meal, I notice how far my father’s health has deteriorated.

Before Remy shared the truth, I’d thought Dad’s symptoms were caused by chemo. That the treatments were making him lethargic, achy, and slightly jaundiced.

I know better now.

His pain is from the cancer, although he continues to try and hide it. He’s barely eating. And rapidly losing weight. The yellow tinge to his skin only increases with the passing days. But I don’t bring it up. I nod through the hypocrisy when he repeats how having Lucy around “isn’t a big deal” or “cause for concern,” hating all the mistruths, yet regretfully understanding them at the same time.

Mom’s cancer battle was hard. By far the hardest thing I’ve ever endured—current underworld drama included.

I get why he doesn’t want to tell me. It makes sense in a shitty kind of way.

So I let him think his secrets remain hidden. I’ll give him that final wish—at least until the heartbreak wears me down.

“How are you and Remy getting along?” he asks Saturday morning after Lucy leaves to get coffee and donuts.

I focus on the picture of Mom framed and mounted on the wall, buying some time before another deceitful dance.

The truth is, I haven’t spoken to Remy since Monday night. Five days without contact that feels more like five months.

The sick part is that I miss him.

“Don’t worry, Liv. I know.”

I struggle to keep my blank expression in check. “Hmm?” I feign indifference. “What do you know?”

“I’m sick. Not stupid. Whenever Remy has business to take care of I always try to glance out the window to make sure there are no issues, and numerous times I’ve seen your car in the parking lot with you sitting there, watching.”

My stomach rolls. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I guess it brings me comfort to know he trusts you enough to have you hanging around.”

I sit stunned, somehow still surprised by all the duplicitous cogs my father has spinning. “You weren’t worried?”

“About you seeing a dead body?” He snorts. “Do they bother you all of a sudden?”

I’d been referring to the criminal implication. The threat to my existence.

“You’re grown now, fragolina. Obviously you felt the need to be here and Remy allowed it, so who am I to stop you?”

I return my attention to Mom’s picture as I blink the burn from my eyes. It’s hard to understand how he can trust in my safety under these circumstances. But when I think about Remy, I guess I hold the same trust. There’s something about him that makes me feel protected, and it’s not only due to the ring dangling from my necklace that remains hidden under my clothes.

“With that same maturity and professionalism in mind,” he continues, “I’ve decided I’m going to give you the opportunity to take over the business for a while.”

I expected this, had predicted a rough timeline of events, but even with the foresight my throat tightens at the thought of working without him.

“Chemo is knocking me around this time, and I need a longer recovery period.” His smile is solemn. “The experience will do you good.”

“But I don’t know nearly enough about the ins and outs of your role. I wouldn’t have a clue how to even pay our staff.”

“Ivy knows the drill. I’ve been teaching her more about my job over the past few months.”

Of course he has.

“You’ve got this all worked out, don’t?—”

A knock sounds at the front door, cutting me off.

“That must be Lucy back with brunch.” Dad hesitantly shifts to raise from his recliner. “She mustn’t feel comfortable using her key.”

“Don’t move.” I quickly push to my feet. “I’ll get it.”

I don’t want to get it. I don’t appreciate having an audience to the dwindling amount of time we have left. But thankfully, Lucy has been great at busying herself when Dad and I are together.

It’s not Lucy who steals the breath from my lungs when I open the door though.

“Ollie,” Remy says in greeting against the backdrop of the mid-morning sun.

He looks entirely casual in faded grey jeans and a white T-shirt that clings to an impressive set of pecs, his hair mussed. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in anything other than a designer suit, and I’m stunned.

“What are you doing here?” My stomach fills with ridiculous butterflies.

“I’ve got business with Carlo.” He walks past me, his shoulder lightly brushing mine in the slightest tease of contact.

I rush to close the door and follow him into the living room.

“Hey, old-timer.” He levels a sly grin on my father. “How are you feeling?”

Dad rolls his eyes with a hollow chuckle. “Don’t start that old-timer crap with me.”

“Then answer my question.”

My heart clenches as they interact like seasoned friends.

“How much energy do you have today?” Remy slumps onto the sofa, kicking his legs out in front of him.

“Enough to take on the world,” Dad drawls.

“Good because that’s what we’re about to do. I’m taking you somewhere.”

My pulse kicks up speed.

“Are you talking about Taco Bell, son, or…?”

“I had somewhere more like Berkeley Springs in mind.” Remy sits forward, dragging his legs in and resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve got us a house for the night. You and Ollie can relax by the pool with Lucy. If you’re up for it, I even have dinner reservations on standby.”

Dad’s face lights up. “Are you serious?”

“One hundred percent.” Remy’s grin is subtle. Humbly proud. My stomach flutters at the handsomeness of the godforsaken expression, but my chest smothers the giddy sensation with foreboding. “My bag’s packed and in the back of the car. I also prearranged this with Lucy, so she’s already returning from getting some clothes.”

I stride farther into the room. “He doesn’t have the energy to travel.”

“Sure I do.” Dad repositions himself to sit more upright in his chair, trying to fake-smile his way through the discomfort movement must cause. “It’s a great idea.”

There’s a jingle of keys from the outside stairs, then the front door opens to reveal Lucy holding a box of donuts in one hand and an overnight bag in the other.

She glances between us with hesitation. “Did I take too long? I wasn’t sure what to pack.”

“No. You’re just in time.” Remy pushes to his feet. “I’m going to take little Pelosi home to get her things and make sure she doesn’t dawdle. You can help Carlo pack what he needs.”

“Of course.” She dumps her bag on the floor and hustles her way to my father, who stands with more energy and enthusiasm than I’ve seen in weeks.

But still… “I’m not sure I agree with this.”

I can’t ditch my apprehension.

Dad’s explosion of excitement will result in a crash later—one that could be detrimental to his health. And then there’s the whole laying-low-for-the-sake-of-our-lives stitch. Not to mention the lunacy of the four of us being tightly compacted into a tiny sports car for a drive likely to take more than ninety-minutes.

“It’ll do Carlo a world of good.” Lucy places the donut box on the coffee table and offers her arm to my father. “I’ll make sure he’s properly taken care of.”

“I can handle it, Liv,” Dad reiterates. “It’s going to be great.”

Nervousness eats at me, the anxiety warring with my quickly building excitement.

“Get moving, Ollie.” Remy jerks his chin toward the door as he starts for the entry. “You’re eating away at your dad’s relaxation time.”

The war continues, my insides being pulled in different directions.

I follow after Remy, catching up when he opens the door.

“Why are you doing this?” I keep my voice low and precede him outside.

“I feel like getting out of town.” He closes the door behind him and maneuvers around me to descend the stairs.

“With us?” I follow, his sleek Aston Martin missing from the parking lot. Instead, a large black Cadillac Escalade sits in the shade of the towering hedge, its windows covered in dark tint. “Don’t tell me you bought another car.” I scamper down the remaining stairs, scurrying to catch up, his uneven gait still faster than my shorter stride.

“It’s a rental.” He continues his cool pace across the parking lot.

He rented a car… reserved a house… planned a night away…

I lunge the foot of space between us to grab his wrist. “Whose secrets are you hiding this time?”

He pauses, his gaze dipping to my hand circling the taut muscles of his forearm.

My body floods with warmth, the contact seeming far too forward after his warning to maintain distance.

“Sorry.” I let go.

“There aren’t any secrets. I want to get out of the city. All four of us wouldn’t fit in the Aston, so I arranged the Escalade.” He continues to the car.

I’m a step behind, climbing into the passenger seat, pulling on my belt. I stare at the man who warned me away less than a week ago while he reverses out of the parking space. “I thought we were keeping our distance.”

He pulls onto the street and stares straight ahead as he drives toward my house.

“Isn’t this risky?” I ask.

“I’ve taken precautions. We’ll lay low.”

“But it’s still a risk…”

“Sometimes the risk is worth the reward.”

Why is he being so painful?

I sigh. “And what’s the reward?”

He shoots me a sidelong glance, then returns his attention to the road without answer. If he wasn’t currently driving at speed, I’d shake him.

“What’s the reward, Remy?”

His hands tighten on the wheel. “To give you more memories.”

The answer blindsides me.

“To give me more memories?” I repeat his words, trying to get them to make sense.

This is for me?

Because I said I would’ve traveled with my father if I’d had prior knowledge of his prognosis? “Remy, that isn’t necessa?—”

“It’s not a big deal. It’s only one night.”

It’s a big deal to me. Huge. It’s not like I have men waiting in line to spoil me with thoughtfulness. “What about Lorenzo?”

“What about him?”

“Did he suddenly decide it would be okay for the owners of a funeral home to start taking mini vacays with underworld figures?”

The muscles in his forearms flex. “It’s twenty-four hours in a tiny-ass town. Don’t make it an issue.” He sounds confident.

I’m not convinced. “But you got Lorenzo’s permission, right?”

“I don’t need his permission.”

Jesus Christ. “Remy...”

He falls silent.

“Remy.” Again he ignores me. Infuriates me.

Damn him.

I reach out, slamming my palm against the horn.

Remy’s glaring eyes flash to mine at the resulting burst of sound.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snaps.

“You.” I turn to him, sitting at my full height, chin high, shoulders straight. “And I’m not afraid to say it. Unlike someone else, who spends half the time being cryptic just so he can pretend he’s being honest. For once, just spit it out. Tell me why you’re going against your uncle’s wishes.”

He glares at me, the anger in his gaze making me nervous before he returns his focus to the road. “Because I fucking left you on your own to grieve.”

I blink in disbelief.

“If I would’ve told you about Carlo’s prognosis earlier you could’ve taken him away yourself.” His voice is bitter. Hoarsely guttural. “My omission hurt you, and although I’m a prick, your pain has stuck with me, making me feel like a top-tier piece of shit. So forgive me for making this small, selfish gesture to try to make things right.”

And just like that, a little bit more of my heart gets lost to a man who kills for a living. The warmth, the butterflies, the pangs, they all meld together, creating a rampant storm in my stomach.

“You deserve this weekend.” He lowers his voice. “I’ll handle Lorenzo.”

I settle back into my seat, lost to his generosity.

“I don’t want you to worry.” His tone is a subdued mutter as he turns onto my street. “I’m taking precautions.”

“I trust you.” The words are out before I can stop them.

I’m not surprised that he flinches.

He pulls into my drive, our arrival witnessed by Lesley, who’s gardening in her front yard.

“What should I pack?” I open my door, preparing to make quick work of an overnight bag.

“Pajamas. Something to swim in if you think it’s warm enough. And clothes for tomorrow.”

I nod and jog for my house, waving a friendly hello to Lesley before racing inside.

I’m back within ten minutes, my belongings crammed into a suitcase small enough to rest on my lap.

I spend the return trip in an aggressively chaotic headspace, my thoughts caught between concern for my father and disturbing attraction for the surly man seated next to me.

By the time we arrive, Lucy and Dad are waiting on the stairs at the back of the building. Bags are shoved into the Escalade. Lucy climbs into the rear seat behind Remy. When I make to pull open the opposite door to join her, Dad waves me away.

“Not this time.” He nudges in front of me. “You sit up front with Rem. Last night Lucy and I got started on a heated debate about pineapple on pizza that I’m eager to finish.”

Lucy chuckles. “There’s no debate. Pineapple does not go on pizza.”

“Really?” I gape at her. “Dad, I don’t think you need that negative influence in your life.”

He laughs, and damn, the sound is heartwarming.

I’d give anything to hear it a million more times.

I ignore the pang in my chest and give the older generation what they want.

They continue their debate as Remy drives toward the mountains. Lucy argues culinary purity, how Italians never intended for pineapple to be on pizza, and advocates for preserving authenticity.

Dad has more of a creative expression approach. He says pizza making is often considered an art form and that shunning pineapple is disingenuous.

I listen with a smile while Remy remains quiet from the driver’s seat, the slight quirk of his mouth doing things to me that it shouldn’t.

Once the pizza debate reaches a stalemate, they turn to sports. How Dad loves the Ravens and Lucy wishes we had a local NHL team. But we’ve barely reached the outskirts of Baltimore when the chatter teeters to a stop and I glance behind me to see Dad fast asleep, his chin tucked against his chest.

“He didn’t have the best rest last night,” Lucy whispers.

I nod, feeling guilty for not realizing. I don’t lose the smile though. I keep pretending everything is okay, just like my father has for months.

“Don’t worry.” She beams with reassurance. “I’ll make sure he gets lots of relaxation while we’re away.”

“Thank you.” I turn to Remy, leaning my cheek against my headrest. “So what are your thoughts regarding pineapple on pizza?”

He keeps his eyes on the road. “I prefer not to get involved in controversial conversations.”

“Don’t tell me a man as opinionated as yourself doesn’t want to chime in with his thoughts.”

“My choice is purely strategic. Your dad mentioned you being on the debate team in high school, and the only debating I’ve ever been good at is the mass kind.”

I frown. “The mass kind?”

Lucy snorts as Remy shoots me a smug look.

I don’t get it.

Mass kind? What the hell is a mass deba?—

Oh, God.

My cheeks flame. “Very funny.”

He releases a subtle snicker as I turn forward.

Picturing Remy masturbating is not on the approved weekend activities list. Picturing anything sexual while in his proximity deserves an almighty hell no when I still flush hot whenever I think about how he’s touched me.

But even with that sensible, mature-ass outlook, I can’t quit staring at him from the corner of my eye.

The corded forearms.

The muscled thighs.

Dear Lord, that chiseled jaw.

We reach Berkeley Springs in good time, the midday sun shining as we make our way through town, then continue out the other side.

We pass suburban houses and head into the quiet desolation of rural life, finally pulling into a winding dirt drive surrounded by lush trees and sweeping hills with no other houses in sight.

“It’s gorgeous here,” Lucy murmurs in awe.

My dad groans, rousing from sleep. “Have we arrived?”

“We have.” Remy parks before a sprawling contemporary home with a wraparound porch.

It’s massive, nestled beneath the shade of the treetops and surrounded by a bright floral garden.

A dark-haired, middle-aged man sits on a cement bench near the few stairs leading to the porch, eying us with interest.

Remy eyes him right back, making goose bumps of trepidation skitter down my back.

“Do you know him?” I ask.

“I assume he’s the owner, but wait here while I check.” He climbs out, all protective and dreamy.

The stranger pushes to his feet and strolls forward to exchange a handshake. Muffled words are spoken. Calm composure is maintained.

Everything looks aboveboard.

No threats sensed.

“I’m going to make a start on our luggage.” I climb out of the car.

Remy’s cold stare pins me.

Shit. Was I meant to wait for a signal?

I force a smile and walk toward them, preferring to be closer to Remy if a threat does exist.

“Good afternoon.” I round the hood of the Escalade and step onto the grass. “You have a magnificent home.”

The stranger nods in appreciation. “It’s a blessing to have you here to share it.”

Introductions are made and pleasantries are exchanged. But Remy remains tightly wound as he and Curt grab the luggage from the car while Lucy leads Dad inside.

I follow Curt to the door, Remy close behind me, and stop to take off my shoes when a strong arm weaves around my waist.

I gasp.

“Defy me again,” Remy growls in my ear, “and I’ll turn that ass red.”

My lungs burn, every nerve in my body tingling.

“Being around me is dangerous enough without your inability to perceive possible threats.” He holds me tighter, his body flush at my back. “Understood?”

I swallow. Nod.

“Perfect.” He releases me and continues into the house. “I’d hate to have to make good on my promise.”