Chapter 23
23
D ante
I turn off the water and leave the shower box, grabbing a towel from the rack. I hoped a cold shower would help me sober up, even though I didn’t have an ounce of alcohol today. My expectations may be a little high.
No showering can remove the strange sensations gripping me.
Gia will leave. Tomorrow, she’ll be gone.
It’s the best for her. It’s the best for AJ.
For me? Not so much. Being selfish now isn’t an option. Even with Andie, I was selfish. I simply decided I didn’t want a romantic relationship with her without considering her feelings. I’ve experienced guilt after her death, but would I feel guilty if she were alive? Probably not. I’d still be the same selfish bastard.
I slip on a pair of sweatpants.
A knock on my door gets my attention, and I cross the bedroom to open it.
Andrei greets me with a nod, an apologetic expression filtering across his chiseled face.
“What’s up?”
“I wanted to let you know Gia is in the living room, boss.”
I made my team aware of the plan. If Gia tries to leave on her own, it’ll be impossible. That’s why I gave her the freedom to walk around the house tonight—because we have enough security, and there’s no way out.
“Did she try to leave the house?”
“No.”
I loosen my shoulders. “Then what is it?”
He coughs. “She’s, hmmm, drinking, boss, and I wasn’t sure if we should let her.”
Drinking? For them to tell me that, she must be drinking beyond what’s advisable at this point. I need to check on her. “Okay. I’m coming.”
I close my bedroom door behind me and stride down the stairs to the living room. I hear music playing softly. Gia is lying on the couch with a glass of red wine in her hand, looking at the ceiling.
I scan the room, seeing a nearly empty bottle on the coffee table next to a full one without the cork.
“Gia.”
She continues to stare at the ceiling.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m celebrating my freedom and my last night in Chicago,” she says. “Or mourning. I don’t know which. Ask me again in a few months.”
I sigh. We both know talking in a few months isn’t an option. I’m not into long-distance relationships. And I can’t keep her here. “Can you celebrate or mourn in your bedroom? I can’t have you in the middle of my living room, drunk and alone.” My gaze skates down her body. The hem of the shirt has lifted, showing her underboob. And her pants hang below her waist, her belly button peeking out.
A rush of lust surges through me. I stretch my hand out to her. “C’mon.” My desire is to sling her over my shoulder and carry her caveman style, but that would only enhance my already increasingly annoying desire to fuck her one last time.
She glances at my hand, ponders, then puts her glass on the coffee table and takes my offer. I help her stand, and she wobbles a bit, her body pressing against mine for a moment. A moment that lasts much longer than it should.
She intertwines her arms in mine like we’re an old couple, and I figure this is still safer than carrying her in my arms.
I see a security guard, who nods at me as I climb up the stairs with her next to me.
I usually have security in the perimeters and only have them inside the house for emergencies or high-stakes situations.
I take her to her room and close the door behind us. A simple move to help her with privacy, I remind myself. Nothing more.
Carefully, I lay her down on the bed, but she props herself on her elbows, looking at me with those eyes that could melt an Alaskan glacier.
“You’re good?” I ask before I turn around.
She shakes her head. Ah. Stupid question.
I stretch to my full height. The vein on my jaw jumps. The instinct to make it better for her wraps around me like a compression shirt. I can’t give in too much, though. She’s leaving tomorrow. No sex tonight—that would be too much. Not just for her, but for me, I realize. I don’t need any new memories of her crazy, sexy body to forget.
“Do you need anything? Water, Advil for tomorrow morning?” I ask, wondering if she catches the hint of anxiety in my voice.
I want her. But I also want to leave her bedroom—quickly.
She sits on the bed, a serious expression crossing her face. “I need you.”
“Gia,” I say in a tone of disapproval, but instead of doing the right thing and walking away from her, I close the distance between us. My body no longer obeys my brain.
“You’re the first person I opened up to. You know where the bodies are buried. I’ll miss having someone I trusted.”
She trusts me? She trusted me so much that she never shared her true identity until I made her. My lungs feel more constricted. She trusted me with her body, especially after having been almost violated by her father-in-law.
She trusted me to come clean at last. So yeah. Maybe she trusts me.
Do I trust her? Not completely.
Do I believe the sadness and despair in her eyes? Yes.
“If you want, we can just sleep in the same bed. You don’t have to touch me. I don’t want to be alone,” she says, her voice untying my last knot of self-preservation. “Also, before I forget…” She reaches behind her neck, fumbling until the chain slips off her skin, and she catches it. The sparkle of the diamond on the center of the star twinkles in her palm. Then, she stretches it to me. “I want you to give this to AJ.”
I look at her hand but don’t take the jewelry. “I can’t accept it.” She told me that this necklace was her last connection to her mother. Damn it, she asked me to get it fixed before, and I took care of it swiftly. So I can’t fucking take it—that would be wrong. “It’s from your mom.”
Tears brim her eyelids, and for a beat, a sad emotion hits her eyes. Then she shakes her head and inhales deeply as if she’s trying so hard to keep herself in check. To focus on what she’s doing or saying.
My gut clenches. I get it. I’m doing the same thing.
“Yes. And having this necklace brought me here. I know I won’t see AJ anymore, and she won’t remember me. I can’t have children… I want her to have it. You don’t have to tell her who it’s from if you don’t want to. But maybe that necklace can help her through tough times if she ever has any.”
My throat is tight, dry, and throbbing. How do I respond to that? I swallow the lump and finally take the necklace, sliding it into my pocket. “That’s generous. What will help you get through things without it?”
“I’ll have to settle for knowing I can do it. I worked in your home, and you found out who I am, and somehow, I’m coming out of it alive.”
“Don’t push it.”
She smiles. “Thank you, Dante. For giving me a second chance.”
A current of bottled-up regret washes over me, a sour sensation moving across my chest. Damn it. She’s fucking amazing. I want to wrap her legs around me and fuck her like I’m about to leave for war. I want to erase the small distance between us, join her in bed, and hold her all night.
Holding her—sharing a bed with her without sex—feels more intimate than anything. Which is why I can’t have it.
I pull up a chair, the same one I used when I demanded she touch herself over a month ago. How things change. Did I have any idea it would lead us here? Would I still have done it if I had known her identity? If I had known that spending time with her would ruin my carefully crafted existence?
I look at her, and she watches me back with a touch of confusion. She tilts her head to the side as I shuffle in the chair, making myself comfortable. I can’t share a bed with her and not touch her. Not tonight.
Because if I touch her, I won’t be able to let her go in the morning.
She’s been through a lot—she deserves her chance at a normal life. I’ll make sure she gets one, even from a distance. And I need to keep AJ safe and focus on my shit too.
She’s still watching me as I walk over to turn off the light and say, “Go to sleep, Gia. You won’t be alone tonight. I promise.”