Quinn #3
My God, these women are hilarious. I haven't laughed this much in a long time. Maybe ever, and for the first time since becoming a Mariano, I stop feeling like an outsider looking in, and I feel like I actually belong.
The house is quiet when I get home. Val and Erin decided to continue shopping. I wasn't feeling up to it, so I came back early.
I drop my bags by the stairs, make two cups of coffee, and go looking for Lorenzo. He's in his study, as usual. The door is open, which I've learned means he's working but not in the kind of meeting that requires privacy.
I knock anyway. I'll always knock.
"Come in."
I step inside and hold up his coffee.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “You're my favorite person."
"You say that every time I bring you caffeine."
"Because it's always true."
I set the mug and my cellphone down on his desk and lean against his shoulder. His arm comes around my waist automatically.
"Good afternoon?" he asks.
"Really good."
"Shopping successful?"
"Yeah," I say softly. "It was so much fun."
His arm tightens slightly and he pulls me down onto his lap, I take a sip of my coffee as he goes back to work.
My thoughts drift back to this morning, to our conversation about his mam, Beatrice, and I wonder if he wants a baby? I've never really thought about it before.
The question slips out before I can overthink it. "Do you ever think about children?"
Lorenzo goes still, and suddenly I have his full attention.
"I think about them," he says carefully. "In the context of the family, and our future."
"Not like that,” I say and his attention sharpens on me, and I stare down at my coffee. "I never really thought about it before."
"About children?"
"About any of it,” I confess. "I thought this marriage would be something I survived.
" I let out a quiet laugh. "Something I got through.
" His gaze doesn't leave mine. "I didn't think I'd end up...
" I struggle for the right words. "Happy.
" I swallow hard. "I didn't think I'd start imagining things. "
His arms tighten around me. "What things?"
I shrug. A house, children, how Christmas mornings would be, I never imagined a future. All the things I stopped letting myself want a long time ago.
"I don't know," I admit. "Normal things." For a moment neither of us speaks. "I didn't have good examples," I say quietly. "I don't really know what a family is supposed to look like."
His expression softens. "You're saying you're allowing yourself to want things now."
I release a slow breath. "Yeah."
His gaze holds mine, it’s steady and filled with focus. "Then we'll figure out what those things are."
My chest tightens at his words, at the way he’s giving me hope.
Our silence is interrupted by my cellphone buzzing on his desk and lighting up. A message flashes up on the screen. I feel Lorenzo look at it as I reach for it.
Unknown number: Does he know you were the family's second choice? Does he know Ronan had to basically beg for Lorenzo to take you?
Lorenzo takes the phone from my hands, and I watch him read the message. My heart stammers as I see him scrolling through all of the messages. When he’s finished, he places my cell on the desk and sits in silence.
"Lorenzo—"
"How long,” he says, his voice vibrating with anger.
I won’t lie to him. "Since the wedding."
"Since the wedding." He repeats my words. "You've been receiving these since the wedding and you didn't tell me?"
"I deleted most of them."
"Quinn." His voice is very controlled. "You received vile messages from your sister and you deleted them."
I breathe. "It's Daire. She's always been like this. She says things to get a reaction. If I'd responded or made it a thing it would have—"
"It's not about whether you responded." He stands, which means I have to stand too, and he moves to the window, and I can see the effort of his control in his back, in his shoulders. "You have been walking around this house for two weeks with this on your phone and you said nothing."
"Because that's what I do." The words come out sharper than I intended. "That's what I've always done. I manage things. I absorb things. I don't…" I stop. "I don't come to people with problems because people don't help, they make it worse, or they make it about them, or they…"
"I am not one of those people."
"I know that now, I didn't know it two weeks ago."
He turns and looks at me for a long moment.
"She threatened to kill you," he says, his voice rumbling with anger. "My wife. She sent my wife a message saying she would kill her."
"What?"
For a second, he just stares at me, like he can't believe I don't know. Then he lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. "You didn't read it."
I frown. "No."
His jaw clenches. "She sent it while you were out."
My stomach drops, because Lorenzo isn't angry about all of the messages. He's angry about a particular message.
"What did she say?"
He picks up my phone from the desk. For a moment I think he isn't going to answer me, but then he reads it. Word for word, his voice is flat. Which somehow makes it worse.
"'Enjoy playing wife while you can. When I'm done, there won't be enough left of you for Lorenzo to recognize.'"
The blood drains from my face, but Lorenzo keeps going.
"'Maybe I'll start with your face. Maybe I'll make him watch. Either way, you're dead.'"
I stare at him. My pulse pounds in my ears. I hadn't seen it. I hadn't even opened it.
"Daire—"
"Don't." The word cracks through the room. I fall silent. Lorenzo looks away, running a hand through his hair.
"I didn't know she'd sent that."
His gaze snaps back to mine. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"The point is that she thinks she can threaten my wife. I've spent weeks trying to convince myself she was just jealous," he says quietly. "Trying to convince myself she was lashing out because she lost something she thought belonged to her."
My stomach twists. "And now?"
His eyes meet mine. "Now I think she's becoming dangerous."
I look at my husband and I see that he looks genuinely concerned, not for himself, but for me.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I should have told you."
"Yes," he says. "You should have." He picks up his phone.
"Lorenzo." I reach for his arm. "What are you going to do?"
He looks at his phone, and then at me. "What needs doing."
"Lorenzo—"
"Quinn, you asked me once to trust you. I'm asking you to trust me now."
I look at him, and the fight leaves me. I pull in a deep breath and nod. "Okay," I say.
He holds my gaze for one more moment and then he walks out of his office.
The door closes behind him and I stand here for a long time, just waiting and listening.
I look down at my phone still sitting on the desk, at the message Daire sent.
My sister has spent most of our lives making me feel small, making me feel unwanted, making me feel like fighting back would only make things worse.
But as I stand there, staring at the screen, I realize something.
Daire has just made the biggest mistake of her life.