Chapter 9
Vanessa
One minute, I had my entire future mapped out, and the next, I’m married and hiding out in my husband’s condo from a sex trafficker who is determined to do what?
Sell me to the highest bidder? Use me in a bordello?
I’ve seen the movies where women are drugged and men force them to do ungodly things.
Just the thought has bile creeping up my throat.
I shake myself from my thoughts.
I’m safe.
I did what I had to do.
I might be stuck in Harbor Point for the time being, but at least I’m safe.
Since Lorenzo gave me the five-cent tour of his place—making it clear that I’m not to go anywhere I don’t belong—I’ve been sitting in the bedroom he said I could stay in, staring at the wall and wondering what I’m going to do.
The bedroom is nice—albeit clearly lacking a woman’s touch.
There’s a queen-size bed in the middle of the room with simple yet super soft and fluffy white bedding and white and gray furniture that matches the gray walls.
There’s a set of French doors that lead out to a terrace that overlooks downtown North Harbor Point. There’s a table with a couple of chairs, and I sat out there for a good hour earlier, just enjoying the fresh air and people-watching.
The en suite bathroom is bigger than my entire bedroom and bathroom back at college and has a huge tub that I’m planning to soak in tonight.
It’s not like I have anything better to do.
Classes start soon, and I’m supposed to be going back to work next week. Thankfully, I have enough money in my account to pay for my dorm and books for the semester. But if I don’t go to class, I’m going to lose it all.
And until I get my luggage, I can’t do anything.
My phone died since it hadn’t been charged, and my charger is in my luggage with the rest of my stuff, and there’s no way I’m going out to ask Lorenzo to borrow one.
I’ve taken enough from that man. So, until my stuff arrives—if it wasn’t stolen—I’m just sitting here, staring at the wall, mentally trying to figure out my next move.
“Vanessa,” Lorenzo calls out, following it up with a knock on the door.
“Yeah.” I sit up. “Come in.”
“Your stuff is here,” he says, rolling the luggage in with one hand while balancing the cutest little boy on his hip.
I sigh in relief when I see my carry-on since it contains everything I need.
“The stuff from the mayor’s house has arrived, and I’ll have the guys bring it in here.”
“That was fast.” I slide off the bed and head straight for my luggage. “Thank you.”
I’m about to grab the handle when the little boy, who’s hanging on Lorenzo’s hip like a monkey, leans over and reaches his arms out for me.
His eyes—the same bright blue as Lorenzo’s—meet mine, and his gummy smile warms my chest. He has the same shade of brown hair as Lorenzo and an adorably chubby face.
I don’t know what his mom looks like, but he’s the spitting image of his father.
He babbles something incoherently, but the way he’s reaching out and grinning tells me he wants me to hold him.
“Hey, Monkey.”
Instinctually, I reach for him, but before I can take him, Lorenzo pulls him back, glaring at me.
“Leo is off-limits,” he reminds me.
“Sorry.” I flinch. “He was reaching for me and—”
“Off-limits,” he growls before he turns on his heel and stalks out of my room.
The cute little boy glances back at me, grinning and waving happily, unlike his grumpy-ass dad, and I can’t help but smile and wave back.
I’m far too young to think about having children anytime soon, but I would be lying if I said that a small part of me hasn’t thought about what it would be like to be a mom. Unlike my selfish mom, I would be the best, hands-on, loving mom.
Which makes me wonder what happened with Lorenzo’s ex.
He said he made her disappear … but there must be a reason why.
Sure, he’s grumpy, but at the same time, he seems like a good guy.
I mean, he could’ve thrown me out on my ass after what I did to him, yet he’s letting me stay here.
He must’ve had a good reason to keep her away from their son, right?
I get to work on unpacking my luggage and plug my phone and laptop in so they can both charge. And while I wait, I unpack my antianxiety meds, organizing them on the bathroom counter. When I step out, a few men are setting boxes down in the center of my room.
“Ma’am,” one of the guys says with a nod. “This is it.”
“Thank you,” I say, glancing at the two boxes.
Since I try to avoid going to Eric’s house as much as possible, I didn’t have much there.
“Lorenzo said to tell you that they’ll be going to your apartment tomorrow to pack up what you need,” the guy says. “If you can make a list of what you want to be brought here, we can make sure to have it all packed and delivered.”
“Thank you,” I say, forcing a smile while thinking about how immature Lorenzo is being by playing telephone instead of telling me himself.
He acts like I want to be married to him. I obviously did all this to save my life. He could be a bit more understanding.
He does think you drugged and raped him, I remind myself.
I should tell him the truth, put his mind at ease, but I just can’t risk it. What if he changes his mind about letting me stay here? Or he tells someone the truth and it gets back to this Santiago chick that I’m still a virgin?
Nope. Not happening. It’s not worth the risk.
Since I’m a bit OCD about organization, I empty the contents of the boxes into the drawers and hang up the few items I have.
Once I’m done, my stomach growls, and I venture out to find something to eat.
I’ll just grab something simple from the fridge and bring it back to my room so I can figure out my school and work situation.
When I step into the state-of-the-art open kitchen, I’m met with Lorenzo standing at the stove, cooking something that smells delicious, while his son is in his high chair, jabbering away while snacking on what looks like Cheerios.
The moment he sees me—his son, not Lorenzo—his eyes light up, and he starts babbling at me, shaking around and lifting his arms.
I smile at him, loving how happy he is, but since I don’t want to piss off Lorenzo, I don’t interact—which is kind of shitty because he’s a freaking baby and who ignores a baby?—and go straight for the fridge to grab the simplest thing I can for dinner.
“Did they bring everything?” Lorenzo asks.
I turn around and glance at him. “Oh, are we speaking? I thought we were supposed to pretend the other doesn’t exist.”
Lorenzo glares. “Try not to act your age.”
“Me?” I scoff. “You’re the one forcing me to ignore the cute baby.”
As if right on cue, said baby lifts his arms and yells, “Up, up, up.”
I grin at how adorable he is, and Lorenzo’s resting dick face deepens.
“Oh, sorry.” I mask my smile. “Let me glare at the baby.” I spin around, open the fridge, grab a bottle of water and a yogurt since there are tons of them in there, and then close the door.
“To answer your question, yes, everything was in my luggage, and they brought everything from Eric’s house.
Thank you. Also, regarding my stuff from my apartment, I don’t need to make a list. I just need some clothes, toiletries, and my sewing stuff.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take my dinner to my room so I can figure out how not to fail out of school my senior year and be forced to marry a rich man like my mom did and rely on him for everything.”
I start to walk away when Lorenzo’s voice stops me. “Online classes.”
“What?”
“Take your classes online.”
Oh my God. Why didn’t I think of that?
I’ve been so caught up in the stress of everything that’s going on, I wasn’t thinking clearly.
“Thank you.”
He nods, clearly dismissing me, and I see myself out.
An hour later, all my classes have been switched from in-person to online, and my scholarship is no longer at risk.
Since I’m hoping this whole thing gets resolved sooner rather than later, I keep my apartment as is so it’s there when it’s time for me to go back to school, and I pay for the meal plan that’s required since I live on campus.
And then I text my boss at the pub I work at and Kora, the designer I intern for, letting them know there’s been a family emergency and I won’t be back when I thought I’d be.
Of course, both say they’ll have to replace me, needing someone to fulfill the jobs I was responsible for.
I’m checking out my new classes and the online platform when there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in.”
Lorenzo opens the door, and in his hand is a plate of spaghetti and meatballs with the fluffiest garlic bread I’ve ever seen.
“There were leftovers,” he grumbles, setting the plate on the edge of the dresser and then backing out and closing the door behind him before I can even say thank you.
I stare at the food for about three seconds before I jump out of the bed and grab the plate, taking it out to the terrace to eat.
He might be a grump, but, damn, he’s a good cook.