Chapter 11
Vanessa
Nicole
Hey, Bri said you’re staying with Lorenzo. Can we talk?
I stare at the screen for a few seconds, debating what to type, when Leo shrieks, sending his pacifier flying out of his mouth and onto the floor, excited to take a bath.
The pacifier slides behind the toilet, and I groan.
Leo only uses the pacifier when he’s cranky or tired, but then he forgets it’s in his mouth and drops it onto the floor, and I have to sterilize it so he can have it back.
Even though Lorenzo’s cleaning service does a good job, I’m not risking him getting sick by letting him put a dirty pacifier back into his mouth.
“Okay, silly.”
I lift and set him into the mini bathtub that’s situated in the bigger bathtub. Since he can sit up on his own, I lean him against the edge, and he splashes water all over the place.
“Is that how you feel?” I laugh, scooping up some bubbles from the tub and blowing them at him.
He squeals louder, and his hands slap the water, sending it all over the both of us.
“I’m starting to think you’re less of a monkey and more like a fish.”
I bop the tip of Leo’s nose, and he grins.
I’ve never spent any time with babies until him, and when I offered to help Lorenzo and he shockingly agreed, I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to handle it.
I have zero motherly intuition, thanks to my own mother, but I’m finding that hanging out with Leo isn’t a hardship.
He’s happy and easygoing—unlike his grumpy father.
He loves to eat and play, and he actually likes me and enjoys my company—also unlike his father.
“How’s it going?” Lorenzo asks, appearing in the doorway, casually leaning against the doorjamb.
He changed out of his work clothes and into a white T-shirt and basketball shorts. Business Lorenzo is sexy, but there’s just something about seeing him dressed down—like he fell from above to grace us mere mortals with his presence.
“Dada!” Leo yells, splashing the water again and drenching me.
“I think you have a professional swimmer on your hands,” I joke, grabbing the towel and wiping the water from his eyes.
Leo giggles, grasping my arms and holding on, and my heart soars. I have no desire to become a mom anytime soon, but when the time comes, I hope my baby is half as cute and sweet as Leo is.
“C’mon, Monkey,” I say, lifting him out of the tub and wrapping the towel around him. “Let’s get you dressed, fed, and into bed.”
I give him a quick kiss on his cheek, and he reciprocates, slobbering all over my nose and making me crack up laughing.
“How’s your arm feeling?” I ask Lorenzo as I set Leo on the changing table and go about getting him ready for bed.
I spot a bottle of lotion in the corner, and before I get him dressed, I squirt some into my palms and massage his little limbs.
“It hurts,” Lorenzo says. “But the pain meds are helping. I appreciate you helping with Leo the past few days.” He steps over to the changing table and runs his fingers through Leo’s soft curls while I put his diaper and pajamas on.
While he gave in on me helping him, he hasn’t left the house once since then. I think he trusts me enough to watch Leo as long as we’re all under the same roof.
Leo stretches and yawns, and I smile down at him, wondering how a parent could ever walk away from something so precious—or in my case, treat their baby, and later child, like they regret them ever being born.
“It’s the least I can do,” I murmur, lifting Leo into my arms and walking him down the hall to make him a bottle.
Since I’ve been helping out for the past few days, I’ve become acquainted with their routine and how to make a bottle properly. At first, I was afraid I’d mess it up, but I’ve learned that, at least with Leo, as long as you give him positive attention and feed him on time, he’s easygoing.
I set Leo on his blanket while I make his bottle and then pull him into my arms so I can hold him while he eats. I know he’s capable of drinking it on his own, but I enjoy holding him, and he seems to like being held while he drinks his bottle.
Once he’s done, Lorenzo walks with me back to Leo’s room to put him to bed. After we both give him a kiss good night, I give him his pacifier. His eyes roll upward and then close, and within seconds, he’s out cold.
Without saying another word, Lorenzo disappears into his office, like he does every night, and I head into the kitchen to get something to eat.
The man doesn’t exactly keep his house stocked with food, so after staring into the fridge for several minutes, I make myself some cottage cheese and fruit.
I grab my laptop from my room and figure out what books I need to order for my classes, and once that’s done—and the little bit of money I had in my account has been drained—I find my deck of playing cards I keep on hand and shuffle them.
Because I’m usually working at the pub, going to class or doing homework, interning for Kora, or sewing, I rarely have this much time on my hands.
I consider playing solitaire but instead go with blackjack. Technically, there should be a dealer, but since I’m not in a casino, it doesn’t really matter.
I’m numerous hands in when Lorenzo appears.
“I ordered in dinner,” he says, strolling into the kitchen. “It’s just pizza but …”
“I’m starved. Thanks.” My words are followed by an embarrassingly loud grumble from my stomach.
“My housekeeper orders the food. She hasn’t been by since I was out of town, and she was visiting her family, but she usually comes in three days a week to clean, do laundry, stock the fridge, and make meals for the week. So, if you write down what you want, she can place an order for you.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, mentally calculating how much food is going to cost.
With me not making any money at the pub or from making college students cute outfits, my savings is going to dwindle to nothing quickly. If I were back in Seattle, I’d have my meal plan I paid for, so I’d be good to go.
The doorbell chimes, and a moment later, Lorenzo comes back, setting two large pies on the island. He lifts the lid, and the cheesy goodness has my stomach rumbling in excitement.
“Want a beer?” he asks, getting one from the fridge.
“I probably shouldn’t. Leo might wake up, and I need to be alert.”
Lorenzo glances back at me, his blue eyes assessing me, and I smirk.
“Are you mocking me?”
I shrug, and he tosses a beer my way.
“This parenting shit is new to me,” he says, grabbing us each a slice of pizza and having a seat at the island across from me.
“I can’t even imagine having to look after another human every day, twenty-four hours a day. I can barely look after myself,” I admit, taking a bite of the pizza.
When the cheese and sauce hit my tongue, I moan in pleasure, and Lorenzo’s gaze meets mine.
“Sorry.” I shrug. “I’m starved.”
“Having Leo is a lot of work, and I never planned to be a single dad, but he’s worth it.” He takes a bite of his pizza and then washes it down with a sip of his beer.
“He’s adorable and happy. You’re doing a good job.”
I pick up the cards I was holding, and he glances down at them.
“Blackjack?”
I nod. “Know how to play?”
“Matteo and Dominick run an underground casino, so I play occasionally.”
I gather the cards, shuffle them, and then deal us each two cards.
We go back and forth and then show our cards.
“Nineteen,” Lorenzo says.
“Twenty-one.”
He glares, but it’s playful, and I bark out a laugh, not used to him not being completely serious.
“Again.”
“You got it.”
We play a few more rounds while we eat and drink, and after I win each time, he huffs.
“You’re cheating.”
I snort out a laugh and shake my head. “Unless someone’s counting the cards, blackjack is all luck.”
“Can you do that?”
I quirk a brow.
“Count the cards,” he clarifies.
I shrug and deal, and after we both announce we’re staying, I win again.
“Bullshit! You’re counting the cards,” he accuses, snatching the cards from the table so he can shuffle them.
“I am not!” I laugh as he deals this hand. “If I were counting the cards, I would have to focus. It’s not as easy as you’d think. I’d have to assign a value to every card and then keep a running count so I could calculate …”
I stop talking when I notice he’s gawking at me.
“Can you seriously count cards?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I raise a shoulder and take a sip of my beer.
“My mom worked at a casino on the reservation, hoping to bag a rich guy, and when the babysitter wouldn’t show up, she’d be forced to bring me to work with her.
A few of the regulars took pity on me and taught me how to play.
And then, because I think they thought it was funny, they taught me how to count cards.
I was young—like twelve, maybe thirteen—so I didn’t know that it was illegal.
It worked out when I got to college and needed to make some quick money.
The fraternities would host casino nights, and I’d win a few thousand dollars. ”
I grin, and Lorenzo shakes his head.
“Are you seriously judging me?” I scoff. “Like your best friends aren’t into shady shit.”
I don’t know what all their business entails, but between what Nicole said, what I overheard during the wedding weekend, and the info I found when I did a Google search, it’s clear they’re far from saints.
“I’m not judging you,” he says. “I’m judging your mom for letting her vulnerable daughter hang out with grown men. Anything could’ve happened to you.”
“Like what? Me getting trafficked?” I quirk a brow.
“In case you forgot, my mother agreed with Eric’s plan to give me to Santiago to pay off his debt.
I was and will always be my mother’s biggest regret.
” I say it matter-of-factly, even though, after all these years, it still hurts to know that the only biological relative I have can barely stand me.
“Fuck her,” Lorenzo says, dealing us cards. “Now, show me how you count cards. You have me intrigued.”
“Why?” I take my cards and glance around at the extravagant kitchen and dining room. “You in need of some quick cash?”