Chapter 20 #3
“What the women who are lucky enough to be married are saying is that in every contract in this world, there’s a weakness and a solution to solve that weakness,” Isabella explains.
Bria nods in agreement. “Julian’s vulnerability is he wants a child. What’s yours, Genesis? Why are you agreeing to something as precious as having someone’s child? What do you get in exchange?”
I go still for a moment, not meeting anyone’s gaze.
Before my father’s death, I was never someone with trust issues, but now, I am. I trust no one, not even Julian.
“Do you know who Dima Morozova is?” I ask, disgust hitting my throat from just saying his name.
“The Russian Bratva boss’s son?” Neomi immediately asks.
“The psycho Russian Bratva boss’s son,” Gigi says, as if that correction is necessary for the story.
I inhale three breaths and start telling them my situation.
None of them mutters a word as they listen with full attention. I don’t tell them everything, only what happened in my father’s office. Every one of them grins when I tell them about Julian barging into the room and basically plucking me straight out of Dima’s hands.
Getting it off my chest feels good.
“Dima is hot, but Julian is definitely hotter,” Neomi says. “He also gives less murder vibes, you know? Men who give off those vibes are total red flags.”
“Says the girl who’s married to Benny Marchetti,” Natalia comments with a laugh.
“Says the girl who’s married to the man who created him,” Neomi argues with a playful grin.
“I’ve never worried about Benny hurting me.
” Her dark-eyed gaze slips back to me. “But if I were marrying Dima? I’d always be looking over my shoulder.
The Russians offered my father a marriage union years ago for Bella. He told them to kick rocks.”
“Trust me, in the moment, a contract seems like the craziest thing in the world,” Bria says. “The men like to talk about it, throw it in your face, but then it’ll blow over.”
“That depends,” Gigi chimes in. “Dima is batshit crazy, and coming from a Marchetti, that’s saying a lot. Julian showing up at your father’s office was a blessing.”
Pippa kisses the top of Alessia’s head. “This girl would love to have a baby cousin, so we’re all for another Bellini baby. Plus, I’d love to have you as a sister-in-law.”
“That’s the problem,” I mutter, frowning. “Julian doesn’t want a wife. He wants a uterus.”
Gigi shakes her head. “Julian may want you to believe that because Mafia men equate talking about feelings to death. Julian chose you for the contract because he wants you . Even if you weren’t able to have his baby, he’d have figured out another way to save you and make sure you were his. The Russian thing is his excuse.”
Neomi nods. “These men want you to believe it’s all about contracts and loyalty.” She raises her hand to make a yapping gesture. “Meanwhile, they’re buying you puppies, coming home to you every night, and risking their lives for you. Eventually, reality will smack them in the face.”
“Seeing it when it happens is fun as hell,” Natalia says, winking at me.
I wish I could believe them, but just like at the ballet studio, my gut tells me that Julian and I will never be like them.
He made that clear.
I’m homesick.
Or rather, homesick for Julian.
I don’t know what to call it.
It’s past midnight, and I’m in Gigi’s bedroom with her, Pippa, and Alessia.
Neomi and her sisters went home, and Natalia left for her wing of the mansion an hour ago. My plan was to stay overnight, but I miss Julian.
I want to be there, in his home, with him.
He said it was mine for the time being anyway.
I’m halfway paying attention to an old Euphoria episode playing in the background. Pippa is beside me, Alessia is cooing from the bassinet beside the bed, and Gigi is sprawled across the ottoman in the corner, talking on her phone.
She’s whispering, but I’ve heard her tell Antonio, “Good night,” and, “I love you,” at least six times.
I grab my phone, get out of bed, and walk to the attached bathroom. I blink against the bright light and unlock my phone. My finger tingles, hovering over Julian’s name.
The Marchetti mansion may be the safest home in New York, but there’s one flaw—no Julian. And like a kid at a sleepover, I miss home.
Out of nowhere, Julian has become my comfort.
He answers on the second ring.
“Come get me,” I say.
“What happened?” he immediately asks, his voice laced with a hint of panic.
“Nothing,” I sigh. “I just … never mind.”
“I can’t pick you up right now,” he says before I hang up. “I’ll send Emilio.”
I can’t explain why, but I sense he’s sporting a pleased smile, like he knows I miss him.
“Are you coming home tonight?” I ask.
“It wasn’t in my plans.”
I frown, leaning against the marble countertop.
“But I’ll come home for you, baby.”
A pleasant hum fills my blood, a rush of energy hitting me.
“I’ll call Emilio, and we’ll get you home. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
For a change, he says goodbye before hanging up.
I check myself in the mirror, splash some water on my face, and leave the bathroom. Gigi isn’t on the phone, but she’s looking at her screen.
“Do you mind if I go home?” I ask her.
She lowers her phone. “This isn’t some teenage slumber party. You can stay overnight, go home, or stay the whole week.” She leans in closer. “To be honest, I’m considering the same.”
“Thank God,” Pippa says. “I’ve been waiting for someone to say they missed their man.”
I whip around to look at her. “Julian isn’t my man .”
She bends down, scooping Alessia up into her arms. “Yet you want to go home to him .”
“I’ll see if Antonio can pick us up,” Gigi says. “Otherwise, I’ll get one of my father’s men to do it.”
My phone vibrates with a text from Julian.
Julian: Emilio will pick you up in 25 minutes.
I reply to him.
Me: Gigi is asking Antonio for a ride.
Julian: Keep me updated.
Me: Will you be home before me?
Julian: Probably not.
I make a sour face.
Julian: I fully expect you to be in my bed when I do though.
“Can we stop at a coffee shop?” I ask Emilio from his passenger seat.
Antonio picked us up from the mansion, then met Emilio at the gas station. I felt like a child being shuttled between divorced parents as I moved from one car to the other.
Emilio checks the time on the car’s dashboard. “It’s one in the morning.”
“Do you have a bedtime?” I ask. “I seriously doubt you plan to go home, do your skin care routine, and binge-watch Gilmore Girls until you fall asleep. We have plenty of time.”
“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” he mutters. “We just left the gas station. Why didn’t you get coffee there?”
“Last time I checked, that gas station doesn’t have an espresso machine, or oat milk, or my favorite hazelnut syrup.”
He stops at a red light. “When was the last time you checked ?”
I was a regular at the gas station when I was underage. The old clerk would sell me alcohol, and back then, I loved their blue slushies, mixed with vodka.
“Oh, come on, Emilio,” I groan. “You should get one for yourself, too, since you’ll probably be up all night, right?”
When the light turns green, he signals and turns left, ignoring me.
We’re so close to my favorite coffee shop that’s open twenty-four seven that I can practically smell the coffee.
I sit up straight, hands folded in my lap. “Believe me, it’s way less annoying to get me a coffee than listen to me complain about needing one.” I point at the upcoming streetlight. “Make a left. Brew Delights will be on your right.”
A grin spreads across my face when he follows my directions and parks in front of the coffee shop.
He releases his seat belt. “What’s your order?”
I do the same. “I’m going in with you.”
He shakes his head. “You’ll stay in here. I’m already going out of my way for this.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes, nervous he’ll cancel our coffee stop and leave. “I prefer ordering my own coffee.”
He grabs his phone to send a text.
A few seconds later, my phone buzzes, and Julian’s name flashes on the screen.
I hold up the phone and narrow my eyes at Emilio. “Are you seriously causing this much trouble over a cup of joe?”
He doesn’t reply, and this time, I allow myself to roll my eyes.
“Hello?” I huff into the speaker.
“What are you trying to do?” Julian asks in irritation.
“Get a coffee, duh.” I scoff. “Don’t you want me awake when you get home?”
“We have an espresso machine there.”
“I want an espresso from Brew Delights.” I pout my lip out even though he can’t see me. “It’s my favorite.”
Emilio curses, rubbing his forehead.
“Give Emilio the phone,” Julian says.
I hand him the phone, all smiles.
Emilio takes it and nods while listening to Julian on the other line.
After ending the call, he tosses my phone in the cupholder. “Come on,” he says around a grunt, opening his door. “Let’s make this fucking fast.”
I grin, happy to get my way, and jump out of the car. “By the way, you’re paying,” I call out to him. “In case you didn’t hear the news, I’m broke.”
“Of fucking course,” Emilio says, pushing the door open to Brew Delights. “I’m charging Julian double for this shit.”
I just love getting my way .
I don’t know how long that’ll last though.
I also don’t know what’ll happen when Julian gets home.
My caffeine buzz is fading.
Even the extra shots didn’t help.
It’s been a long day.
Girls’ day/night.
Telling them my secret.
Admitting I missed Julian.
Two a.m. hits, and he still isn’t home.
Lying in his bed, I text him.
No response.
I yawn as three a.m. passes and text him again.
He leaves me on Read.
Asshole .
I send him one final text.
Me: I don’t sleep in men’s beds who leave me on Read.
If you can’t text back, then I forget how to open my legs.
It’s the rule of law.
One problem with my I don’t sleep in men’s beds warning: I’m too comfortable to get up and stomp to the guest room.
I’m cozy and warm, and while the guest bed is comfy, Julian’s is heavenly.
Soft, smells of him, and I don’t know where he got these sheets, but I want them in every color.
“Just one more second,” I whisper to myself. “Then, I’ll get up.”
That second turns into two.
Then three.
When it hits four, I’m snoring.
The click of the bedroom door wakes me.
A hint of sunlight peeks through the blinds. I blink, watching Julian shut the door behind him.
Since the jerk couldn’t text back, I shut my eyes, pretending to sleep.
Swear to God, I hear him chuckle on his walk to the bathroom. He at least has the decency to shut the door before switching on the light. I huff, roll onto my side, and face away from the bathroom.
As I yawn, I hear the shower start. Reaching for my phone, I check the time.
Five a.m.
A bright light suddenly cuts across the room, and the shower gets louder. I scream when I’m dragged out of bed, across the room, and shoved into the shower.