Chapter 17
Khenji
I knew she was upset about the bodyguard, but I didn’t think she would be upset to the point of not coming home. When my phone calls to her went unanswered, I tracked her here – at her apartment. I’ve been sitting on her bed, watching her sleep for the last thirty minutes. I don’t know how long she was sleeping before I arrived, nor do I know how long she’s been here.
She stirs.
I touch sleeping beauty, hoping it helps her realize I’m here. Her eyes spring open and she sits straight up on the bed.
“Oh my God. How long was I asleep?”
“I’m not sure.”
She rubs her eyes and asks, “What are you doing here? How—how did you know I was here?”
“Your new phone…our phones are linked. I can see where you are at all times, the same way you can see where I am. Why are you here?”
“I, uh…” she threads her fingers through her hair and says, “I came to get some clothes and—”
“You’ve been crying.”
“I—”
“Talk to me, Livia.”
She moans out a yawn and moves to get off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
My eyes follow her to the bathroom, and they stay fixed there in anticipation of her coming out. When she does, I say, “Come here.”
She walks over to me. I lift her onto my lap so that she straddles me. Face to face, I say, “Talk to me.”
She looks down, gathers her thoughts, then looks back up at me with sad eyes that stab my heart. She says, “This transition for me is a lot. I mean—what I’m trying to say is, I don’t want to feel like I’m losing myself and becoming this person—the person I feel like you want me to be. I love you, but this life is not something that I’m accustomed to or that I think I want. I just want you. I don’t need things and I don’t want to feel like—I don’t know—like a rich person.”
“You think money is the only thing that makes a person rich? You were rich before you met me, Livia. I have all this money, but it’s you, sweetheart, that has brought me the most happiness.”
“Khenji,” she whispers and touches my face.
I close my eyes.
She leaves a single kiss on my lips that speaks volumes to her willingness to work through this minor bump along our path.
I say, “What can I do to make this transition better for you?”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know. Talk to me. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Okay. I want a house that feels warm, like a home. Right now, it feels almost like a model home. I want to fill it with love. I want it to smell like food. I want flowers and curtains.”
“Done. What else do you desire?”
“I don’t want a bodyguard standing in my building.”
“I’ll post him in the parking lot. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“I want to cook for you. I want to wash your clothes and drop your suits off at the cleaners. I want to sweep. I want to do the things I’m accustomed to doing.”
“You can do all of those things, sweetheart, but I have services in place for them all, and have had them for years. So, why don’t we do it this way—you do it when you feel like it and when you don’t, the services I have will handle it. Or perhaps we can say, you’ll cook twice a week on certain days so I know the days the chef will be needed.”
She smiles. “Okay.”
“What else?”
“I just want—you.”
“You have me, and in two days, you’ll have me forever.”
She glances at my lips and then moves close to kiss me briefly before closing her arms around me.
“Now, listen—I will spoil you and buy you things because I love you, but if ever you feel overwhelmed, please let me know.”
She looks at me. Her sadness has turned into happiness. She kisses my forehead, my nose and then she hugs me again, burying her face in my neck.