Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
TORI
I wake early and go into the kitchen to make some coffee. I think I’ll be the only one awake until I find Elliot sitting at the table, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he leans over a notebook.
“Uh, hey,” he says with a nervous smile.
I grin and join him at the table. “Hi, Elliot. What’re you working on?”
“Sorry… you’re Tori, yeah?”
“Good memory.”
He smiles. “Thanks. It’s just English homework. We have to talk about this poem, this love poem. What’s it called?”
I give him a moment, then offer, “A sonnet?”
He lights up. “Yeah, that’s it. A sonnet.”
“What is the question?” I ask.
“They want us to decide if it’s a good poem.”
“Hmm. And how are they defining ‘good poem’?”
Elliot’s shoulders slump. “I don’t know. I like math. I know that’s silly because most people hate it, but I like it. I think I’m going to be an accountant. Or an architect. Uncle Alex says both are good jobs, jobs to be proud of, you know?”
“I agree,” I tell him. “When I was your age, I wanted to be a rocket scientist.”
“Whoa, that’s cool. What do you want to be now?”
He asks this with a child’s honest, blunt curiosity. “Happy,” I tell him with the same honesty.
He tilts his head. “Aren’t you happy now?”
The question cuts deep. Before Valentine’s Day, I would’ve told him that, yes, I was happy. I would’ve said I was content to go on with my life how I’d been going for years: work at the restaurant, work on my poetry, hang out with my friends, argue, and then make up with Mom.
But then Elliot’s uncle came along and changed everything.
Being here in this family environment makes me think dangerous yet tempting thoughts.
“I’m as happy as I can reasonably expect to be,” I say.
Elliot giggles. “That doesn’t sound very happy.”
“Do you want some help with your homework?” I ask.
His eyes widen. “Would you, really?”
“Sure. I’m a poet myself. My most recent poem was about love… sort of.”
“How can it be sort of about love, Tori?”
I look at his sonnet. “So, with Shakespeare, his sonnets were often quite clear in their messaging. He knew he was in love with his subject. He didn’t hold back. He enthusiastically and proudly painted his love with words.”
“Wait, hold up,” Elliot says, scrawling on his notebook, Enthusiastically and proudly painted his love with words…
I laugh. “Isn’t that called copying, young man?”
“Nuh-uh. It’s called inspiration .”
That gets another laugh out of me. This kid is precocious and hilarious.
“But that’s not what my poem was like. Mine was more about if love is a good idea.”
“Why would it be a bad idea?” he asks.
“Sometimes, love can lead down bad paths.”
He suddenly looks older, more serious. “Like with Mom and Dad?”
“I… uh, I don’t know.”
I don’t want to say the wrong thing.
“It’s okay, Tori. I know what happened. Dad was Uncle Alex’s brother. And Mom was Uncle Alex’s girlfriend. Mom and Dad weren’t supposed to be together, but then they had me.”
“What was that like?” I murmur.
“Huh?”
“Growing up knowing your uncle and your mom…”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Weird? It was like, Uncle Alex would come by and everybody would be really happy, like too happy, and make a big deal out of it. And Uncle Alex would have a big smile and be super happy, too, but I always thought there was a sad person behind his happy face. Does that make sense?”
“It does,” I tell him.
And I know the feeling.
“Anyway,” I go on, “let’s go through the poem line by line. I can teach you a little about close reading.”
He moves his face inches from the paper. “Like this?”
I chuckle. “Close reading means dissecting a text line by line, word by word, looking for the techniques the writer used to present the message.”
“Dissecting, sort of like a surgeon, like Uncle Alex?”
“Yes, but with words.”
“Whoa, that’s actually pretty cool. Maybe English isn’t so bad after all.”
“Let me make some coffee, and we’ll get cracking. Does that sound good?”
Elliot grins. “Sounds cracking.”
I stand up and turn to see Alex wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt. He’s got a slight smile on his face, his eyes glimmering. For once, his muscles aren’t tense, though they’re still huge, round, and hard, and I might be drooling a little.
“Don’t let me stop you,” he says with emotion. “In fact…” He takes out his phone. “This could be a perfect time for some pictures.”
I smooth my hand through my hair. “I’m still wearing last night’s clothes, and I haven’t showered.”
He walks across the room and cradles my face in his hands. “You always look beautiful. You could spend years in a dungeon, no shower, no shaving, no nothing, and you’d still be the most gorgeous woman in this city.”
“The most gorgeous woman in Miami? Are you kidding?”
“Not even a little bit.”
I try not to listen to the warning signals in my brain and my heart and try to use logic to ignore all the times Mom was swept off her feet with words just like this. She gave in far too easily, but the obstacle I invented—the whole ‘Elliot is fake thing’—has come crashing down.
What’s stopping me now except my terror of an unhappily never after?
After helping Elliot with his homework, he goes to get ready for school. Alex, Mom, and I meet with Gray Hedges, the leader of the security team that Alex has hired. Gray is around fifty, on the skinnier side but fit, with an open-carry pistol on his hip. He wears a khaki T-shirt and cargo pants, giving him a military look.
“The Kents are well-known to be mid-range criminals,” he says, standing in the middle of the living room. “They’ve got their fingers in lots of pots. Dealing in off-brand merchandise, they own a garage where they take stolen cars for the parts. But this—targeting civilians for harassment—is new.”
“It’s my fault,” Mom says.
“Don’t say that,” I tell her.
“Let’s be honest about the situation,” Mom bristles. “I’m the one who cheated.”
“So you had a bad relationship,” I say. “That doesn’t give his son the right to stalk and harass us. It doesn’t give them the right to vandalize Alex’s home.”
“She’s right, ma’am,” Gray notes.
“Please, call me Monica.”
Gray smiles. “Okay, Monica…”
Mom smiles, too. The way they’re looking at each other conjures up countless memories. Is Mom smitten already? I bury my natural response, though. She could just be grateful for his support.
“I understand you want three teams,” Gray says to Alex. “The son is still at large, but Kent Senior hasn’t been seen for some time.”
Mom swallows audibly.
“Yes,” Alex says. “One for Monica, one for Elliot, and one for Tori. I want them to be able to live their lives as normally as possible while knowing they’re safe.”
“I still think you need a team,” I murmur.
Alex winks at me. “This is my way of getting us to spend more time together, remember?”
A natural smile spreads across my face, making my cheeks feel like they’re glowing. A moment later, though, it drops when a depressing thought hits me. Do I look how Mom just did, all smitten, all excited, all gullible ?
“We specialize in nonintrusive protection,” Gray explains. “We recommend saving our numbers to your cell phones. We have a system in which all you have to do is text us, and we will come running. It doesn’t matter what you send; it can be gibberish. We’ll come running if you call us and don’t say anything or if we hear anything suspicious. Our main goal is to keep you and your family safe.”
“Good,” Alex affirms.
“Excuse me for asking,” I say. “But how much do you cost per day?”
Gray glances at Alex.
“Tori, it doesn’t matter,” Alex says gruffly.
“It does ,” I tell him. “We brought this problem to your door. We don’t want to bankrupt you.”
Alex sighs heavily. “It’s costing five thousand per day.”
I gasp. “Alex!”
He stands up. Even wearing his work dress shirt and slacks, there’s something savage about him.
“You’re worth it,” he growls. “I’m not going to let anybody hurt you. Ever.”
Want to know how messed up I am? When he says this, there’s a pessimistic part of me that whispers he’s doing this, so I owe him, and I feel like I have to do what he wants, be the woman he wants.
Thanks, Mom.
Get it together, Tori.
“That’s it for now,” Gray says. “Otherwise, you’re free to get on with your lives. In situations like this, the perpetrators often lose interest. Once Damien realizes you’re willing to hire protection, I’m sure he’ll back off.”
“He’d better,” I grumble. “We can’t do this forever.”
“Does that mean I can go home and shower?” Mom asks.
“Yes, ma’am… Sorry, Monica.” Gray smiles tightly. “You can go about your day as you normally would.”
“I’ve got work at midday,” I mutter. “I need to shower and change too. I’ll grab my things, and we’ll go together, Mom?”
Alex follows me down the hallway, taking my hand and turning me toward him. The heat that burns between us is primal, confusing, tempting, unwanted, and the only thing I want all at once.
“I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do,” he says, full of certainty. “Because I want to keep you, your mom, and my nephew safe.”
“I know, Alex…”
“I don’t think you do,” he says intensely. “I think a part of you thinks I’m trying to make it so you owe me. But you don’t. If you ended things now, my perfect Valentine, I’d be crushed, but I’d still keep you safe.”
How the heck can he read me as easily as a text?
He pulls me close to him, kissing me passionately.
“I’m taking you to dinner after work,” he says. “Your mom will be safe with the security watching her. Elliot will be safe. Let’s forget about this mess. It’s about time I took you on an actual date.”
“I’ve never been on an actual date before,” I admit.
“You deserve it, angel,” he says. “I want to walk into a restaurant with you on my arm and make everybody jealous.”
My cheeks heat up with his compliment. “I don’t think people will be jealous, Alex…”
“You seriously don’t know how perfect you are, do you?”
“I don’t think anybody else sees me like you do.”
“Good,” he says fiercely. “That means I get you all to myself.”
These possessive words should freak me out. Maybe they do. A little. But not as much as they would have just one day ago.
I throw my arms around his shoulders and pull him in for another kiss.