33. Liana
LIANA
Dario wakes up before me and for once I don’t wake when he gets up. I don’t wake when he closes the door or when he leaves and comes back.
I don’t wake until he gently shakes my shoulder.
“It’s nearly noon, belissima. Charlie will be here soon to give you an exam.”
“I really think I’m fine, Dario.”
I know I’m not fine, and his raised eyebrows tell me that he doesn’t think I’m fine, either.
“I just need some time,” I say quietly, and I’m not sure that’s true, either. I’ve lost something—my best friend and the security of her. Not just that, I’m terribly confused.
Because I’m in love with Dario Conte and he also could have killed my father.
And I can’t seem to reconcile those two facts, no matter what I do.
Charlie shows up about five after noon, and Dario is already pacing when he knocks on the door.
He leads me and Charlie up to my room.
Charlie’s cute, a dirty-blond with bright blue eyes. He’s boyish in the same way Dario is ruggedly handsome.
“Is everyone you work with someone who could have walked off a movie set?” I ask teasingly, knowing it’ll rile up Dario.
Charlie grins. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with her at all.”
I bark out a laugh and Dario frowns, stiffening, but he doesn’t interrupt.
He shines a light in my eyes, makes me follow his finger, all the stuff they did in the hospital.
“Tell me what year it is.”
I rattle off the day, month, and year, and he laughs.
“Overachiever. Your physical exam looks great. There’s no sluggishness of the pupils, no indication of any head trauma.”
I frown. “So what does that mean?”
“Unfortunately, it means it’s more... psychological. You lost someone, didn’t you?”
“My best friend. After she tried to kill me and my son.”
He winces. “That’s... going to cause you to have post-traumatic stress disorder, most likely.”
“PTSD? Isn’t that just for like, soldiers?” I ask, and Charlie shakes his head.
“I see it a lot in this life. It can happen after any traumatic event. And this was uniquely traumatic for you.”
“So what do I do?” I ask in a small voice.
“There’s therapy. Medication—”
“No,” I say quickly. I can’t go to therapy. I can’t have anyone knowing my secrets when I’m not even sure if I’m going to hire a hit man to kill my new husband or not.
And medication will just make me even more of a zombie.
No.
I just have to get over this, get past it.
“If you’re not interested in the alternatives, it just takes time,” Charlie says with a shrug. “It’d do you some good to get out of the house.”
Dario perks up. “We could go to dinner.”
“What about Sonny?” I ask, biting my lip. I’m not sure if I’m ready to be out and around other people right now.
“Marie would love to spend some time with him. She’s been missing him.”
I smile. Marie really is a sweet woman. She’s been so good to me and Sonny all this time.
“Alright,” I say quietly, and Dario grins, clapping Charlie on the shoulder.
He pulls a wad of cash out of his back pocket to pay him, and Charlie takes his leave.
“I’ll make reservations for tonight. Wear something nice.”
I nod, giving him a weak smile back. When he leaves to get some work done in his office, I let out a little sigh of relief.
The only place I feel safe is here or in Dario’s arms. I’m worried that when I’m outside, everything will come rushing back.
I already dream about it, about her wild eyes, the syringe getting closer and closer to my skin.
I shudder and try to shake it off. I head to my closet, picking out a red dress that Dario bought me recently.
He just loved the color of it, so he bought it in my size. When I put it on, the lace stretches across my bosom, showing off my cleavage. The neckline plunges nearly to my navel, but there are halter straps to hold me up, thank God.
I’m the type of girl that needs a little coverage.
I take it off, hanging it back up and sliding on a simple sundress to go out to the pool. Dario walks up behind me, his shadow falling over me.
I turn and look up at him.
“You’re messing up my tanning.”
“God forbid,” he drawls, smiling at me. He’s wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a tank top, and he looks absolutely scrumptious.
I think about jumping him right there. It’s basically all I ever think about, these days. When we’re having sex, I don’t think about how much I love him, how conflicted I am.
All I can think about is getting to my peak, and it’s one hell of an escape.
But even I know it’s not healthy to want to have him inside me all the time.
So I try to restrain myself.
“I picked out a restaurant.”
“I picked out a dress.”
He tilts his head. “What color?”
“That red one you got me.”
He growls in the back of his throat. “You’re going to get me arrested tonight.”
I chuckle. “Again? Didn’t you just leave court for the other one?”
“Luckily your boyfriend didn’t want to press charges.”
I stare at him. “My what now?”
“You know. Scott Howard.”
I keep staring at him and he sneers.
“You can’t be serious. You don’t remember him? You went out on a date with him, almost kissed him before I clocked him with a right hook.”
“Oh! Oh, Scott Howard!”
He glares at me. “I beat the guy up and you don’t even remember him.”
I giggle. “Sorry. It’s been kind of crazy around here, to my credit.”
He smiles, leaning closer to me, his shoulder bumping mine.
We sit there for a while, basking in the sun, and it’s nice. Is this what it would have been like? If I hadn’t run? If I’d forgiven him for cheating?
Would we just be a happy little family here?
I don’t even have anyone to talk to, here. Sometimes I talk to Sofia, but it’s not like I can tell her much. It was always Beth who was my sounding board, and now she’s... just gone.
Like a candle snuffed out.
“Are you hungry?”
“Not really.” I haven’t really been hungry since the accident, but I don’t want to worry Dario further.
“You should eat a little something so you’re not sick tonight,” he urges, and I nod, getting up.
He leads me into the dining room and Sofia has already set out lunch—finger sandwiches and cut fruit.
I sit down and make myself a small plate of grapes, oranges, and a few sandwiches.
I eat but everything tastes like cardboard. I sip water and it’s unsatisfying, too.
Nothing seems to matter anymore, and I don’t know how to get back to normal.
I head back upstairs, taking my time putting on some light brown makeup to make my gray eyes pop and curling the ends of my hair.
I wiggle into the dress. It's a tight fit but everything goes where it’s supposed to. I even spritz on a little perfume, hoping it will make me feel more... human.
More alive.
I step out into the hallway in my stilettos and when I descend the stairs, Dario is waiting for me below. He’s wearing a three-piece suit, his hair slicked back and his dark eyes unfathomable as he looks up at me.
“I knew that color would look amazing on you.”
I smile slyly. “You didn’t pick it for the color.”
I jiggle my cleavage and Dario curses.
“Don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“We’ll be late for our reservation,” he growls, pulling me to him with one hand on my waist.
I catch myself with my hands on his chest.
“Maybe we just should stay home.”
He pulls away from where he’s been nosing against my neck. He frowns down at me.
“But Charlie said it would be good for you. Doctor’s orders.”
A shiver runs through me. “Alright. If that’s what you think is best.”
I feel oddly nervous and we’re just going to dinner, a new Sicilian restaurant that just opened a couple of years ago.
Dario opens the car door for me and I slide in, buckling my seatbelt.
My throat is getting tighter and tighter and I’m not sure why I’m panicking.
I haven’t been out of the house since I was kidnapped, and being outdoors, even with Dario, is freaking me out.
When he gets in and shuts the door, it feels a little better, like we’re somewhat protected. I’m able to take a few calming breaths before we arrive, and I think maybe it’ll be okay.
We walk inside, sit down at a table, and everything is okay.
I order a glass of wine and sip it slowly.
Dario smiles at me. “You look better. Lit up, somehow.”
“It’s the makeup,” I admit, smiling slightly. “But honestly, it’s not so bad.”
We order a shrimp appetizer and I finish my wine. I’m actually feeling sort of good.
I still feel disconnected, untethered to myself, but I guess that’s just something I have to get used to.
A waiter walks by carrying a large tray of water glasses and he drops it, right by the restrooms.
The sound makes me feel like my brains are being scrambled. I leap to my feet, hyperventilating.
“Wait, wait, Li, it’s okay, it’s just water—” Dario starts, but I’m too far gone.
I rush toward the back exit and I can’t breathe until I get outside, shuddering and taking in big gulps of air. But now I’m outside, and it’s dangerous outside.
“Unlock the car,” I say in a strained voice as Dario comes out of the back.
“Just come back inside, belissima,” he pleads, holding his hands out in front of him. There’s something desperate in his eyes. “You were just startled, it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay!” I burst out, tears streaming down my face. “It’s not okay because I’m not ready, Dario. I need... I need to be home.”
Dario looks at me for a moment longer before unlocking the car with the key fob.
I rush to the car and get in, finally able to breathe without constraint once the door closes. When it opens again and Dario gets in, I feel a rush of panic.
“It’s too soon,” Dario mutters. “We’ll try again in a few days.”
“Okay,” I say, willing to say anything to get home and curl up in bed.
In his bed. Because I can’t sleep at all in my own.
It’s fucked up. I’m fucked up, and I don’t know how to stop it.
I don’t know how to feel better.
I don’t realize I’m crying until my shoulders start to shake and sobs rip from my throat.
Dario instantly puts his arms around me, leaving the car idling and whispering sweet nothings into my ear.
“It’s okay,” he says, when it’s not. “I’ve got you. I’m here,” he says, when he wasn’t always.
But nevertheless, it calms me down.
When we arrive I wait for him to open my door and then rush toward the house, my throat tightening at every step.
I can breathe again when I’m inside, and I hurry up to my room, getting out of the dress and into one of Dario’s big t-shirts.
I curl up in his bed and he’s gone for a few minutes.
I frown, wanting him there. Wanting him close. It’s the only way I can seem to breathe lately. What does it say about me that the man who broke my heart, who might have killed my father, is the only man I want comfort from?