Chapter 38
Piper
T hree sharp knocks on my door send my heart leaping into my throat. I cross the apartment in quick strides, twist the deadbolt, and then Lena is there—hair tucked behind her ears, eyes wide and worried.
She doesn’t speak. She just crashes into me, arms locking around my neck like she can hold me together by force. Her arms are so tight my spine pops. I stagger back, letting the door swing shut behind us.
She smells like coconut shampoo and that vanilla perfume she always wears. The familiarity of it breaks something in me, and I’m clutching her back just as tightly, my face pressed into her shoulder as hot tears slip free without permission.
“Pipes,” she whispers against my hair, and her voice catches on that single syllable. “God, I’ve been so worried.”
We stand like that in my hallway, swaying slightly, neither willing to be the first to let go. When we finally separate, her mascara has smudged beneath her eyes, and her hands tremble as she tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You look better than the last time we had a video call,” she says, studying my face with the kind of careful scrutiny only someone who’s known you for years can get away with.
“I feel better.” I give her a reassuring smile.
She shifts awkwardly and holds up a crumpled brown bakery bag. “I brought chocolate cupcakes. Emergency-grade.”
The smell of rich cocoa leaks out, making my stomach twist with a sudden, fierce hunger for the cupcakes.
“Do you want some coffee?” I offer, desperate for something normal to do with my hands.
“Yes, please.”
While I busy myself with the coffee machine, Lena leans agains t the counter, picking apart a cupcake like it personally offended her, crumbs trailing down her fingers.
“Almond milk?” I ask, as if we’re just having another study session, as if nothing has changed.
“You know it.” She hesitates. “Pipes, I—”
“Let’s sit first,” I interrupt, not ready yet. “Please.”
With a sharp nod, Lena heads toward the living room, but comes to an abrupt stop.
“Jesus, Lee!” I yelp, almost crashing into her back. “Why did you—”
“What the fuck is that?” she asks, her tone shrill as she stabs her finger toward something in the living room.
I step around her to see what she’s sounding so worked up over. Oh, shit. The puzzle picture. Fuck. I’ve gotten so used to seeing it that I didn’t think to warn her.
“Umm…” I trail off, not sure how to explain it. “Let’s sit down.”
“I’m not sitting until you tell me what the fuck is going on,” she demands. Her hand’s shaking so badly the coffee almost sloshes over.
“Please, Lee,” I beg. “I promise I’ll tell you everything.”
We settle on the couch, both of us instinctively curling our legs underneath us, creating a small fortress of knees and mugs. The crumpled bakery bag sits between us like a forgotten peace offering.
Through the windows, afternoon light casts long rectangles across my floor. I trace one with my toe, buying time, searching for the right words.
“So,” Lena begins. “The last time we discussed Enzo, you just wanted to get your rocks off. But now you have his masterpiece displayed in your living room. What gives?”
Right, I guess we’re diving straight in.
“He kind of lives here now,” I admit.
“You live together?” Lena furrows her brows. “Why?”
I try to come up with a variation that sounds better than the truth, which is he moved in while I was sleeping. But I refuse to lie to my best friend, no matter how fucked up it sounds. So I end up giving her the brutally honest version, no holds barred.
“But I like having him around,” I add defensively when she scoffs at my explanation.
“Right,” she replies, sarcasm heavy in the one word. “So first he stalks you, then he hires you as his intern so he can use you, and then he just decides to move in. And you…” Holding her fingers up, she makes air quotes. “… like having him around.”
Sighing, I take a sip of the now lukewarm coffee. “I know how it sounds,” I say, fighting the need to defend myself. “But it’s the truth. I don’t like how he went about it, but I like him, and I like—”
“The orgasms,” she finishes for me, shooting me a grin that I estimate to only be half fake.
“ Yeah, I definitely like those,” I mutter, feeling my cheeks heat. I reach blindly for a cupcake, peeling back the paper liner with shaking fingers. “But Lee—”
“Do you love him?”
The question hits harder than it should. My stomach knots. My chest tightens. Somewhere down the hall, the radiator coughs to life, a low, rumbling heat chasing away the first edge of evening chill.
Do I love Enzo? No… yes… maybe? I honestly don’t know. What I do know, though, is that I could. To buy myself time, I tear off a piece of cupcake and shove it into my mouth, like chocolate can fill the gaps in my courage.
“It’s not that simple,” I muse out loud. “When I’m with him, I feel like we’re the last two people on the planet. It’s like, nothing else matters apart from us—”
“Because his dick is magical?”
Shaking my head, I explain, “No. I mean, it is. But that’s not what it’s about. All the sexy stuff aside, I like being wrapped up in him. And… well… I like that he chose me. It’s flattering.”
Lena cackles at that. “So is black, that doesn’t mean you let yourself get sucked into a black hole, Pipes. I hate to say it, but it sounds like you’re letting your vagina do the talking. I mean, do you even know him?”
“Yes, I do.”
She waggles her eyebrows in that way that tells me she’s about to test me. I shove the rest of the cupcake into my mouth, waiting for her to go ahead.
“So where did he grow up? What’s his full name? What’s his last name? What does he actually do for a living?”
While she continues to hurl questions at me, I frown. She’s absolutely right; I don’t know Enzo at all.
“Well, I presume his full name is Lorenzo.” I try to sound flippant, but it falls flat.
She nods. “And how many siblings does Lorenzo have? Where did he grow up?”
Instead of answering, I set my coffee cup down, brush the crumpled cupcake wrapper onto the table, and bury my face in my hands. These are all valid questions, and I’ve pondered some of them myself. But when I’m with Enzo, those questions melt away, meaningless compared to the way he looks at me.
I run my hand down my face, once again meeting Lena’s gaze. “Look,” I start, swallowing thickly. “I don’t know the answers. You’re right, there are many things I don’t know about him. But… do you know what he did after Ben drugged me?”
The room’s dim enough now that I fumble for the lamp switch beside the couch, filling the space with a low, golden light.
Her loud inhale is all I need to carry on.
“ He fucking kidnapped Ben. He’s holding him somewhere—”
“Pipes, that’s—”
“Awesome,” I state, making sure my tone’s firm. “It’s fucking awesome. How many men can you say would do that? Or how about the fact he fired everyone at Blackwood that had a hand in Ben being hired there as an intern?”
I’m not sure what I expected from my friend, but it’s definitely not the horror-stricken expression currently marring her face.
“Well, that’s…” She doesn’t bother finishing the sentence.
I lean closer, squeezing her hand like I can force her to understand through touch alone. “That’s love,” I say, tasting the word since it’s the first time I say it out loud.
Silence settles between us, heavy and expectant. Lena shifts on the couch, her thumb is absentmindedly tracing circles on my hand. Something in her posture transforms, shoulders squaring slightly, chin lifting.
I recognize this look; it’s her truth-coming face, and my stomach immediately knots in response.
“What?” I ask, the word sharper than I intend.
She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, hesitating. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” Her voice is soft but sure.
Five seconds of perfect stillness, like the moment between lightning and thunder. The question hangs in the air, crystalline and dangerous.
“Of course I do,” I say, but the words sound hollow, rehearsed. My fingers twitch against hers, wanting to pull away, to protect myself from the doubt she’s trying to seed.
Lena doesn’t blink. “Do you, though? Because the things you told me during brunch… it’s just… it’s fucking crazy. Why are you putting up with it?”
I withdraw my hands, tucking them beneath my thighs. The absence of her touch leaves me colder than I expected. “You don’t understand,” I mutter.
“Of course I don’t fucking understand,” she snaps, tilting her head. “So, if this is something you’re serious about, make me understand.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, heat rising to my face. “He saved me. Why does there have to be more to it than that?” That’s the wrong thing to say, and I know it the moment the words slip out.
“I know.” Her voice softens, and the look she gives me is almost pitiful. “And I’m grateful, I am. But…” She tucks her knees closer to her chest, making herself smaller. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Or something you’re not telling yourself.”
I could build a mountain of graves with the things I don’t know about Enzo. But I know how he looks at me, like really looks at me. I know the way his muscles contract when I touch him, and I know the taste of his lips and the weight of his body over mine.
Wha t else is there? What else could matter, when he’s the only thing that feels real anymore?
I’ve known my parents all my life. I know how old my mom was when she lost her virginity, because she told me that was the right age.
If I had sex before I turned sixteen, I was a slut.
But if it was after I turned seventeen, I’d be a prude.
Unlike most people, I know my mom’s real hair color, and I know her insecurities.
Although I never knew my dad that well, they both managed to surprise me when they all but disowned me. Until that happened, I barely knew Teddy, but he stepped up in ways he never needed to, and took care of me when my own parents wouldn’t.