15. Alina
15
Alina
I wake up angry and hurt. To keep myself busy, I clean the condo from top to bottom, wash all the towels and linens, and run the dishwasher. I even wash the outdoor furniture on the balconies. Luca keeps telling me it isn’t my responsibility, but I need to do something . Finally, he just shrugs, goes back to reading and lets me have at it.
The next day, I’m still angry and hurt. But I want to talk to Damian, to sit down like two adults. I guess he isn’t on the same page because I don’t hear from him, let alone see him. Bored and restless, I open the front door. Vito sits on a folding chair in the foyer between the door and the elevator.
He gets up and asks, “Do you want me to take you somewhere?” He actually looks hopeful. He has to be even more bored than I am.
“No, thanks. Just checking. You, um, want some coffee?”
“Sure. Black, thanks,” he says.
So I get him his coffee and close the door. A few minutes later, someone knocks. I open the door to find Joe.
“You got any more coffee?” he asks.
“Sure. How do you like it?”
“Black, thanks,” he says.
So I get him his coffee and close the door.
A few minutes later, there’s a knock. I open the door to find both Vito and Joe standing there.
“You, uh, wanna play poker?” Vito asks, looking hopeful.
“I don’t have any money,” I say. “To bet,” I clarify when they both just stare at me.
“You got any cookies? Crackers?” Joe asks.
“Crackers? Um, I think so.” I fetch the box of cheese crackers I discovered the first night I was here.
“Okay,” Vito says. “We’ll play for crackers.”
We do. I lose, a lot. Then I finally win a hand, recouping some of my lost crackers.
“I’m done,” I say. They both look at me, confused.
“Done?” Joe asks.
“Done,” I say. “Done playing.”
“But you’re winning,” Vito says.
“And that’s why I’m done,” I say. “I’m quitting while I’m ahead.”
They both look at me like I’m a strange curiosity.
I change into workout clothes and they follow along without complaint when I head down to the condo gym. They stick to me like glue, glowering at a guy who wanders in. He quickly wanders back out again. I run on the treadmill. I use the free weights. Then I head to the pool and do laps until my arms feel like overcooked spaghetti.
“You can swim,” Joe says, sounding surprised.
“I can,” I agree, not sure why he made the observation. “Can you?”
“Yeah. I mean, I can make my way across the pool. But you swim like they do in the Olympics. You do that whole roll at the end thing.”
I laugh. “Definitely not like they do in the Olympics. But I was on the swim team in high school.”
“Nice,” Joe says.
“Can we go back inside?” Vito asks. “It’s hot as controlled nuclear fusion out here.”
“The fuck?” Joe says.
“What?” Vito shrugs. “I saw a show.”
“Why don’t you guys watch me from right in there?” I suggest, indicating the doors five feet away.
They hesitate for a second, then step inside the doors to the air-conditioned interior while I sit by the pool in the shade—it’s too hot for sun.
It’s a bit cooler in the evening, so I go for a long walk, my poker buddies stalking along in my shadow.
The next day, Vito and Joe are nowhere to be found. Instead, Luca shows up with three paperbacks: a romance novel, a thriller, and an epic fantasy. I devour the romance novel. Unfortunately, it’s a spicy read, which only makes me think of Damian.
In the evening, Luca insists we go for a drive. He takes me to an ice cream place and buys me a pint of Campfire S’mores and a pint of Sea Salt Caramel. He gets himself a pint of Grazacado.
“Seriously? Who wants to eat avocado and olive oil ice cream?” I ask, incensed.
We’re sitting on the balcony looking out at the lights. He holds out the laden spoon toward me. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
“No, thank you,” I say, taking a spoon of my own ice cream.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I eat the entire pint. Sue me. It’s my dinner.
Maybe it’s because of ice cream overdose, or maybe I miss Damian, but I sleep poorly that night and wake up feeling morose. Three days without a word from him. I almost decide to crawl back under the covers and spend the day feeling sorry for myself, but that just isn’t me. So I get up, shower, dress, and head to the kitchen to make coffee.
The kitchen island boasts a box and a bag.
Just then, I hear the front door open behind me. My heart gives a hard thump and I can’t help the smile that curves my lips. It dims when I turn to see Luca.
“There’s coffee if you want some,” I say, feeling awkward. He has to have seen the expectation and joy on my face. And he has to have seen the disappointment. I feel a hot flush stain my cheeks and look down so my hair falls forward. The curse of pale skin. My blush gives my thoughts away.
Problem is, I can’t untangle the hot mess of my emotions. I should hate Damian. But I don’t. I should hate the men he’s left to guard me. But I don’t. I should hate everything about my current situation. But I don’t.
I definitely need a therapist.
Luca fixes himself a coffee—one sugar, no cream—and settles at the kitchen island on the farthest stool. “You gonna open that?” He gestures at the box.
“Is it for me?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It isn’t for me.”
I open the box. It’s an AlphaSmart Neo 2.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Looks like it’s an AlphaSmart Neo 2,” Luca says.
I shoot him a look and find his hazel eyes watching me with amusement.
Luca pulls out his phone, types something, looks at me and says, “It’s a portable word processor.” He looks at his phone for another minute. “Not sure where Damian found this thing. Says here that they don’t make them anymore but writers snap them up second hand.”
Writers snap them up.
“But don’t worry, it doesn’t have internet access,” he says with that smug look that I’ve never seen anyone pull off quite as well as he does. “Apparently, no internet access means no distractions. At least, that’s what the reviews say.”
No internet because Damian doesn’t want me to have access to the outside world. Not unless I’m chaperoned and supervised.
“What’s in the bag?” Luca asks.
I pull out a half dozen lined pads and a bunch of pens in different colors. And two books: Techniques of the Selling Writer by Dwight V. Swain and Writing Fiction for Dummies . I decide not to take that as an insult.
“Damian dropped all of that off early this morning,” Luca says.
My head jerks up and my pulse kicks up a notch. “Damian was here?”
Luca nods.
He was here early this morning and he didn’t wake me. He was here and he didn’t stay long enough to see me. He was here and he left me all of these wonderful things.
I’m quiet for a moment, digesting the fact that even angry with me, Damian has just bought me the best gift I’ve ever received.
I told him I like to write, so he bought me a word processor. And pens and pads and books.
Is it a gesture of apology or forgiveness? I have no way to know unless he actually shows up here to talk to me.
And what is wrong with me that I want him to?
Luca’s phone buzzes. He answers and his gaze flicks to mine, then he wordlessly holds the phone out to me. I take it from his hand and bring it to my ear.
“Hello?” I say, my pulse kicking up a notch.
“I’ll be there at eight tonight,” Damian says, his voice a little rough. “I want to fuck you. If your answer is yes, be naked and waiting in your bed. If your answer is no, don’t be there. Have Luca take you out for a walk.”
He hangs up before I can say anything.
But we both already know what my answer will be.