24. New York State of Mind
New York State of Mind
Knox
“I still can’t believe you live on Staten Island,” Victoria mused from beside me as the driver maneuvered the SUV off the bridge connecting the island to the New York boroughs.
“Hey, you won’t find me arguing. I’m just saying, you give off bachelor loft overlooking the New York skyline.”
“And you give off—”
I paused to gauge her reaction.
Narrowed eyes, popped neck, screwed lips. She hit “The Trifecta” and isn’t in the mood for my shenanigans. A wise man would tread carefully, but I’ve never been accused of being wise. I can’t fuck for another week, so I might as well get my rocks off another way.
“—you live above Chinese restaurants so you can have easy access.”
“It was a pizzeria, you dodo bird.”
“That was my second guess,” I replied with an easy grin.
“My college apartment was above Vince’s Pizzeria. That Freshman Fifteen came out of nowhere,” she explained. “It eventually turned into the Freshman Forty.”
“It looked good on you,” I complimented. “It certainly caught my attention.”
My wife squinted at me suspiciously. “You’re not one of those feeders, are you?”
“Feeders? What the hell is that?”
“You know those men who have fat fetishes and get with big women and feed them to their heart’s content.”
“First of all, you were never fat—you were thick, there’s a difference. Secondly, I do enjoy feeding you, but not in that way. My mother often showed affection through her food—it’s an Italian thing.”
“That reminds me. I need to text your mother and remind her of her obligatory pasta drop,” she mumbled as she rifled through her purse for her cell phone. “What should I request?”
“Her manicotti.”
“Bet,” she replied, tapping away at the screen.
“I’m returning to the office tomorrow to show my face and—”
“I don’t approve of you scaring your employees with your face, but I can’t stop you,” she mumbled.
I chuckled softly while Doug squirmed in his seat from our unconventional dynamic.
“I scare them with my face? Do you know how many HR complaints I’ve had to squash because you are “unapproachable”?”
Victoria’s brow raised to her hairline.
“How many?”
“Eight. Six from the same person.”
“Uh-uh. Who was that?” she pressed.
I shrugged.
“The six complaints were submitted anonymously.”
“Then how do you know it’s the same person?”
“Because they misspelled your name every time.”
“Imagine calling me unapproachable, but you’re illiterate. Fire them.”
“Are you asking me to abuse my power to satisfy your personal vendetta?”
“What’s the point of being romantically involved with a CEO if he won’t throw his weight around for you? I bet everything I have that whoever the anonymous reporter was was gunning for my job. They ripped that page straight out of the Hater Handbook.”
“They did, my dear, but you emerged victorious. Not to change the subject, but when will you be returning to your apartment to collect your belongings?”
“I can handle that tomorrow while you’re at the office. I’ll get Brittney and Alyssa to help. I’ll probably give them most of my belongings and donate the rest.”
Relief washed over me when the SUV arrived at the gate surrounding my property.
Correction…our property.
The small creature comforts I once took for granted came flooding back as my home came into view.
I missed the waterfall on the island, but nothing could beat the amazing feeling of four shower heads blasting nearly boiling water on you.
I missed cuddling in our makeshift bed, but the thought of lying in my own bed again was enough to make me cry.
I was violently shaken from my commiseration by my wife.
“Oh, my God, Gio. Your house is amazing!” she gasped as the vehicle traveled the winding driveway.
“I told you this many times and invited you to see it.”
I chuckled when she smacked her lips. “You weren’t fooling me. You weren’t inviting me to your house for some innocent home tour. You wanted to get me alone, ply me with expensive wine from your wine cellar—you have a wine cellar, right?”
“I do,” I confirmed, still maintaining the smile on my face.
“You wanted to take advantage of me, Mr. Ramsey.”
“Still do,” I answered honestly. I leaned in and whispered in her ear. “You should be thanking God right now that I’m on light duty. Count your fucking days, Mrs. Ramsey.”
I pulled away, leaving her stupefied.
“Keys,” I demanded, holding my hand out to Doug. He patted his pockets until he found my spare keys in his jacket.
“I had a maid service perform a deep clean of your home, and the refrigerator and pantry are fully stocked,” Doug mentioned, dropping the keys into my eager hand.
“Thank you, Doug. Expect a bonus for your exceptional work.”
“Thank you, Knox. Enjoy your first night home.”
I glanced at Victoria, and I relished the lust in her eyes.
“Don’t worry, Doug. I will.”
* * *
“This…is…gorgeous,” Victoria whispered once we entered my lovely abode. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floors as she stared at the ceiling as if it were the Sistine Chapel.
I closed my eyes and settled against the door, breathing in the scent of fresh linen, citrus, lavender, and eucalyptus. It was both familiar and unsettling—a vast difference to the smell of rain-soaked earth, salt air, coconuts, tropical flowers, and seaweed.
“You have an elevator?” Victoria screeched, bringing me back to reality. I smirked and pushed myself off the door. My cane thudded against the floor with each step as I searched for the missus, eventually finding her in the formal dining room, deep in thought.
“You seem troubled,” I said, observing the tension in her posture.
“Not troubled… just… thinking.”
“About?” I pressed, moving closer.
“Thanksgiving. My mom always made a big deal out of it. Even though she memorized most of the recipes, she’d crack open this old recipe book that was passed down to her and cook in the kitchen like she was a mad scientist. Every year, she’d try a different dessert recipe.”
“What was the last one she attempted?”
“A fucking Baked Alaska.”
I snorted at the randomness.
“It was a hot mess express. She had ice cream melting everywhere, but she enjoyed herself just as much as I enjoyed eating it.”
“Do you have the recipe book?”
“I do. It’s tucked away in my safe at my apartment.”
“Maybe you should recreate it this Thanksgiving,” I suggested.
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“I think I might.”
“I look forward to it. I have a surprise for you in the guest house.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“What kind of surprise?”
“The kind you’ll love,” I replied, grabbing her hand and leading her to the backyard, past the outdoor kitchen and pool, to the guest house that was a mini replica of the main house.
My stomach twisted in knots as we traveled down the stone pathway.
I was worried about how Victoria would react.
She was a wildcard sometimes, and the last thing I wanted to do was overstep again.
My hand landed on the doorknob, and I twisted it and pushed it open without another thought.
She froze.
Everything was in place. The living room had been stripped and rebuilt into a soft, sterile haven with wide walkways, low lighting, and a nurse station tucked discreetly into the corner. One bedroom had been converted into a caregiver suite, and the other into a fully equipped medical wing.
Victoria’s mother lay in a hospital-grade bed, propped up with pillows. Gospel music played low from a speaker near the window next to the monitors that blinked quietly beside her. A cream buttery leather recliner for guests sat beside the bed.
“I had her transferred here this morning,” I said quietly. “I wanted her close and safe.”
Victoria’s voice cracked.
“This… this is what you meant when you said she was transferred to the best facility on Staten Island.” She turned to me and gazed at me with wide, shimmering eyes. “You did all this?”
I nodded.
“She deserves dignity, and you deserve peace.”
Victoria slowly approached her, and her mother stirred when Victoria’s fingers curled around her hand. Mrs. Caldwell smiled softly. Perhaps it was faint recognition, or just a motherly instinct that illness could never take away. Whatever it was, I was grateful.
“Hey, Mom. I’m back,” she whispered, kissing the back of her mother’s hand. Mrs. Caldwell opened her mouth to speak, but the words never came. The moment was touching—too touching, forcing me to excuse myself.
“Tori, I need to take a call.”
She glanced back at me, tears trailing down her cheeks.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just know that this is permanent. She’s home now,” I said before leaving the guest house.
I cleared my throat several times and dialed the number I knew by heart.
“Hello?”
“Ma… it’s me… Giovanni.”
* * *
I limped into the en suite bathroom with my cane and sighed at the beautiful sight before me—my wife soaking peacefully in a bubble bath.
I dragged the bench from what would be her vanity and positioned it in front of the claw-foot bathtub.
I sat and watched her in silence, eyes roving over her exposed shoulders, slick from the bath oil I’d poured into the tub when I ran her bathwater.
The top of her cleavage rose and fell rhythmically above the thick layer of bubbles, and I had the urge to reach beneath the suds and pinch her nipples.
Sensing my presence, Victoria briefly cracked an eye open before closing it.
“You know, usually I charge for this kind of thing.”
I smiled and settled my chin on top of my cane. “And what kind of thing is that?”
“Letting old men watch me in a state of undress.”
“You have a good eye for business,” I remarked.
“Mhm,” she hummed, shifting her legs beneath the water. My eyes were drawn to them like a cat chasing a laser pointer. “Did you need something, Gio?”
“I’m famished and thought that maybe you’d enjoy one of my famous handmade pizzas and a glass or two of wine before we settled for the evening.”
“You make pizzas?” she asked skeptically, raising a brow.
“The pizza oven in the kitchen isn’t for show.”
“You can’t make pizza better than Vince,” she challenged playfully.
I scoffed and abandoned the bench. “You say that now, but I’ll have you begging me to make pizzas every day. You’ll gain that Freshman Forty in no time.”
“Oh, you’re funny.”
“Thank you for recognizing one of my many talents,” I said, retrieving her towel and quickly wrapping it around her body.
I didn’t need the temptation. “Just in case you’ve forgotten, your closet is there,” I said, pointing toward the his and hers closet.
“Your bed clothing is in the second drawer of the island. They might be a little ill-fitting, but I’m sure you’ll find something that will work.
Please stop by the cellar and select a bottle of wine before joining me in the kitchen. ”
She smiled genuinely as her feet hit the bathmat.
“You know you should see a therapist about buying all this shit for me when I wasn’t even checking for you,” she said, referring to my obsession with her. I snorted.
“I’m not crazy, my dear. I’m psychic.”