Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
LOLA
No more secrets.
The words flow through me, sweet and bitter at the same time.
Like I want to believe him desperately. And a part of me does, as it bounces around, making me light enough to float away.
But something heavy sits in me, and it isn't the future baby. Or maybe it is. But this weight keeps me grounded, the edge of bitter there.
Shit. It is the baby.
Future baby.
Whatever.
I can feel it in my bones that it'll be okay, that it's strong, as it builds into something I'll hold in my arms, something we'll both hold.
My future child.
I breathe in, and the air is intoxicating, warm for this time of year, like even the weather wants us to take a leap of faith and see where this goes.
I'm hoping it's going to go to a place with a real future.
He's hoping to see what happens next, and we're both basing this on the information revealed to us.
It makes me think.
Because I didn't have all his reasons, I put heavy blame and accusations at his feet. I'm not saying stalking me is right, but it's not like I didn't find it titillating when I thought Alex was watching.
And now, aren't I doing the same by not telling him about the baby?
The waiter comes to clear the plates, and Enzo gets another drink as he listens to the options.
It seems that every dish is something I can eat, no soft cheeses or raw meat. No mussels or oysters or anything like that. And the fact the waiter is telling us what the dish has tells me Lyndall laid down rules.
Half of me listens. But the other half...
It's still on Enzo's words and my own small dilemma.
I'm a hypocrite.
I want honesty from this man, but I'm not giving the same in return.
And I can't work out why.
Then it hits me like a ton of bricks, at the exact moment he catches my eye and smiles slowly. That smile that can hook and reel in anything, including my wayward and stupid heart.
My entire being throbs.
He has power. That's why I haven't told him yet. Power to bend someone to his will through a natural charm that doesn't need to be wrapped up in expense. And it's aimed at me.
If he'd admitted who he was at some point when he was being Alex, I'd have forgiven him, especially after a taste.
No wonder I wanted both of them.
But his power is dangerous.
And he used it in a different way. To protect me, yes, but to keep the game going in the wrong ways.
I'm holding back on telling him I'm pregnant—something that definitely has a finite shelf life in the secrets department—because I'm still deeply hurt by his lies.
And I don't think I'm...not able to completely forgive him.
I will.
That whispers in my bones.
But right now, I have to let that trust that's tangled with forgiveness work itself out.
And if he wants to see where this goes, we need to have actual time together, time to be us, to see.
If I tell him...he might not be mafia, but he has mafia blood. He's Italian.
He's the kind of man who'd just decide this was it.
Which isn't fair on either of us.
We either work or we don't.
Adding a baby?
He'll make the decision for us, force this relationship into being. And if we're not meant to be, we'll both be miserable.
Enzo and I haven't even gone on a date, we've had sex, but amazing as it was, that was it. That is not a relationship.
He won't think that way, he'll make it happen. Like he took responsibility for me since I was a kid, whether I liked it or not.
And as much as I don't want to admit it, he did save me.
This, a baby, it's life-changing.
It's not something to drop on a man.
With time, I'll tell him. As I said, finite shelf life.
So, I have time.
And as I answer a silly question from him with a laugh, a small voice inside won't shut up about how me keeping the baby secret for now won't sit well with him.
And I can't help but wonder if, after everything, it might be my secret that kills this fledgling relationship.
I shake my head. "How the hell do you know a Michelin star chef?"
He shrugs with that casual, easy grace. "How do I know most of the people I know? Charm and genius."
"Uh huh."
"I helped him out with something a few years back. Cade, too. And Francois is a great guy."
"Well, he can cook."
He nods at my clean plate. "I noticed you liked it. You didn't throw it at someone."
"Sorry." I wince, my stomach turning in memory of the smell of the rich eggs.
Normally, I would have loved them, but even the thought of them makes me want to throw something at him.
"Sorry?"
I nod. "Sorry. I'm sure they were good, I was just...not feeling well and very, very angry."
"Is that why you made that delicious soup?"
Suddenly, I narrow my eyes at him. "I know I made too much, but it disappeared quickly."
His eyes widen. "Lyndall?"
"She'd prefer pizza."
He grins. "Cade."
"I don't think so."
"Okay, but in my defense, I was hungry and it was there. Fuck, you can cook, you're cute. If you have my babies, will you marry me?"
I can't breathe. I can't—
He starts to laugh. "That's a joke. I'm not the marrying kind, so I'm not about to trap you."
Not the...
Am I looking for that? I'm not sure. I haven't thought about getting married to anyone. And since Dad died, I've been focused on surviving.
I gather a smile, and as the waiter removes our plates, I take a sip of water.
"The chef is cleaning up downstairs and wants to know when you want dessert. It's plated and in the fridge. He said to let you know it's ready to go whenever."
I glance at Enzo. "Oh, I couldn't eat another thing."
I catch his eye, and as he holds it, he says, "I could."
I shiver at the other meaning in those words, and my body throbs, pussy juices starting to flow.
This man is dangerous.
He's effortlessly sexy and both unattainable and present. Open and closed. It's an intoxicating mix that leaves me breathless.
He flickers his gaze to the waiter. "But not right now. We can help ourselves."
"I'll pass it on to the chef."
"I'll tell him myself. Thank you." Then he looks at me. "I'll be back."
Enzo disappears with the waiter, and I know I should go down to thank this Francois for making what might be the most romantic evening of my life happen.
I don't.
Because I don't want to ruin it by leaving the tiny fairy tale restaurant for two that's been set up here.
"Romantic" is a good word.
It's unusual romance, but romance nonetheless.
There is something beautiful, breathless, and nerve-wracking about the conversation, the clearing of air that might lead to a path of a future relationship—not something we have now, but something more. A different sort.
One that's romantic.
I sit back and breathe slowly because I'm needlessly tying myself up in knots. So, I get up and go to the terrace's edge, leaning on it as I take in the pretty back terrace and then the skyline of Brooklyn that I can see.
The back doesn't face Manhattan, but I don't mind.
Yes, the view is lovely, but I want to sit with everything.
An evening like this is special.
He hasn't hit on me, though there have been looks, the soft flirt. The honesty I didn't expect.
Not just the honesty he uses to pay lip service, because he stumbled and laid things bare. He said it in a way I want to hug to me.
Because I can see it shining softly.
He owned up to his mistake, admitted he feels he did the right thing for me, but can see it might not have been right.
Enzo acknowledged I didn't overreact and that I have a right to anger, a sense of violation.
It's growth. Good.
And I can admit my own shit, too. How I liked him spying as part of a game, how it shows me permission is important on so many levels.
His presence, as he comes up behind me, wraps around me like a caress.
If he were to make a move and lay waste to some of what's been accomplished, this would be the time.
It's not that I think that's his plan, but I can see the risk, as this has the makings of a seduction scene if he did that.
But, of course, he doesn't.
Enzo leans on the balcony's edge near me. "Should I ask what you're thinking?"
"That it's pretty."
"Yes, it is. Very much so."
I turn, and he is looking at me. But then he casts his gaze into the twinkling yard.
"Should I go...?" Honestly, I'm not sure if I should go and thank his friend for cooking.
"Go as in go? Go as in you're tired? Go as in say thanks to the chef?" he asks, a faint zing of amusement in his tone.
We look at each other, and his curved mouth is the invitation I'm finding hard to resist.
"Which do you think it is?"
"You're fucking polite, Lola, so you probably want to see the chef." He pauses. "You're also capable of untold filth, so maybe that's not a good idea. Francois is exceptionally good-looking. I'm finding I liked the idea of a threesome with you and another guy when I was both me and the other guy."
"And how would that work?"
He shrugs. "No fucking idea. But I'll think of something."
Enzo turns back to the night, and I want his touch.
"Of course, if you want to go, you can. As in go to bed or watch TV or run around the house. You can't see Francois as he and his small crew already left." He sighs. "It's nights like this, unseasonably warm, that I wish there was enough room for a heated saltwater pool."
"You could be like all the rich folk in the mansions and townhouses who have pools in their sub-basements."
"Maybe I do."
"Do you?"
He laughs. "No."
I swallow because I want him. "What are we going to do to entertain ourselves?"
"Steal Lyndall's Xbox and kill some zombies. I hear on the grapevine you're good at that."
I grin. "I had a lot of aggression, Sir."
Next to me, he stills.
I decide to take the leap. "You know,... I do all the office jobs for you, I take dick-tation—"
He groans. "I'll never live that down."
No, he never will, but I'm alive with sparks and fiery need in my veins.
"—and you made me come out for this business dinner..."
"I did, didn't I?"
"Are you going to touch me again?"
He doesn't move, giving me a long look. "Haven't touched you."