Chapter Seventeen
LOLA
"Breathe," I say to my reflection as I clutch the towel around me in the cooling bathroom. "Breathe."
It's hard to get enough air, it seems.
The guest suite is on the other side of the brownstone's floor that holds Enzo's suite.
I hate that I'm sneaking in here to nap or spend time or shower when Enzo isn't down in his basement or away somewhere doing his job.
CEO. Mafia man. Criminal hacker.
I'm not sure if one of those, or all, is his real job, but that's not really the point.
I know he's not a real CEO in the sense that it's not his dream. I know he took that job on to watch over me, to the point of buying the business from Louie.
I shiver and go into the bedroom, looking around for signs of cameras—not that I'd see them, but it's a new habit ingrained fast that I can't break free from.
"Breathe."
I discard the towel and pull on my clothes.
As much as I can, I try to sleep here. Over the past few days since the dinner, however many it has been, a handful of days now blend together without real structure because, as I dress in the secretary outfit I've chosen for the day, those are the only clothes of mine still in here.
I'm finding it hard to know what day is what.
Even if I don't see him, I do the hours and whatever work he's set out.
I do this for me.
I need the sweet thrill of anticipation, the heat of the game. Even if he doesn't show up. Even if it is just the wait. The act of dressing the part.
There's deprivation. Excitement. Thrill. And all of that somehow puts a barrier between the nights when we have slow, hot sex without games or pretense—just us, lust, and beating, wild hearts.
I sit on the bed, hands folded, shining shoes in candy pink, and the black skirt and white sweetheart necklined cashmere top with pink flowers on it.
He still buys flowers, chocolates, and sweet trinkets like a pretty silver hair comb to pin my hair up that probably cost a fortune. He gets me cake. And when Enzo's here, if we're not playing our kinky sex games, his attention and focus are so intent on me that it drains me.
Oh, the man is hot and sexy, he's funny and sweet, and he's great to his sister.
But it's overwhelming to the point that I'm drowning.
Am I even in love? I think I could be falling because, even with all that attention that swamps me, and even though I ran from him, I accept him and welcome him back.
I honestly don't know if I'm in love. I have no idea if he is.
In my heart, in his heart, belonging...those are things born of familiarity from an old history that is venturing into something new.
Something new that got chewed up before it really established itself, and now it's hard to work out which end is up.
I want him with a desperation that claws at my veins, but that isn't the same thing as love, right? And it's not everything being magically good once more.
It just is.
I want to find a way through it. I do.
I just don't know where that will take me.
Because even if I love him, that doesn't give me a free pass to a happy ending. Love dies. Love changes.
I close my eyes for a moment.
And sometimes, someone, in order to survive, in order to keep their sanity, has to turn their back on love.
Which means I'm in the same place I've been since I discovered how deep the stalking went.
His efforts impress me. But they scare me, too.
Just like I worry that Enzo thinks we're back at the start, shining and new. When I know I'm standing in rubble, trying to carefully rebuild.
Although he's moved most of my things into his suite, I look at this guest room as mine.
The nights I need my space don't seem to be something he understands, but it doesn't matter. I just tell him I want to take it slow.
And that works.
For now.
With a sigh and shaking hands, I smooth my skirt, stand, and do some work, which gives me moments of bliss.
I'm happy he texted to say he's going to be late. That's another thing. I do get a number of texts a day.
But as happy as I am with the distance, my stupid heart beats wild as a keening need to see him winds through me.
How can I both miss him and want him and be relieved he's not going to be back straight away?
But as I change into yoga pants and a T-shirt, I know why I can be both. And the relief has got nothing to do with the rubble of the very recent past.
I do want to move on. But Enzo being late just means another day of not telling him about the pregnancy. I know I should just tell him, but how, when I can barely get my head around it?
Making a doctor's appointment would get back to him. He'd insist on coming along. Or he'd just try to hack into the files to make sure I'm fine.
I can't even sneak a visit in. I'm still a prisoner, though one with free rein over his brownstone.
And even though I want to keep it right now, I still want to explore options because, what if this thing with Enzo just doesn't work?
Then I'll take my baby and go into hiding.
I head out, bypassing the elevator to take the stairs. "Sure. Have Enzo's baby and run, and he'll be after you immediately. He'll track you down and drag you back."
Shaking my head, I reach the kitchen.
Lyndall's there, her computer open and a textbook next to her.
"Yes! Saved at last!" Then she leans forward on the table. "Did you know there's a cool room where Enzo has meetings here? I saw it once. Do you think he has bodies in that basement level?"
I take a breath, this time for her. "I try not to interfere with Enzo's business."
I pour myself a glass of water.
"You should. I bet it's really exciting." She leans back. "I'm surprised you're not wearing a giant rock yet, with the way he is about you."
Heat climbs in my cheeks. "What do you mean?"
She slides me a sly look. "Well, you're in love, and he's your boyfriend. Plus, he's super generous when you're around and not under lock and key."
"I am under lock and key. You're under lock and key."
"I'm always under lock and key, Lola. Dad's places, boarding school...even Enzo's strict. But his brand of strict is a little stretchy."
I think about that but can't see it when it comes to me. "You, maybe."
"Not now. He thinks we're both a target. You more than me. I know you're from the same world we are, and when that man took me instead of you..." She stops and gives me a horrified look. "It was my fault. I ran at him. You tried to put me behind you."
I pick up the sheet of paper on the table. "He's ordered us pizza, pasta, and salads, and the option to order something else if that's what we want."
I spy the credit card, one a part of me itches to steal, hide, just in case I need it to run.
She shakes her head. "He means you, not we, not really. I'm almost sixteen, and I can see that."
"I'm not hungry." I put the note down, this time over the card.
She sighs. "You know what, Lola? The harder you hold something back, the harder Enzo's going to go in to please you."
"Do you think he sees it?" I whisper.
"That you've got some reservations? No way. He's a guy. He knows you want to take it slowly, so he's trying harder to show you that he's a good guy."
I nod.
And I wish I could have a stiff drink. But I don't. I stick to my water.
"This is where you're supposed to say you know he is a good guy." She closes the lid to her computer.
I sigh.
"Lola, I know you haven't told him about the...you know." Lyndall mimes a giant baby bump. "He's told me things are good, you're on a fresh page, and there are no more secrets. But this is one of those secrets you absolutely can't hide."
Lyndall's right. I know she's right.
I finger the condensation on the glass. "I'm aware."
"Is there a part of you that hasn't forgiven him?"
For a moment, I'm not sure what to say. Because I have.
I remind myself to breathe again. "No, it's not that. I've forgiven him, mostly."
"Mostly."
The words are out, and I can breathe a touch easier because it's absolute truth. Simple and complicated at the same time.
"This is just us. Promise?"
Lyndall's eyes grow wide and brighten with excitement as she nods. "Cross my heart."
And I smile, but it crumbles away.
"It isn't that I don't want to fully forgive him...I do. More than anything."
"But?" Lyndall asks.
"But there's a part of me that's scared." I try to find the right words.
She reaches over the table and takes my hand. "My brother protects those he loves. And he loves you. I know it."
I don't argue the semantics of love with her. "It's scary. He's so damn focused on me, and I've already seen the lengths he'll go to just to keep me safe. Even with you, I've seen how far he'll go to save you."
"He'd do the same for you."
"I know. That's the thing. You're his sister. But I'm... We just met again from my perspective, and he lied to me, pretending to be the wrong number guy, and he molded my life. That's frightening levels of focus for me."
Lyndall squeezes my hand and gives a soft little laugh. "He's a Marino. His attention can be a lot."
I put my other hand on my heart. "What if I can't handle that?
Or his level of obsession? And what about his need to be involved in every aspect of my life?
" I swallow, then look around and lean forward to come in closer to Lyndall.
"And if he's like this with me, what's he going to be like with his own kid?
He's going to bring new meaning to the term helicopter parent. "
"You love him, right?"
I sidestep that because what I feel seems too complicated for just love. "It's not about love. I'm just worried he might care too much."
She scoffs. "You mean love. And I don't think anyone can love too much."
She's not even sixteen. It's one of those things I have to keep reminding myself of, because Lyndall's smart and wise, and it's easy to forget to her love is all capitals and Montagues and Capulets. She's high drama about it.
But I know people can care too much. They can love in the wrong way.
And I find the words. "Sometimes, I worry he'll end up suffocating me."
For a moment, she looks outraged but then her shoulders sag. "You don't mean pillow over the head, you mean feel like, right?"
"Right."
She rolls her eyes. "We-ell, maybe you should sit down with Enzo and draw some boundaries.
Dad sent me to therapy for a bit, and that woman was on and on about boundaries.
I thought it was dumb at the time because, like, boundaries and Dad?
Ha!" She shakes her head. "They make sense.
I can see how they work, though. It's like a contract with a person.
And I know Enzo. He respects things like that. Set some boundaries."
"When did you get wise?" I ask because it makes sense.
Boundaries might be the only way to give Enzo and me a chance. And a future if there's one in the cards.
She huffs. "I've always been wise."
"You're only fifteen."
"Almost sixteen, practically an adult. Jeez." Then she sighs, and the sound breaks my heart. "But it's probably not even the boundaries. I'd love to do it. I've been a by-product and unwanted by everyone but Enzo. I love his heavy-handed ways. He's the best brother."
"What about your father?"
"Dad?" She laughs. "He wouldn't notice a boundary if it slapped him in the face. He's strict but wants me away from him. I don't know, but I think he hates me."
I think so too.
I can see she loves the brute of a man who is her father. And he has forced her to grow up in a way by sending her away, leaving her in the care of staff, controlling and emotionless around her. All she seems to want is love. And he can't give it.
My heart swells, and I squeeze her hand back. "It's all going to be all right, Lyndall. And your dad is a fool to ignore a great daughter like you."
She blushes. "You know, I need a checkup soon. I'm going to ask for you to come with me. That way, we can get the baby checked out. You're keeping her, right?"
"It's not a her or a him, it's cells."
"Will you promise me if we go, you'll tell Enzo after?"
I look at Lyndall.
"Sure, I promise. I'll tell him then."