Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
I don’t know what the protocol is between us, but that night, I sleep in his bed.
I could justify it’s bigger and better, but my own bed in his penthouse is equally grand.
Really, it’s because the sheets and pillows smell like Luke.
It…soothes me. Especially since I’m having a hard time forgetting Mr. Albo with his hurt arm, or the shadows smudged under Mrs. Milla and Ms. Baghdadi’s eyes.
Guilt coils in my belly. If I had still been living with them, I would have never let him climb that ladder. That’s what I keep thinking about until I finally fall asleep, alone.
Early morning, Luke gets back. I wonder if I shouldn’t be in his bed, but then I feel him tucking the covers so carefully around me.
“Rita. Sweet hell.”
My eyes are still closed. I wait until he’s in bed before turning to face him.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Why do you look so murderous?”
He reaches down and pulls my hands into his. “Janice. You didn’t tell me all of it.”
Oh. He’s read the testimony.
“I was dealing with it. In my own way.”
“She should have paid for it already.” His voice is barely under control, the syllables suppressed.
I inch closer and gently curl my thigh between his. “Stop looking like that. Is that why you didn’t come home last night? You were upset?”
He doesn’t let go of my hands, as if he can’t lose sight of them. “The courts will sack her. She’ll have to pay fines. It won’t be enough.”
The way he says it, my body goes still. “Don’t go after her personally.”
“I promise not to go after her personally.”
He agreed too easily so I rephrase. “Promise not to do anything outside the capacity of the law.”
“No.”
“Luke.”
“She hurt you.”
“I’m better now. And—I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“I won’t.”
“What have you done?”
“Barcelona is a small city. All I’ve done is make sure everyone knows what she is. Janice Dorian won’t be getting hired anywhere else.”
Finally, I manage an easy breath. “Okay. That’s not too bad. It’s good. And it means the next manager of the building might be nicer.”
“That won’t be an issue.”
“Why?”
“I bought the building.”
I just look at him. “That’s why you didn’t come home at all last night.”
“There was paperwork to be done. Renovations start next week. Mr. Albo, Ms. Baghdadi, and Mrs. Milla, and any other tenants will be staying at an upscale hotel until they finish.”
They’ll be safe and taken care of like they deserve to be. He’s done that. I’m trying not to soar but it’s so hard.
“Why?”
“Because I can.” His mouth brushes soft kisses all over my knuckles, the ones that used to be cracked. Then he raises his head and looks at me, his eyes vivid. “Because I hate the guilt you feel. I won’t have you hurting like this, not when I can fix it.”
I want to wrap my arms around him, to cover him in warmth—so I do. “Isn’t that a dangerous promise? I can’t imagine what this building cost. You didn’t have to—at this rate, my problems could bleed you dry.”
“Not an issue, darling.”
“I-I didn’t take you for a masochist.”
“Only by your hands.”
“Such trust you have in me,” I whisper.
“For the record, I rather you have the same in me.” He’s gone entirely serious again. “Next time, come to me. What you wrote in your testimony, when I read it—” He pulls me hard against him, shuddering.
The emotions pouring out of him in those few words swamps me. I cling back. “I’m all right. Don’t worry. I’m alright.”
This great powerful man suffers over my suffering.
I’m in trouble. More than a lot.
Because a certain piece of knowledge pushes into me, impatiently done waiting for me to realize that I’m fairly sure I’ve been falling in love this whole time.
That I don’t want to sleep in any other bed ever again.
How it’s only his arms that feel right around me.
That my life has become full of his presence, our morning routines, the banter, secrets shared in whispers, and the stolen way we look at each other.
That I love how he cares for the people in my life, and talks about me to others.
How proud I am of his fiery dedication, and how he’s never once let me feel like my dreams are insignificant in comparison.
It’s a tearing kind of scariness to see you’ve become entirely vulnerable to another. I don’t think I can bear it, but I don’t think I can go without it.
It’s all complicated, so I shut my eyes.