Chapter 26
MOLLY
That bookshop looked so quaint. It would have been wonderful to browse around inside, but I remembered that Enzo had work to do.
Now that we're back in the penthouse, I'm going to let him get on with it.
“We'll get takeout tonight,” he says. “You order, and feel free to take as long as you want.”
I grin. He’s noticed I like studying the menus carefully. “Okay.”
I want to help him where I can, and if he needs me to order takeout, I'll happily do so. I swipe the file of takeout flyers, but I already know what we're going to order. I've been dreaming of fish tacos recently. But then I have better idea.
“Why don’t I make something?” I suggest. I’d like to do that. I’d like to do something for him while I’m here. He’s been so good to me.
“Make something?”
“Like … cook?”
He peers at me like he’s not sure he can trust me in the kitchen. . “Are you sure?”
I chortle. “I can cook, Enzo. I’ve been cooking ever since …”
“Ever since?”
I hesitate. The thing about Enzo is that he always listens, and he always knows when I slip up, and I’d rather he didn’t.
“ … ever since I was young enough to.” I flash him a smile before moving towards the refrigerator and looking inside. It’s not empty like mine, and there’s enough here for me to cook up a little feast.
“Do you like eggs?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Good. We’re having an omelet with every vegetable I can find in here, and a salad. It’ll be simple.”
“You sure?” He leans against the counter and watches me, as if he’s not entirely comfortable with the idea of letting me loose in the kitchen.
“I’m positive.”
I'm in New York.
I'm in with Enzo Knight.
I have a week off work, and I'm living in an amazing apartment with the most amazing views.
I am absolutely sure I want to make an omelet.
“'ll help you,” he offers suddenly, then goes to washes his hands.
I'm about to tell him that he doesn't have to, that it's just an omelet, but I like the idea of him being here. I don't care whether he helps or not, I just like him being around.
“Thanks.”
I wash my hands and crack six eggs into a mixing bowl.
“All the vegetables?” Enzo asks, holding an assortment of peppers, mushrooms and an onion in his hands.
“It's one way of getting them down you.”
He starts chopping, and I season the egg mixture. He adds in the chopped vegetables. I stare in amazement at how well he's chopped them.
“That's impressive.”
“Thank you. I always liked helping my mom.”
His voice softens whenever he talks of her.
“You turn all soft and gooey when you talk of her. You must love her very much.”
“I do.” He mixes the egg mixture, and after a few moments, asks, “Doesn't everyone love their moms?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“The fathers are something else.”
“Yes.”
“You've met mine ... what’s yours like?” he asks.
“Hmmmm.” I press my lips together. “My dad is … perfect. He’s funny, and big and kind and cuddly. He’s always looked out for us.”
Enzo nods reassuringly. “He sounds like the ideal dad.”
I look through the cupboards, glad to have something to keep me busy as I search for a large frying pan.
“Do you want to make the omelet, and I'll put together a salad?” I ask.
He makes a face. “A salad, too?”
“Why not?”
“Sure,” he says, easily. Like it's no big deal. He’s steady, and I like that. I like that I don’t have to gauge what mood he’s in.
***
ENZO
I loved being around Mama whenever she cooked, and Molly and I making dinner reminded me of those memories.
We’re sitting across the dining table and have just finished eating. It feels like we do this regularly. It doesn’t feel like we’re hiding, or living in a temporary space. We’re accidentally playing house.
I hear a notification ping on my cell phone.
It's a text from Matteo. He's sent me a link, and I remember that Father's interview is streaming soon.
“My father is doing an interview and Matteo sent me a link to it. Sorry. Mind if I watch it? I doubt it’ll be too long. My father isn’t known for his conversational skills.”
“No, go ahead. We can both watch it.”
We head over to the living area. I turn on the TV and we settle the plates on our laps.
“Why is he on TV?” Molly asks.
“I'm going to tell you a family secret.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I trust you.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Are you sure?”
I stare at her for a moment. “I’m sure.” I stick my fork into a piece of cucumber. “My father recently had a kidney transplant, and my brother Matteo gave him one of his kidneys.”
“That was kind of him. Very giving.”
I nod in agreement.
“My father is doing this interview to show everyone that he's fine.”
“But you told me he’s not fine.”
“I know. That's why I said this is a secret—”
“Oh. I see, but why would he lie about it?”
It’s an obvious question to ask.
“Because that’s who my father is.”
The difference between him and Molly is stark. As clear as night and day. Wrong and right. “If anything were to happen to him,” I continue, “he doesn't want the business to take a hit. The share price could dive …”
Father appears on the screen then, looking very made up and different.
“He doesn't look like that in real life,” Molly notes. “He's almost smiling.”
“He's not smiling. He's showing contempt”
Father doesn't smile unless he's making a deal. His thin lips are pressed together into a severe line. He seems relaxed, but I know he's not. He surveys the interviewer with disdain. The interviewer won't know but I do.
I know that look. We all do. My father doesn't suffer fools easily—he doesn't suffer anyone easily—and the media and journalists least of all. He's always tried to keep his life under wraps and he turns into a vicious beast when they start digging.
The interviewer asks my father about his health and the recent speculation about an operation.
Father firmly denies that anything’s wrong, and deflects the conversation smoothly as only he could, reassuring the interviewer that there is nothing wrong with him and that everyone who invests in the company is in good hands.
Then, just as I sink back against the soft backrest of the couch, the interviewer asks a question that has me bolting upright again.
“Do you have any comments to make about the viral video related to your son, Enzo?”
“I don’t.”
The interview ends rather abruptly. Father moved on quickly from talking about me. The interviewer asked him again if he had any further comments to make. Father said he didn’t. It’s over so fast.
I turn the TV off.
“They asked about you,” Molly comments.
I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “There is nothing more precious than anonymity.” I divert the conversation. “I told you a secret, now you tell me something about you.”
“Something about me?” She looks away.
“You told me how much you love teaching. Is that why you're always so happy? Because you love what you do?”
Something in her eyes softens, she frowns, like her thoughts are elsewhere. “I want my children to be happy, and I try to make every day at school be a happy day, because …”
She pauses. I wait, not probing or pushing.
“Because we don’t know what’s going on for them at home.”
I tilt my head and sense there’s more to this than just making sure the kids in her class have a fun day at school.
“That’s very perceptive of you.”
“Oh, I’m fully aware that some people look at me like I'm mad.”
I chuckle. “You’re neither of those things, and you shouldn’t let anyone make you think otherwise.”
She makes a face like she disagrees. “I'm not so sure. I'm not for everyone. Some people think I'm too full on. Too loud. Too unfiltered. Too much.”
“You’re not too much for me.”
“Oh … thanks.”
She peers at her lap. Then she clears her throat and tucks her hair behind her ears again. Her eyes meet mine again.
“The point of all this is to say that it's a lottery, where we're born and who we're born to.”
I'm not sure if she's talking about me, or her. But I know what it's like to have people pry, and as much as I want to ask questions, I decide not to.
“That is true … and deep.” That’s all I manage to say, but I wonder what she's not telling me. It feels like there's a part of Molly I don't know.
She pokes my knee gently, but a quiver of sparks shoots through me at her touch and I instinctively flinch.
“Working with children isn’t so much a job, as a vocation, and every moment feels like fun and not work. I think everyone should live their life like that.”
I could listen to her talking, to her views on life and the universe, all day. I could listen to Molly reading an encyclopedia and never get bored.
“That really was deep.”
“Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment.”
“It's true,” I insist.
“You don’t love what you do?”
“Not really.” I think about the Knight legacy and the deals we make, the companies we acquire, and everything that goes along with it. “I don’t hate it,” I tell her, “But I don’t have your sense of passion about it. You’re lucky that you feel so strongly about it, and that you love it so much.”
“I know.” She nods. “I know I am. My friend Kiki …” she pauses. “The one who uploaded the Venice clips … she hates teaching. She’s looking for a way out of it, and being a beauty influencer seems to be her ticket.”
Neither of us speaks. It’s almost as if we don’t want to talk about the media intrusion and that horrible episode.
“Did you get your report done?” she asks.
It’s nice that she remembers. “I did.”
“Are you working again tomorrow?” I hear the disappointment in her voice.
“I always have work to do.”
“All work and no play make Enzo a dull boy.”
But I don't want to work tomorrow. I don't want to work any time I'm around Molly. I don't know how many days we've got left like this, I suspect it's not long, and I want to make the most of every moment with her.
“Tell you what, how about we go out again tomorrow?”
“Again?”
“Why not? I can work in the morning, which frees up the afternoon.”
She jumps to standing. “Are you sure?”
“I'm sure.”
I get another blinding smile from her. All this for the chance to go outside again.
“About tomorrow ...” My mind is getting carried away. “Maybe we could grab dinner outside tomorrow? The disguises work, and it would be a shame to not get more use out of them,” I add quickly.
“You liked it, didn't you? Being anonymous?”
“It's the best thing.” I hesitate, wondering if I should tell her.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing.”
Her eyes narrow. “You were going to tell me something. What is it?”
It’s scary how much she picks up. How easily she can read me.
“Lesley, my personal assistant … did something.”
“What did she do?”
“She ordered a second set of disguises. Something a bit more …” I close my eyes, shuddering at the thought.
“A bit more what?” Molly asks.
I can already see the flicker of excitement swirling around in those shiny big eyes.
“I wouldn’t call them disguises.” I sniff. “That’s not what you wear if you want to hide.”
She clasps her hands together. “Tell me!”
“One looks like an old woman's outfit. I'm not entirely sure what the other one is supposed to be.”
She holds her breath like she’s waiting for me to tell her it’s okay, that’s what we’re wearing. Her face lights up, excitement about to pop like a champagne cork.
“We can wear those, but tomorrow will have to be a very quick visit. I’m not sure it’s wise to—”
“I can do quick. I don’t care if it’s only a walk around the block. Can we dress up in them?”
I can’t take this away from her. “Yes.”
She opens her mouth as if she’s about to ask me another question, then she decides not to. “Thank you.”
She makes it sound as if I’m bestowing a great favor on her. We start clearing away the dishes, when she stops. “Enzo.”
“Yes.”
“I had a really amazing day today.”
“So did I.”