Chapter 28
MOLLY
Enzo announces another outing.
I can't believe my ears.
“Are you sure?”
Doesn't he have work to do?
“We might as well make the most of it.” His gaze lingers longer than usual, and I wonder if he’s hiding something. Another media report.
“Did … did something happen?”
“Matteo says that things are dying down and we could leave here tomorrow. It seems that my father’s interview has pushed our news out of the cycle.”
“We can leave tomorrow?”
Relief comes first. I can go home. Back to Chicago. Back to my apartment, my school, my normal life.
Then something else follows.
I have to leave Enzo.
“You won't have to hide out much longer,” he tells me.
He should sound pleased. He doesn’t.
I rub my hands together in excitement, hoping to improve Enzo’s mood. “Then we have to make the most of today.”
“Yes. Though, when I next come to Chicago, I expect we’ll meet again, courtesy of Mr. Valizar.”
I swallow and fake a smile even as my mouth turns dry. I pick up my croissant even though I don’t want it anymore. I need to let Penelope know my final decision.
“What are we going to wear this time?” I ask, trying to sound more cheerful than I feel.
Soon Enzo will discover that I asked to come off the project. I bite off a piece of my plain, buttery croissant. I will miss this breakfast. I’ll miss this apartment, but most of all I’ll miss Enzo.
He sets down his coffee cup. “How about we stick to the tourist sweatshirts and baseball caps? Those are better than the quite noticeable disguises we had yesterday.”
I knew it. I could tell he was worried that we’d be recognized. But it all worked out just fine in the end.
“We can be tourists again,” he suggests.
That is an option. It won’t be as fun as dressing up like an old lady and a professor, but it will be interesting. “You’ll have to suffer the sweatshirt and baseball cap and disposable camera,” I caution.
He scratches his chin. “It beats wearing the fake beard.”
“You didn’t like that, did you?”
“No.” He walks away. “Ready in ten?”
That’s a shock. I thought he might want to get a little work done first, but he seems restless, like he can’t wait to get out again.
“I’ll be ready.”
I return to my bedroom and quickly get changed into my tourist outfit. It's not really an outfit; not compared to the old woman’s garb that I had on yesterday. That was so much fun and I'm shocked we didn't get noticed.
By the time I come out of the room Enzo is already standing there. I howl with laughter because this time he’s wearing the disposable camera around his neck.
“You’re really playing the part.” My hands go to my mouth. He's turned his cap back to front so that the lip is at the back. “I'm so used to seeing you look like you’ve walked out of man's magazine. Now you look like a tourist.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You don't like me like this. You prefer me the other way?”
“You're starting to grow on me, regardless.”
Something shifts in his expression, and he looks away quickly.
“Where are we going today?” I ask him.
He puts on his shades, and I put on mine.
“I want to take you to the conservatory in Central Park.”
“Central Park?” I squeal. “I've always wanted to go. I've always seen it in TV shows.”
“Today Cinderella, you shall go into Central Park.”
“It's an unforgettable place. You’re lucky to have it on your doorstep.” I pause, thinking about all the things he has to be grateful for. “You're lucky in a lot of ways.”
He looks at me with a peculiar expression. “I know how lucky I am.”
A short while later, we leave the penthouse and walk the few blocks to Central Park, my excitement growing the moment we step through the gates. Enzo leads us towards the Conservatory Water, and I take in the bare trees, winding paths and glimpses of the city rising beyond them.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur. And this is the perfect spring day to be here. I’m so grateful for everything I’ve experienced this week. I turn to Enzo.
“Let me have that, please?” I motion at the ridiculous way he’s wearing the camera around his neck. So not Enzo-esque.
“Have what?”
“This.” My hands going around his neck as I reach for the camera strap.
It happens slowly, and for a second it feels like time pauses.
My outstretched arms go over his head, slipping the camera strap over but I catch his eyes on me, and I freeze.
We’re so close, our bodies almost touching.
His face is a mere two inches from mine, but he’s so poised and still, and he doesn’t move away even though I’ve invaded his body space.
“Sorry.”
The moment breaks as I grab the camera and look around, even as my heart pounds fiercely inside my chest. I’m not sure what happened. If I’m imagining it, or if the thought of us soon going our separate ways hits hard.
Or if it’s what I haven’t told him yet about Luca’s project.
Maybe all these things are colliding all at once.
That’s why I need a photograph. To remember this time, and to remember Enzo.
The nicest man I’ve ever known.
“This is a pretty backdrop.”
“The Alice in Wonderland statue,” he murmurs. “How fitting.”
“Where's your bodyguard when I need one?” I look around, expecting to see the darkly suited man that hovers like a shadow near us whenever we’re out. I don’t see him.
“Molly, I don't want a stranger taking a photo of us.”
“It’s a disposable camera. The photo isn’t going anywhere.”
He relents with a huff and gives me a disapproving look when I ask a stranger to take a photo of us. “Would you mind taking a photo of us, please?”
I walk back to Enzo. “Smile,” I tell him.
We’re standing apart from each other. This won’t do. “We look like strangers.” I shuffle closer to him.
“We are strangers.”
“Even now that we’ve spent all this time together?” I cry in mock indignation. But I’m surprised by his tepid reaction. His mouth tightens and he looks so serious, like he can’t take a joke. I wonder if it’s work pressure.
I don’t give up. “Don't you want to put your arm around me?” I’m hoping to appease him.
“Let me know when you’re ready,” my tourist cameraman says.
I’d forgotten all about him. I whip my head in the direction of the tourist. “Sorry about this.”
I hate wasting someone’s time. I turn to Enzo who has suddenly gone all wooden.
“At least move closer,” I implore. “We’re supposed to be creating a memory.”
One day he’ll look back on all this and see that it was fun, coming out of his mancave and going around New York with me. His arm slides around my shoulder, awkward and stiff, like he’s not sure about this move.
“Smile,” I remind him.
“I am smiling as much as I can wearing this ridiculous clothing.”
“You didn’t seem to mind the Sexy Professor outfit,” I counter, but I notice that he looks uncomfortable. His eyes lock with mine. “It’s just a personal photo. It won’t turn up in a celebrity magazine, I promise.”
And just like that, he does.
He smiles.
“See, that’s so much better. Before, it looked like you’d read some disappointing quarterly results.”
He laughs. I love that I can make him laugh. This man who’s always been not-so-smiley has done more of this during our few days together.
“It’s the sweatshirt. I can’t stand it.” His arm relaxes around me.
“Wearing something like this must be killing you.” This man is secretly a fashion snob.
“Is it okay for me to take it now?” We both turn to our friendly and forgotten tourist cameraman.
“I’m so sorry, yes, please, go ahead.” I make an apologetic face.
This man has been an absolute angel.
Beside me, Enzo is as stiff as ever.
I thank the tourist as he hands my camera back and turn to Enzo.
“See, it wasn’t too bad.”
We continue walking around. Enzo hasn’t mentioned about needing to get back for a meeting or anything.
He seems more relaxed than ever. I glance at him sideways.
He does look laid back. There’s no frown furrowing his brow.
No intense, pensive expression on his face.
He seems to be mindful of just being here. In the present. Enjoying life now.
Maybe a little bit of how I live my life has rubbed off on him.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“I’m never not hungry.”
“I noticed that about you.”
“Ooooh. Observant.”
We’ve been walking for a while now, enjoying the fresh air and the day. Each lost in our thoughts. Every now and then we make small talk, about spring break, and him having to return to work.
We go to a small diner away from the tourist traps. It’s on the corner of a street, with neon signs. Inside it’s retro, metal stools, Formica tables. Waitresses in typical uniforms complete with white frilly hats and a welcoming smile.
I doubt it’s the type of place Enzo would ever go to.
But he is today.
***
ENZO
Molly is in her element and it’s a sight to see. She seems more playful today, more like the woman I remember from Venice.
She seems eager to leave, and it pains me in a way I don’t understand. I have work to do and here at the penthouse I’ve not been able to focus as much.
I’m perusing the menu but I’m not too hungry.
Molly always seems to be, hence the reason for me bringing her here.
I keep forgetting that we’re in disguise.
Or meant to be. I stopped thinking about that a few days ago, because we’ve been ensconced in our own little bubble, removed and away from our usual life.
Maybe I’ve let my guard down a bit.
But the more time I spend around her, the more I like it. The more I get to know her, the more I want to know her.
I watch her chatting away to the waitress as though they’re best friends.
“Where are you folks from?” The waitress asks.
“I'm from England, Richmond actually.” She talks in the poshest English accent I’ve ever heard, and my eyes widen, because she’s so good. So natural. Where did she pick that up from?
“And he’s from Montreal,” she says, looking at me.
I have no idea what a Montreal accent is like, so I remain silent. The waitress looks at us as if she can't figure out if we're joking or not.
“We met here, would you believe?” Molly puts her hand on mine, reaching across the table.
“Just now?” The waitress asks.
“A few days ago.”
“That's so romantic.” The waitress takes our orders and leaves.
“You have a very wild imagination,” I remark.
“Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment.”
“I'm not sure it was intended as one.”
She leans across the Formica table, arms folded together, grinning. “I’m still taking it.”
“Why did you do pretend that we were together?”
My voice sounds a little odd when I ask her and Molly notices. She slides her arms away, puts her hands on her lap, as if I’ve chastised her. “I was trying to … to be silly. I wanted to make you laugh.”
I’ve upset her. She does that. Always trying to make me feel at ease, make sure I’m okay. She’s picked up on my mood and she was adjusting for it. But now I’ve upset her.
“You do that without trying …”
Her lips part gently.
“You think she bought it?” I ask, my voice softer now.
“I don’t think she did.”
“Me neither.”
When the waitress comes back, she seems a little stiff. A little wary. I wonder if it’s because she doesn’t believe Molly’s story, and she doesn’t want to be made a fool of.
She sets the food down quickly and we thank her. Molly starts eating her bagel, making all the appropriate noises of gratitude. I watch her, because I don’t need food. I could just sit here, watching her.
“This time tomorrow, you’ll probably be on your way to the airport,” I say.
She looks at me. I look at her.
This is it. The last supper. The last evening. I don’t know how much involvement she’ll have in the project in Chicago. I don’t know how often I’ll get to see her. But at least I know where she is.
She finishes her bagel quickly. I finish my coffee and settle the bill. We get up and start to leave. I notice that our original waitress is talking to another waitress, who does a double take at us.
I know that look.
That’s when I notice that she’s scrolling on her phone and as I walk past, and I see that she’s looking at the viral video of me in a mask.
My gut hardens and I settle my hand firmly on Molly’s lower back as I escort her outside. I put her on the inside of the sidewalk, away from the curb. Then I look around for my bodyguard, and finally spot the black SUV farther down the street, held up in traffic.
Too far away.
“What's wrong?” Molly whispers, noticing my sudden change of mood.
“I'm not sure.” I try not to look as panicked as I feel.
“Did they recognize us?”
“I don’t know.”
I try to hail a taxi.
Where are these things when you need them?
The blinding flash of the camera catches us off guard.
Molly screams.
We've been recognized.
I grab her hand and start to walk fast as I try to hail a cab.
Suddenly, she loses my hand. I glance over my shoulder to see her bending down to pick up her sunglasses.
I forget the taxi, and rush towards her, but there's another flash, and another, and another.
Where did these two fuckers come from?
Molly jumps. Suddenly one of the photographers is right there, his camera in her face, firing questions. Rage courses through me. I barge past the other photographer and step between him and Molly.
He moves around me to get to her. She instinctively backs away.
One step, then another.
My heart jolts. She's getting too close to the curb.
“Molly, stop!”
She's looking at the photographer—not behind her—and her heel comes off the curb.
“Molly!”
A taxi horn blasts.
Everything happens at once.
Molly spins around. The taxi is right there.
I grab her around the waist and yank her back onto the sidewalk. The cab tears past us, the driver leaning on his horn.
For a second, I can't breathe.
I've got Molly crushed against me, both arms locked around her.
That was close. Too close.
“Mr. Knight!”
I look up.
The black SUV pulls up beside us and the rear door flies open. One of my security men jumps out.
“Get in.”
I don't need telling twice. I keep one arm around Molly and bundle her into the back seat before climbing in after her. The door slams and we pull away from the curb.
Molly is shaking. So am I.
I check her face, her arms, her knees. “Are you hurt?”
She says she’s fine. But I’m scared. I’m scared of what could have happened. I wrap my arm around her shoulder. I can feel her trembling. I pull her towards me. She was lucky, that could have been bad.
It could have been fatal.
Suddenly, the idea of a world without her is unbearable.