8. Lachlan #2
I dry off, pull on a pair of boxer briefs, and slide into bed.
I'm exquisitely comfortable, but I can't sleep.
I lie there staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet of the penthouse, wondering if she's awake too.
If she's lying in that bed thinking about me, and the fact that we're married now and there's no going back from this.
I want you to remember who I am.
But maybe that's the problem. Maybe she does remember who I was, and that's why she's so afraid of who I've become.
I barely sleep. By the time I nod off and jerk back awake, I see that the clock reads seven in the morning. I've gotten maybe an hour and a half, at most.
But it's time to get up.
I'm achingly stiff again, and I shower, jerk off to painful memories of the woman who is now my wife, and get dressed for the day.
I make my way down the hallway toward her room, my footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor. I pause outside her door, my hand on the lock, listening. There's no sound from inside. She might be asleep, or she might be awake and trying to figure out how to get herself and Matteo out of here.
The thought makes my chest tight.
I unlock the door and push it open slowly, carefully, not wanting to startle her.
She's awake. She's sitting on the edge of the bed, barefoot in a pair of jeans rolled at the ankle and a camisole top with lace at the edges. When she hears the door open, her head snaps up, and I see the flash of wariness in her eyes.
"Morning. I see you found the clothes I had purchased for you." I motion toward her. "Hopefully they mostly fit."
"Lachlan." She ignores what I've said entirely. Her voice is hoarse, like she's been crying. "The door was locked."
It's an accusation. I take a slow breath.
"I know." I step into the room, leaving the door open behind me. "I'm sorry. I just—I wanted to make sure you were safe. And until we've had a chance to work out how we both feel about this, I thought it was better."
"Safe." She laughs shortly. I've never heard such a bitter sound from her before. "You locked me in a room. How is that keeping me safe?"
"Adriana—"
"Don't." She stands up. I can see the exhaustion and fear and anger radiating off her in waves. "Don't try to explain it. Don't try to make it sound reasonable. You locked me in a room, Lachlan. Just like Gio used to do. Just like—"
She stops, her voice breaking, and I can see her fighting not to fall apart in front of me. "I want to see Matteo," she says finally.
"Of course. No one is keeping him from you.
" I step back, and I see that wary look on her face intensify, like she doesn't believe anything I'm saying.
She gets up and walks past me without another look, hurrying down the hall in the direction of his room.
I keep pace behind her, and unlock the door for her when she gets there.
She rounds on me instantly. "You locked his room, too?"
"I didn't want him wandering. This is a new place. He needs to get comfortable before it's safe for him to just go where he pleases."
Her lips thin, and I can tell this answer has only made her more unhappy. She pushes past me, opening the door, and I see him sitting up in bed, his dark hair sticking up in all directions, his eyes wide and uncertain. When he sees Adriana, his face crumples with relief.
She goes to him immediately, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling him into her arms. He looks past her, at me, and I feel the urge to say something.
"Are you hungry?" I ask, because that's something concrete, something I can do. "I can make breakfast. Whatever you want."
"Pancakes?" Matteo asks. There's a hint of hope in his voice, like maybe if there are pancakes, things can't be all bad.
"Pancakes," I confirm. "With chocolate chips, if you want." That gets a small smile, and I feel something loosen in my chest, some of the tension easing.
"Why don't you get dressed," Adriana says to Matteo, "and then we'll go have breakfast. Okay?"
He nods, and she kisses his forehead before standing up and moving toward the door. I follow her out into the hallway, closing the door behind us to give Matteo privacy. For a moment, we just stand there, the silence heavy between us.
"Thank you," she says finally. Her voice is quiet, and there's a grudging note in it. "For letting me see him."
"You don't have to thank me for that. He's your son. You should be able to see him whenever you want."
"Then why did you lock my door?" I can see the anger flashing in her eyes. "If I'm supposed to be able to see him whenever I want, why was I locked in that room?"
"For your safety. There's security throughout the building, but I wanted to make sure—"
"That sounds familiar," she says bitterly. "That's what Gio used to say. That he was keeping me safe. That the locks were for my protection. That I should be grateful he was taking such good care of me."
I swallow hard, feeling again like she's slapped me. "I'm not Gio. I'm nothing like him."
"Aren't you?" I can see the pain in her eyes, the exhaustion. "You took me without asking. You married me without giving me a choice. You locked me in a room. How is that different?"