54. Anthony
fifty-four
anthony
The newlywed Russos throw one hell of a party.
We danced our asses off, stuffed our faces at the ten-o’clock pizza bar, and laughed until we cried. Well, Aaron just cried. But I can’t blame the guy. Just the question P asked me about seeing my future wife coming down the aisle made me tear up at the thought of her in a white dress.
My heart feels so much lighter with her forgiveness, at the way she had asked for mine too. Deep down, I knew I already had it. But having her say the words out loud confirmed that we’re finally in the same place—the same page, the same chapter, the same book for once. As the night wore on, it made me wonder if asking her again to stay at my place while the drama with hers gets sorted out would be too much too soon. Then, at the end of the night, a sign slaps me in the face.
“You need a ride home, boss?” I ask, after we’ve helped pack up as much as we can from the hall. We’re not quite holding hands, but we do keep bumping them together. Her cheeks pinken, and she stops in the middle of the lobby.
“What’s that face for?”
“Oh! Nothing. It’s just that uh… Your mom didn’t tell you?” Her eyes crinkle in confusion. “She rented the place out for Valentine’s Day and forgot to tell us. I guess, since you have your place now, it wasn’t really a problem, but I’ve actually been moving all of my stuff to storage over the past week. I’m staying at the hotel for the time being.”
She points to the elevator bank beside us. I hope that my silent little nod in thanks skyward isn’t too obvious.
“Nah. Don’t do that.”
She tilts her head and raises one brow slightly, in a way that reminds me that nobody tells Penelope Barker what to do.
“Stay with me. The offer’s still on the table. I promise, there are enough bedrooms. If you need your own.”
The pink deepens to a scarlet color that I want to taste, but I rein it in and hold out my hand. When she takes it, the potential in my head explodes into fireworks.
Our drive is mostly silent. When we pull into the driveway, the three car garage opening, she gasps.
“This is your house?” I nod. “Anthony… It’s beautiful .”
A beaming pride illuminates my chest.
“Thanks. Wanna see the inside?”
She nods, and I know that her reaction to my grand tour will be the most important.
I show her the mudroom outfitted with cubbies right off the garage, the kitchen with the butler’s pantry, and the living room with vaulted ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the yard. The basement isn’t quite finished yet, but with walls up for guest rooms and a full bathroom, it’s got great potential for later on down the road.
After climbing the stairs, I show her the five bedrooms—mostly guest outfitted for the time being—and pause outside the master, placing a finger against my lips.
“This is Mom and Dad’s room. We’re not supposed to go in here.”
She giggles. The exact sound these four walls were missing.
“Is that the end of the tour?”
“Nope,” I say, popping the “p” to hide my nervousness. I guide her back downstairs to the one room we haven’t been in yet.
“So this… This is my favorite project to date.” Folding my hands in front of my waist, I roll back and forth from heel to toe, knowing that no amount of pep talk could calm the bees in my head.
“Are you going to open it?” she asks.
“Nope. That honor is all yours.”
I step aside, gesturing with a sweeping motion to the one doorknob that looks different than the rest of the house.
“What is that?” she asks, her hand raised just above it.
“It’s for the end of the tour. Just open it .”
“Eager?” she chuckles, lifting one brow.
“Only a lot,” I nod.
She inhales and exhales shortly, then presses down on the handle, stealing all the air in the room when she opens the door. I let her take it all in, let her walk the room slowly, running her fingertips over the custom shelving and the L-shaped desk. She takes in the trinkets—the statue of a squirrel sitting on a stack of books, and the Elvis one sitting right next to it. She runs her hand over the couch that’s fitted beneath all of her posters, and blinks up at the neon sign that lights up her name. There’s a gap in the desk for her computer, but I managed to steal all of the still boxed-up tech, like her printer and cord organizers and the extra monitor.
“I know it looks kind of silly with all of the extra holes, but I figured, if you decide you want this, you can fill them in however you like.”
“You bastard.”
Not exactly the reaction I was expecting, but, okay.
I step to her side, where she’s got her arms folded, her hand swiping over her face.
“Did I get the desk shape wrong? I swore you said ‘L’ but maybe it was supposed to be a ‘W.’”
I chuckle nervously, and she echoes it. That’s when I hear the tears.
“No,” she laughs again, swiping over her eyes. “No, I don’t cry, and you made me cry.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” She shakes her head, doing her best to smile through her tears.
“Do you uh… Want a hug?”
“ Yes ,” she interrupts, collapsing against my chest in the tightest, sweetest embrace I could’ve never imagined. I cradle her head to my chest, reveling in the suffocating grip she has around my waist. The tears soaking into my dress shirt are happy, grateful, and I welcome them. My own eyes get watery, and I welcome it. We both need this.
Pen leans back in my embrace, the tip of her sniffling nose red, her eyes watery, her smile scrunched with emotion. She has never looked more beautiful.
“You did all of this, even though I might not have wanted to move in?”
I nod, wiping her tears away, tucking her hair behind her ears just to touch her.
“I’d do it again. You don’t even have to live here. Use it as your office space. The handle has a fingerprint lock, so nosey assholes can’t come read over your shoulder.”
At this she lets out an exasperated laugh.
“You deserve a space you can call your own while you figure out where you want to be.”
Her brows furrow together slowly, a kaleidoscope swirling in her eyes until it settles into something wonderful.
“What if where I want to be is with you? And we can figure out all the rest as it comes to us?”
My chest collapses, then inflates like a hot air balloon.
“That’s all I want too, boss. Me and you against the world.”
Her smile lifts, and when she leans up to meet my kiss in the middle, the weight of the world melts off my shoulders.
I’m surprised we even made it to the couch. But we lay there after, my leg hanging off, her head on my chest, her fingertips tracing little patterns over my sweaty skin while I run her hair through my fingers.
“So uh… We broke in the office,” I chuckle into the top of her head.
“We sure did. Solid seven-out-of-ten.”
I lift my head and peer down at her.
“ Seven ? Ex cuse you?”
Her smile lifts lazily, and she cups my cheek.
“Always room for improvement. I think you can pocket the spanking for now.”
“Duly noted,” I chuckle, palming her ass and squeezing. Even still, her eyes pinched closed and she exhales warmly against my chest.
“I think I’m going to do it,” she whispers, content confidence behind every syllable. Pride surges through me.
“You’re quitting teaching?”
Her eyes spark open, and I’ve never seen her shine more brightly.
“Yes. I’ll finish out the year, and then…” She shrugs, but her lips turn up. “PJ Layne takes over.”
“No,” I shake my head, tilting her chin up. “Penelope Barker does. PJ just gets the public credit.”
She presses forward, kissing me soft and lingering.
“I’m proud of you, boss.”
Her smile turns up against my lips, and she pulls away so I can see the clarity in her eyes.
“So um… What happens next?” I ask her.
She doesn’t tense in my arms though. Doesn’t push up and run the other direction. The way that Penelope’s body relaxes into mine at the thought of what is to come puts the bees in my brain to sleep.
“Well…” Pen pushes up, leaning her chin in her elbow and stroking my chin in her other hand. “I need to figure out things with my place. Half of my stuff is there, and half of my stuff is in a storage place?—”
“Move it here. I have the space for it—I have the space for you . Eliminate the problem of where you have to live, and then we can focus on more important things.”
“Like what? Christening the rest of your place?”
She wiggles her brow, and I press my smile to her forehead.
“Among other things.” I run her long red hair over and through my fingers.
“Speaking of…” she trails off, her gaze now wandering from mine too. “Just to clarify, for my overreactive brain: You are my boyfriend.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“We are exclusive.”
“One-thousand percent,” I nod, capturing her chin in my fingers to guide her eyes back to mine so that she can see that truth written in them.
“Just to clarify,” I whisper, my voice turning a little rusty. “You can come to me any time you think your brain is overreacting from now on. I guarantee you, it’s not. Tell me when things feel muddy to you so we can work them out together.”
She nods, and by her watery eyes, I can tell I’ve struck a chord.
“You too,” she whispers. “When the bees are too loud, come to me.”
She rests her forehead against mine, and we exhale all of our doubts in tandem.
“Now, we can focus on other things: Deciding what you want to do with your job. Deciding what moves we make next, together.”
“Together,” she smiles. “I like the sound of that.”