25. Baldo
She’s sleeping peacefully. That’s good. That’s good.
I want her peaceful. The selfish bastard in me hopes I brought some of that peace to her.
The peace I don’t think I will ever find again.
For the longest time, I needed to know why she didn’t come, and now I know. And fuck it. It brought exactly zero comfort.
I had always thought finding out her reasons would bring me closure. Fucking hell. Now I know, and I burn with vengeance. With rage. With the need to destroy.
That man stole from me.
He stole from her more. I know that, but my mind still goes to what I lost.
He stole her from me.
He rewrote our story.
And I want to fucking kill him.
I have to find him.
Brook stirs, stretches her arm and pats the sheets beside her. “Baldo?”
Her voice sleepy, she flutters her eyes open, a little disoriented.
“I’m here.” I sit beside her.
She smiles. “You’re here.”
My chest hurts. There is no fucking oxygen in this cavernous space.
She blinks a few times and reaches for me, her hand landing on my biceps. She frowns.
“You’re dressed.”
“I have to take care of something. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
I don’t think she is fully awake yet. Poor thing needs rest. And now a fresh wave of rage floods my bloodstream. At myself. I should have taken it easy with her.
“I was always jealous of your eyelashes,” she says and yawns, curling up on her side, her hands under her flushed face.
I snort and pull the sheet up to cover her better. “My eyelashes?”
She closes her eyes and sighs. Her blonde hair spread on my pillow, and a ghost of a smile smoothing her features, she’s a vision.
Mine.
For now, at least.
“Yeah.” She yawns again. “It’s unfair a man has such long, thick lashes.”
I can’t help it, I lean down and kiss her forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Where are you going?” She’s half asleep already.
“I have a quick breakfast meeting.”
She sits up so suddenly, I almost topple from the edge of the bed. Not half asleep after all.
“With the long-legged brunette you were so cozy with yesterday?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Good to know I’m not the only one who’s jealous.”
“Prick. You really just fucked my brains out and you’re going to have breakfast with another woman?” She scoots away from me, pulling the sheets with her as if seeking modesty.
She’s fucking adorable, worked up over nothing. Her indignation makes me ridiculously happy. Not that there is much room for such emotion in my stormy mind this morning.
“Why don’t you come with me?”
That stops her retreat. “What?”
“You heard me, Brook. Hurry up and get dressed.” I stand up and walk to the kitchen, sweeping away the shards of last night by the sofa with my foot.
Fuck, I need to call my housekeeper to take care of this before Brook gets cut. I wish it was that easy to deal with the other broken pieces in the aftermath of our reunion.
“I need to shower.” She scrambles out of the bed.
“No time for that.”
“But—”
“I want everyone to smell who you belong to.”
* * *
I hold her hand.
As if she’s mine. I grip her tight, like that will somehow keep her by my side.
We walk across the street and down the block to a small bistro where Chloe waits.
I need to rein myself in and not crush her bones, her hand is so small in my paw. But fuck, the need to protect her, to own her, to make sure she’s okay is so strong that I’m wild with boiling energy.
I walk down the street, ready to kill any man who looks at her. Christ, I’m even antagonistic toward women.
Closure? Fuck the closure.
I haven’t been this unhinged for years. Yeah, for about a year after that night, but then I got it under control.
Mostly.
Like having that ruby ring made years ago. I know that wasn’t healthy. It digs into my palm now to mock me.
Now I know why she didn’t show up, and I’m torn inside, barely keeping it together.
“Could you slow down a bit?”
Fuck. I’ve been dragging her behind me like a madman.
“Sorry.”
“Are you okay?” She narrows her eyes, studying me as she tries to keep up at the same time.
“Sure.”
Not at all, but that’s not something I’m going to burden her with.
She needed the release last night, and I’d give it to her a thousand times over, even if it meant reliving her retelling the story again and again.
And the masochist in me wants to push her for more details, more gory facts, more hurt. Like I could make her tell me again, and with every word take some of her pain and swallow it to rot inside me.
“We should talk.”
She means I should talk, but what I need is to act. To turn every stone to find the fucking asshole and punish him.
But that’s not happening this morning, so here I am, compartmentalizing again and putting on the Baldo Charming Cassinetti mask.
“We will, sweetheart,” I lie and wink at her, pushing the glass door open.
The aromas of coffee and custard embrace us as we weave around the small tables in the busy place.
Chloe smiles when she sees us. If she’s surprised I’m not alone, she doesn’t show it.
“That was some exit last night.” She applauds theatrically instead of a greeting.
Fuck. My caveman performance. Was it only last night, because it feels like I’ve lived another lifetime since then.
“Brook, this is Chloe Miller, my director of operations. Chloe, this is Brook. My wife.”
Brook’s eyes widen, and she stares at me for a moment before she blinks and extends her hand, and the women shake. “Pleased to meet you.”
We take our seats and I grab a menu to channel the nervous energy somewhere. Not that reading the menu can consume a drop of the hurricane within me.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Chloe says. “I’m so happy you two found each other. It was a long time coming for sure.”
Fuck, Chloe knows more about my pining than anyone. In fact, she’s the only person I’ve ever told about Brook. Not in too many details, but still.
Brook looks at me with curiosity, a smile lingering on her face. She says nothing. A part of me really hoped she would respond to Chloe and say she also is glad we found each other.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Where is my preservation instinct this morning?
The waiter comes to take our order.
“Try pastel de nata. It’s a traditional dessert.” I put my hand on the small of her back, because I simply need the contact.
“Okay, I’ll have that and a latte.” She leans into my hand a little, and I don’t even want to think about how that makes me feel.
“So, what exactly did Baldo tell you about us?” Brook asks.
Chloe opens the linen napkin and places it over her lap. “That you’re the one who got away. And as a helpless romantic, I’m so glad it worked out in the end.”
Brook smiles. It’s a satisfied smile. “When did he tell you this?”
Chloe looks at me like she’s seeking permission to answer.
Time to hijack the conversation. “Chloe works from our Paris location. We need to discuss a few things before she leaves, if you don’t mind.” I practically shut down the chitchat.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize, since you invited me.” Brook darts her eyes between me and Chloe.
“Actually, we don’t have to work.” Chloe looks at me, unimpressed. “Mary is flying to join me. We decided to go to Porto for the weekend. So, the two of us can talk shop later today, boss.”
I fidget. The last thing I need is for the two of them sharing details about my occasional obsession with Brook over the years. Not that Chloe knows much about it.
The waiter fills our table with steaming coffee cups, aromatic pastries and water.
“I’ve never been to Porto,” Brook says.
“The two of you should come with us. It would be like a double date.” Chloe smiles.
“That would be great—” Brook says, looking at me.
“I can’t this weekend. I have some business to take care of.”
If Brook is disappointed that I shut down the getaway, she hides it well. She picks up the pastel with her delicate fingers and takes a bite, the pastry’s flakes dropping to the plate. “Maybe another time. Is Mary your…?”
“My wife. She is a flight attendant, so we work hard to align our schedules. She happens to work the flight to Lisbon, so I decided to take advantage of it.” Chloe sips her coffee. “Unless you need me here.”
“No, of course, go and have fun with Mary. You deserve it.”
“We do.” Chloe nods. “So last night was interesting. I hope nobody will be pressing charges.”
Brook looks at me. “Could he?” A flash of concern in her eyes makes me unreasonably happy.
“You don’t need to worry about that. I texted the chief of police this morning. If a complaint is filed, my lawyer will deal with it quickly.”
“You have a texting relationship with the chief of police?” Brook’s eyes light up like she’s pleased to learn this, while most people would frown upon this blatant suggestion at corruption.
Chloe laughs, and several heads turn our way. “I like you, Brook. I like you very much.”
Brook chuckles. “So, how long have you been working together?”
“Sometimes it feels like for too long,” I say, swirling the spoon in my half empty cup of coffee.
I don’t have time for this chitchat.
I came because I made Chloe stay last night, and I owed her this breakfast. I brought Brook to make sure she understands she doesn’t have to feel threatened by Chloe. Frankly, by no other woman.
The danger doesn’t come from any woman.
It most probably comes from me.
Because I’m feeling out of control, and that’s a recipe for fucking everything up.
Brook puts her hand on my thigh, and it quiets the storm within me. A bit.
“We actually met before Baldo owned his first bar in Rome. I worked the floor there as a waitress. He’s a decent boss,” Chloe teases.
“I’m sorry. I thought the two of you—”
“Are fucking?” Chloe finishes her sentence.
I should have never introduced them. “Not anymore,” I say, because there is no point in hiding this. Brook would find out eventually.
She drops her hand from my thigh, but I grab it back, squeezing. It’s warm and small in mine. It fits. It belongs. And I don’t fucking know what to do with that.
There are too many things we have to fix before we can fit.
And my heart might not survive that.
“For full disclosure, we hooked up. A long time ago. He was pretty fucked up over you, and I was trying to figure out who I was. The worst match ever.”
“She turned to women after that.”
Brook chuckles. “I guess the professional relationship turned better.”
“Definitely.” Chloe checks her watch. “I have a meeting with the wine importer, but I hope to see you again soon. It was nice to meet you, Brook.”
Brook turns to me after Chloe leaves. “She thinks I’m your wife.”
“Because you’re my wife.”
I suddenly need to prove it to her. Even if it’s not a real marriage, our union is as real as they get.
Complicated.
Painful.
And too raw for pretense.