35. Baldo
Ijump back and scoop her up.
We almost kissed, but I chickened out.
I’ve fucked her. I’ve made love to her. I would kill for her, or happily die for her.
Yet I’m a scared asshole who can’t give her that last symbol of her power over me.
Am I aware this is a pathetic attempt to maintain the upper hand? Yes.
Do I realize the upper hand is not what relationships are built on? Also, yes.
Am I willing to take that last step and savor her? No. I’m not.
Why?
Fuck if I know.
Rounding the bed, I lay Brook gently on the covers, kissing her forehead. Like she needed a consolation prize.
I remove her pants and underwear from around her ankles and drop them to the floor. Yanking the sheets from under her, I tug them to her shoulders.
“Let me clean you up.”
Fuck, I don’t know where the bathroom is. I open a double door, only to be confronted with the shelves and empty hangers of a walking closet.
Okay, the other door it is. I enter the spacious bathroom and let the water run.
What’s wrong with me?
They will never accept us.
Brook has been so excited about our nephew and coming back to be with her dad, it’s like I’m losing her all over again.
But this time, she’s still here with me. Just being drawn away by her loyalty to them.
To our family.
The rational businessman in me knows that we need to sit everyone down and tell them. Hope for the best, but adopt the outcome whether they accept us or not.
The scared man in me fears that if it comes down to a choice, Brook would choose me, and then hate me for stealing her from her family.
Or worse, she wouldn’t choose me.
No, I need her to work through it and realize what she really wants. What she’s willing to give up.
Fuck. I left her waiting there.
I take off my clothes, wetting a hand towel before I return to the bedroom.
She smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I should shower.”
I kiss her forehead. “Baby, you didn’t sleep on the flight. Let’s catch up on sleep, and then we can deal with other adulting tasks.”
Gently, I wipe between her thighs while she watches me with hooded eyes. There is sadness in them, but maybe it’s just fatigue.
Fuck, I’m tired to the point of not being able to think.
I get us both bottled water.
I draw the curtains closed.
I feel like a robot, just executing the motions while Brook follows me with her gaze.
She gulps down the bottle and turns to her side.
I slide under the sheets and take her in my arms, pulling her as close as possible. She melts into me.
Her shoulders tremble and then shake. I tense. Is she crying?
“Brook?”
She turns to me, chuckling. “The poor bellhop.” She gets the words out and bursts into full-blown laughter. Fuck.
It’s contagious, and maybe we’re just delirious from exhaustion, but we both dissolve into hysterical cackles.
Brook wipes her cheeks, still grinning. “God, it feels good to laugh.”
“It does.”
She turns to me now, her face shadowed by the darkness in the room, but her eyes glow.
She cups my cheek and traces her fingers around the scruff of my jaw.
My heart hammers against my chest. Just fucking kiss her, asshole. Take the risk.
“You got us a beautiful place here.” That’s not what I expected her to say, but I focus on the us in that sentence.
“Only the best for my wife,” I tease her, but a part of me is begging her to choose me. To become my real wife. To tell the world.
That part is overwhelmed by the very firm belief that we found some tentative happiness in Portugal, but it can’t last here.
Because while I wish she’d choose me, I don’t want her to have to choose.
Maybe if we stay around longer, everyone will accept us naturally.
Maybe we can visit the baby and then return to Europe.
All the options seem unfair to Brook, who is already snoring softly beside me.
Despite the impending doom, she feels like mine. I watch her sleep, wondering just how long I get to be with her.
How long before I lose her again?
* * *
“That’s not acceptable, John.” Brook’s voice cuts through the air, reaching my sleepy mind.
I roll in the unfamiliar bed, missing the warmth of her. I don’t know how long I slept, but I finally feel more myself.
Still unsettled and hating our current predicament, but at least I’m rested.
“Then I pay the penalties and rescind the contract. There is no way I’m working with him.”
What the hell is happening? I get up and find yesterday’s boxers. Fuck, we need to unpack.
The bedroom is dark with the thick curtains closed.
I follow Brook’s voice, finding her standing by the glass wall of windows in the living room. The strong light blinds me momentarily. How long did I sleep?
Her back is to me. Her hair is all messy, and she is wearing only a shirt.
My black shirt. I haven’t lost her. Yet.
Her hair is wet, and the shirt falls almost to her mid-thighs. She looks edible. Delicious.
But she is tense on the phone. Who is John?
I remember that name, I just can’t place him right now.
“Tough shit. Talk to them, but my decision is final.” She nods a few times. “Okay, John, thank you. Keep me posted.” She drops her hand and sighs.
“Good morning.” I walk across the sun-bathed room to her.
She pivots. “Good morning? You slept like a log. It’s two in the afternoon.”
“Well, that won’t help with the jetlag.” I snake my arms around her shoulders and kiss the crown of her head. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah, I just woke up half an hour ago.” She looks up at me, smiling. “You look rested. It suits you. Did I wake you?”
“No. What happened?”
Her shoulders slouch and she groans. “I got a TV series deal.”
“That’s wonderful, baby. Congratulations.”
“Yeah, but they want to cast Dylan Sinclair as the lead.”
Annoyance swipes through me, and, if I’m honest, jealousy too. “Over my dead body.”
She chuckles. “That’s what I said. I have an executive producer role, but my agent isn’t optimistic my influence is enough. Someone must have pulled strings.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
She snorts. “No, you won’t. I can take care of my own problems.”
“Dylan Sinclair is my problem.”
As I said earlier, she’ll work with her ex over my dead body.
She rises on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek and walks away. “That is very chivalrous, and a bit unhinged, but let me fight my own battles.”
I follow her to a room opposite our bedroom, and we enter a fully equipped kitchen and dining room. “Wow, this place is huge.”
She puts her hand on her hip. “Baldo Cassinetti, you had no idea what you were renting, did you?”
“Not really, but it will work for now. Back to Dylan.”
She waggles her finger. “No, no, no, we’ve already said his name too many times today. I’ll wait for my agent to find out more, and then we’ll see.”
Oh, yeah, John is her agent.
She pours two cups of coffee and hands me one. Mindlessly, I take a sip and spit it back immediately. “I need to buy a coffee machine.”
“You’re such a snob.”
“I’m a coffee connoisseur, sweetheart.” My eyes drop to her nipples. “You showered without me.”
I take her cup from her and sit her on the counter, filing the Dylan issue away for later. She grins at me, wrapping her legs around my waist.
“I talked to London.” She runs her fingers through my hair.
I unfasten the three buttons holding the shirt together. It falls open and my cock hardens. “Hm.” Cupping her left breast, I lower my mouth to taste her nipple.
Her breath hitches. So responsive.
“Paris asked for a few more days to get settled before we visit. Lo and Dom are having dinner at Casa Cassi and suggested we join them. Tonight.”
She moans, arching her back and tilting her pelvis to get closer to me.
“Okay. We could do that. But I’m having my appetizer now.”
“Your stamina is endless.”
“Are you complaining?”
She smiles and lifts her feet to the counter, spreading herself for me. I groan.
She leans onto her elbows. “Dinner is at eight.”
I guess we’re still talking. Not really about important things, but I’m not complaining about this sexy domesticity.
“And I thought I’d go visit Dad before?”
I still. Is she asking for my permission? It certainly doesn’t sound like she’s inviting me.
Our eyes lock. There is a tentative plea in hers. Definitely not inviting me.
“I’ll meet you at Massi’s restaurant. Now stop distracting me.”
I lower my lips to her nipple again, burying my disappointment in the taste of her.
* * *
I’m the last to arrive at Casa Cassi. Mostly because I spent two hours at the gym in our building and still didn’t release all my pent-up frustration.
Lo and Dom are sitting across from each other, and Brook is between them, which doesn’t leave room for me to sit beside her.
I wonder if she chose the seating arrangement to stay at a safe distance from me. Our current company believes our relationship is fake, after all.
“Hey, sorry I’m late.” I kiss both women on the cheek and shake hands with Dom.
“No problem, we just got here as well. The traffic was brutal from the Bronx.” Lo gestures for a server.
“You were in Riverdale?” I glance at Brook, whose eyes are downcast, playing with the butter knife.
“Yeah, we all went to see Bianca and Dad. The few weeks in Florida really did him well,” London says.
Brook looks at me and averts her eyes, darting her gaze around the table like there’s something to find there.
So, it wasn’t just her visiting her dad.
It was me not visiting with her. Don’t be an asshole. Give her time.
“I’m glad to hear that.” I adjust my cufflinks.
The server pours me a glass of water and retreats. I look around for the menu. He didn’t even recite the specials?
Lo picks up on my hesitation. “Oh, Massi will serve us whatever he wants.”
“But no worries, you will love it.” Dominic leans back in his seat.
The room bustles with cutlery clinking, conversations humming, servers running. I want my wife to fucking look at me.
London leads the conversation, asking about my business, recounting what her charity achieved, sharing the new endeavors she and Dom are starting for orphaned kids. It’s impressive, and the two of them seem like true partners.
My eyes meet Brook’s, but she looks down again. Guilty? Or has she already retreated to a world where there is no space for me?
In the middle of the main course, London picks up on the tension.
“What’s up with the two of you?”
Brook wipes the corners of her mouth. “What do you mean?”
“What happened while you were in Europe? Please don’t tell me you fucked.” She makes a face, like that would be the most unsavory thing.
“And what if we did?” Brook counters, dropping her fork.
“Whatever, you’re both adults.” London surprises me with her dismissive stance, but then she adds, “Still weird. It would kill Dad.”
“Did you know Paris and Finn named the baby after him?” Dom says.
I think he’s trying to divert the conversation, but a baby named after Brook’s dad only emphasizes how all the sisters are respecting their father and creating memories with him, while Brook is poised to give him a heart attack because of me.
I drop the napkin and excuse myself before I strangle someone. I rush to the bathroom and wash my face, hoping to cool down the hot blood coursing through me.
When I open the door, my gaze clashes with Brook’s. She is leaning against the wall opposite the men’s room.
“You’re mad at me.”
It’s not a question, it’s a statement, but there is hurt behind her tone, and I hate it. I hate that she’s struggling, and I hate even more that I don’t know how to fix it for her.
These are her decisions. She doesn’t want me to help with the Dylan bullshit. This is way bigger. While I don’t give a fuck about anyone accepting us, she does. I need to respect that, give her time.
But I can still hate the situation.
“We should head back.” I turn to leave.
She grabs my arm. “Baldo, I’m sorry. I didn’t know Lo and Syd were bringing Dom and Hunter. I would have invited you to join us.”
“Would you?” I accuse. So much for giving her time to decide.
She sighs. “Please, don’t… You cared when I showed you all the ugly pieces of me. You helped fix them all. And I wish I could somehow fix this for us. I’m worried about Dad, but he’s doing much better, and I’m sure with time he would grow to understand. Can you be patient?”