2. Dorian
DORIAN
Tristan doesn’t talk unless he has something worth saying. When he speaks, I listen.
We’re twenty minutes out from the house, the city thinning behind us.
There’s tension in the car, but I don’t push.
Tristan isn’t a man you push. He’s been at my side since before either of us had anything worth guarding, and in all that time, I’ve never once heard him fill a silence just to fill it.
Half the men who work for me talk to hear themselves.
It makes me appreciate his silence all the more.
So when he finally speaks, I already know it matters.
“The Castellanos are putting it around that the docks were theirs first,” he says. I look his way. He’s staring out the window rather than at me, one hand flat on his knee. “There was a car outside the Ferraro job. Sat there two hours. No plates. Nobody we know.”
I know what he’s driving at. More eyes on us. Disgruntled men, rumors, accusations. Watchful eyes where there shouldn’t be any. It doesn’t take a psychic to see what’s coming up ahead.
“Up the security at the house,” I decide without much thought, because there’s a protocol here. There are things a man does to protect what’s his when the Big Bad Wolf starts lurking too close. He’s always out there somewhere, that wolf. It’s only a matter of how close he comes.
“Not only the gate,” I continue after he nods. “The tree line, the eastern approach. Two additional guards on duty at night. Nobody unfamiliar gets past the wall. Nobody.”
“What about the nanny?”
The hair on the back of my neck rises at the mention of her. It’s a good question, something I’d expect him to ask. He’s only doing his job. Even so, I don’t like hearing him insinuate she might be a problem.
“Nothing changes for her,” I tell him, flat and hard. He doesn’t say a word, only nods again and keeps looking out the window while the driver takes the turn into the driveway.
A man in my position has rules he must abide by. Those rules can change, depending on the specifics—whether he has a wife, kids, something on the side. No matter the window dressing, the basics remain the same. A man protects what belongs to him.
That means not only protecting my daughter’s physical wellbeing.
It means that once my car rolls through the open gate and takes the driveway up to the house, I set everything down at the door.
I do not bring it inside, where my daughter sleeps and plays and lives and, because she’s only five years old, thinks I work in a big office building in the city.
It’s been a long day. I don’t normally stay away from the house this late, especially since I like to be around to kiss Lillie goodnight whenever possible.
Considering it’s almost midnight, she had better be asleep—I’ll check on her before heading to my room.
The house is dark, the grounds are quiet, but something’s off.
Something is there that shouldn’t be there at this point in the night. Quinn’s car.
Tristan is already making arrangements on his phone when I climb out and take the front steps.
Why is she still here? If something had gone wrong tonight, I would’ve gotten a call, either from her or from Ms. Beaumont.
No calls, which tells me my daughter’s nanny was completely worn out by my rambunctious five-year-old.
I shouldn’t be in such a hurry to get inside and see her.
I know that. Everything in me tells me so.
But I can’t ignore how much lighter my feet feel as I take the front steps, when only minutes ago I was tired in my bones.
The front hall is dark. The only light from where I stand comes from the family room, down the hall to the right of the staircase. I follow the glow and stop in the doorway when I find exactly what I knew I’d find.
Quinn is asleep on the couch. On her side, with one arm under her cheek while the other hangs off the edge. There’s no doubt in my mind Lillie ran her ragged today, though it must have been especially challenging if she passed out after putting her down.
To be sure everything’s all right, I jog upstairs and ease the door open.
My daughter is out cold, much like Quinn, one little hand on the pillow next to her face, half buried in stuffed animals as always.
I brush a dark curl away from her forehead and place a kiss there, breathing in her fresh scent for a moment or two before I head back down to where Quinn is sleeping.
It’s all wrong, how much I think about this girl. She’s twenty years old, with her entire life ahead of her. She’s beautiful, innocent, filled with youthful optimism and energy. I have no business interfering with any of it.
It’s a shame I can’t seem to remember that as I watch her sleep once I’ve reached the sofa again. I know I’m no better than some pervert, a creep staring at a girl who can’t tell me to get lost. That doesn’t stop me from staring.
I’ve been around beautiful things my entire life. You buy them and put them on the shelf. By the second week, they’ve stopped meaning anything.
This isn’t that. I’ve known it wasn’t that for months, and I’ve been careful about it, the way I’m careful about anything that can go wrong in the blink of an eye.
My daughter adores this girl, and the feeling seems to be mutual.
It would break Lillie’s heart if I scared Quinn off by revealing even a fraction of how much time I spend thinking about her.
What would she think if she knew I rearranged my mornings to be sure I run into her? To say nothing of the way she shows up in my fantasies, my dreams.
There’s a blanket folded over the arm of the sofa.
I shake it out and lay it over her slowly, so I don’t wake her.
It would be cruel, waking her now, and it’s too late for her to be driving home anyway.
She’s never spent the night here before.
I’ve often imagined her doing just that…
though in my fantasies, she wasn’t sleeping in a different room. Let’s put it that way.
For a second, I’m close enough to see the pulse move in her throat. She frowns slightly in her sleep, but it passes. My grip tightens around the edge of the blanket before I let it go. I want this girl. I want to make her mine; in a way I want very few things.
This isn’t like before. My marriage was arranged before I was old enough to have an opinion anyone cared about.
My father and another man drew a line on a map with two children standing on it.
Sofia and I did our duty, and Lillie came out of it.
It’s the only good thing either of us managed.
Sofia was elegant and cold, and never really mine, though I never expected her to be.
Wanting wasn’t something I understood as being available to a man like me.
Now there’s a girl on my couch with a green paint smudge on her hand, wearing mismatched socks, and I want her in a way I made it a point to shut down a long time ago.
Her phone rattles on the coffee table. I look at it before I decide to—a habit, the same as anyone, I’m sure. A phone buzzes, you look down to see why. There’s a message on the screen.
Mom: Last chance, sweetheart. Plus one for the party or no? Need to tell the caterer. Love you. No pressure!!
That, plus an emoji that makes me lift the phone to take a closer look. An apple. What does an apple have to do with anything?
The question moves across my mind before I return to the meat of the message. Plus one.
I don’t like it. The thought of her going to an event with some boy her own age, a boy with clean hands and a future that doesn’t need a wall around it.
The kind of boy who could stand next to her at an event without ever having to sweep the room in advance.
It bothers me more than it has any right to—and I let it, too, because pretending I don’t feel a thing has never once made it go away.
The phone buzzes again in my hand, and I drop it in surprise. It clatters against the leg of the table loudly enough that Quinn sits straight up, eyes wide.
“I didn’t eat the last one!” She’s wild-eyed, hair everywhere, one hand raised like she’s swearing on something. “It was the witch! I saw her!”
I’m not sure what to do with that.
Her eyes flutter and color rises in her cheeks, and it’s obvious she realizes now where she is—especially when she looks up at me and the color deepens. “Oh my god,” she whispers.
“A witch?” It’s not easy keeping a straight face. “What did she eat, exactly?”
She groans. “I don’t know. I was dreaming. Sometimes I do that. When I wake up suddenly, the dream sort of bleeds into reality, and I say random things. My family used to crack up when I’d do it.” She covers her mouth to contain a yawn.
Then her hand drops. “What time is it?”
“Late.”
“Oh, jeez. I really didn’t mean to sleep so long. It’s just, Lillie had me running around… and I was up late studying last night… I thought I’d just take a quick nap before driving home, because I didn’t want to be on the road half asleep…” I wonder if she knows she babbles when she’s nervous.
“You made the right decision. I wouldn’t want you jeopardizing yourself.” Dear Lord, could I sound more stuffy and pretentious? I doubt there’s any way I could tell her how important it is to me that she takes care of herself without overwhelming her.
The phone on the floor is as good a segue as any. I pick it up and hold it out. “Your mom wants a name for the caterer.”
A fresh blush colors her face, her neck, probably her feet under those mismatched socks. “Thanks. She has great timing, doesn’t she?” She’s chewing her lip, staring down at the message.
Don’t do it. I know better than to dig any deeper. Her life is none of my business. I don’t always make the right choice.
“So? Do you have anyone in mind?” I should lay off her, too. She’s obviously uncomfortable. It isn’t fair, dragging this out all because I want an excuse to spend a few more minutes with her. I should wish her a good night and send her on her way.
Instead, I sit at the other end of the couch. “After all, your mom needs a final number for the caterer.”
She blows out a sigh, swinging her legs around until her feet touch the floor. She runs her hands through her blonde waves, trying to get them under control. “I don’t have anyone to take. It’s my sister’s engagement party. Next weekend—I mentioned it this morning.”
She looks miserable. “You aren’t looking forward to it, I gather.”
“Not really. But you know. Family.” She lets out a soundless laugh with absolutely no humor behind it.
“I know something about family pressure,” I murmur, and it’s the truth. Maybe not the exact same kind of pressure she’s under, but still. Expectations can be a bitch.
“It wouldn’t matter, me coming alone,” she explains, picking at the corner of the blanket, still afraid to look at me.
“But my ex is going to be there. Aaron. Considering he’s dating the girl from his office who he cheated on me with, I’m guessing he’ll be there with her.
Our dads are business partners, so it’s a whole thing. ”
Who in their right mind would cheat on this girl? “He sounds like a loser,” I blurt out.
She snorts. “Yeah, well, he’s the loser with a date, and I don’t have anybody. I’ve actually been wondering since this morning if I should just pay someone to show up and hold my hand and be normal. Just so I’m there with somebody. Just so I don’t look like a hopeless wreck.”
“I don’t think you would.”
“Thanks,” she murmurs.
“So, you want to hire an escort?”
“No!” It comes out as a squeak, her eyes finally leaving the blanket and finding mine.
Clear and blue, they remind me of the ocean.
“No, not like that. Just somebody to show up with me, so I’m not the sad one.
That’s it, that’s the whole thing, and I hate that I said it out loud,” she adds, looking down again. Even her ears are red.
Fuck me sideways. There’s a man out there who had this—her, sitting across the table, looking at him the way she doesn’t realize she looks at people—and he weighed it against some other girl and made the wrong choice.
I’ve made a lot of hard calls in my life, but I can’t make this one make sense.
It’s the stupidest trade I’ve ever heard of, and I don’t even know who the other girl is. It doesn’t matter.
“What if I come?” I suggest before the thought has fully formed.
She makes a choked sound, looking at me again. “What?”
“To the party.” I say it flat, like it’s already a done deal. “You need a date to show up and hold your hand, then leave with you. I can do that.”
“You’re my boss, Mr. Moretti.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“You don’t come to an engagement party for your nanny.”
“Who knows? I’ve never been asked to one before. Maybe I’d like it.” I have to stand now, because being this close to her is a bad idea. “Think about it. You don’t have to decide tonight, no matter what your mom says.”
She’s already up, gathering her shoes, looking around like there’s something she can’t find. “I should go home. I can’t believe I slept so long; it’s so late.”
“You are not driving at this time of night.”
“I’ve done it before,” she insists. For some reason, she still doesn’t want to look at me.
“The guest room is always made up,” I remind her. “Right across from Lillie’s room. Everything you need is in the bathroom. I won’t rest unless I know you’re safe and sound.”
Her bottom lip disappears under her teeth. She looks at the shoes she’s holding and takes a deep breath. “Okay. Sure. Thank you so much.”
I lead the way as if she doesn’t know how to find the upstairs hallway—but really, I just need a few more seconds with her.
When we come to a stop outside the guest room door, I imagine for one dangerous moment what it would be like to take her hand and keep leading her down the hall to my suite.
Carrying her in, laying her down, and then…
“Goodnight, Quinn,” I choke out, since we’re veering into dangerous territory here, and I need to quit while I’m ahead.
“Goodnight, Mr. Moretti.” She disappears into the room and closes the door. I stand there, staring at it, the only soul in a dark hallway. There will be extra men on patrol tonight, and somewhere out there, a rival family is plotting something they can’t be bothered to be secretive about.
Yet all I can think about as I head to my room is the girl who, any minute now, is going to sleep in my guest bed, two doors down from where I can’t stop thinking about her.
I knew I’d have a hard time sleeping tonight. Now? It’s starting to look like an impossibility.