Chapter Forty-Three
Max
A week goes by and I don’t leave the hotel room.
Gio knocks softly every couple of hours, steps inside to listen to my breathing probably, then leaves.
A couple of times I lift my head to look at him, willing him to open his mouth and tell me they found him and everything is fine.
Sometimes I try convincing myself it was a dream. But Gio’s arm is still in a sling.
They bring me a suitcase of my clothes someone hastily threw together. A big t-shirt that is not mine but came from the penthouse peeks at me when I finally decide to change on day three and the world tilts.
I kick the suitcase and tears stream down my face.
The t-shirt is permanently fixed to my body after that. It still smells like him. And I consider never showering so I can live in his scent for the rest of my days.
Which would be shorter if Nico didn’t insist on watching me eat every meal.
He rolls in carts of pastries at breakfast with espresso and biscotti, sandwiches at lunch, and multi-course dinners every night. And after every meal, he asks if I need anything else.
I stare blankly at him. And he stares blankly at me. Then he kisses my hair and shuts the door behind him with a click.
On the sixth night, they roll in a rack of dresses.
Black.
Black dresses.
I refuse to eat.
Nico sits anyway.
Bart wags his tail at the attention. Gio and Rudi have alternated taking him on walks since I’ve been here.
After dinner that night, Nico kneels down in front of where I sit at the small dining table and sighs, “I’d ask if you need anything else, but we’ve been doing this dance for a few days now, so I imagine I will get met with silence.
” He opens my palm, sets something hard inside, closes it and stands up.
“Goodnight, sorellina. I will be here at nine-thirty tomorrow morning, service is at ten. Gio will drive us.”
“You have called me that every night. Sorellina. What is it?”
My voice shocks him, and maybe shocks me a little, too.
I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look up.
“Little sister.”
I open my palm and find a green wrapper.
I shoot up and lock eyes with Nico.
“What is this?”
My body is shaking.
Every night since being in Providence in the penthouse, I have gotten to my bed at night where he left me a little chocolate dinner mint on my pillow. Every night. Until—
“A mint?”
“Why?” I demand it and hold it in his face.
His eyes fill with sadness—no. Sympathy?
Pity, I decide.
“I thought maybe you’d eat it? They usually leave them on pillows here, but we haven’t had turndown service.”
I swallow and down goes the small, stupid hope that filled me at the sight of the mint.
Like maybe he was here. Or somewhere.
I turn around and throw the mint on the table, crawl into bed, and wait for the ringing in my ears to start.