50. Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty
Mialina
Istare at him, not sure what to make of the offer.
I want to say yes. I really, really do. Anything to escape this swaying.
Every time the tower moves, even by the tiniest bit, my stomach drops and my heart forgets how to beat for a second.
My imagination, meanwhile, has taken off to new heights. It’s already progressed from this is unsettling to this is how people end up in newspaper headlines.
My rational mind keeps reminding me that skyscrapers are designed for this. Maximo has assured me that the building is doing what it’s supposed to, and that everything is completely normal.
Unfortunately, my rational mind has been thoroughly outvoted.
“Mia?” Maximo’s voice pulls me back. I hadn’t even realized I’d been standing there in silence.
God, I wish my hands would stop shaking.
I tuck them behind my back, but I’m sure he noticed already.
“I really don’t like being this far from the ground,” I admit.
The words taste like defeat.
I don’t enjoy admitting weakness, especially not to Maximo, but denying it at this point would be ludicrous. He’s already seen me clutch his arm like a drowning woman grabbing a life raft.
Right then and there, I make myself a promise.
From this day forward, I will not voluntarily spend time in a building taller than five stories. Six, if I’m feeling reckless. Good thing we don’t have that many tall buildings back home in Sicily.
“But…” I draw a slow breath. “I dislike giving in to fear even more.”
His brows lift.
Admitting a weakness is one thing, giving in to it is another.
Feel the fear and do it anyway, right?
“We’ll stay here,” I declare, trying to put as much conviction into my voice as I can.
Besides, another fear has joined the first, now that moving to a lower floor is an option.
If the tower collapsed, we’d be buried beneath eighty-six floors of concrete and steel. Being on the highest floor would have to improve my chances of being found first, because we’d be right on top of the rubble.
I know this is ridiculous. I’d be dead either way, but my anxiety neglected to consult logic before reaching its conclusion.
Another gust howls beyond the glass, and I freeze as the tower sways ever so slightly beneath my feet. It’s barely perceptible, yet my heart launches into a full sprint.
I close my eyes, willing it to slow.
It doesn’t listen.
“Are you sure?” Maximo’s voice is quiet as he slips a finger beneath my chin, tilting my face toward his. His expression is calm, steady, and completely untouched by the storm raging outside.
I swallow hard.
“You said the building is safe.”
“I did.” He doesn’t embellish it with false promises or meaningless reassurances.
“I’ll go with that then,” I say, though my voice doesn’t sound as convincing as I’d hoped.
When another piece of debris strikes the glass with a sharp crack, my entire body jerks.
Maximo takes my elbow. “Let’s get away from the windows.”
I’m far too relieved by the suggestion to pretend otherwise. Why I just kept standing there is beyond me.
He guides me to an enormous cream-colored sofa positioned before the fireplace and waits until I’m seated before stepping back. I hold my hands toward the flames and warmth washes over me.
“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
Please don’t leave me.
The plea rises so quickly it almost escapes.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek before the words can reach my lips.
He’s only walking into another room, not boarding a plane to Antarctica. I’ll be fine.
The moment he disappears down the hallway, however, the fragile calm I’d been clinging to shatters. The apartment seems suddenly far too large, the storm too loud, and every groan of the building sounds as though it’s one gust away from catastrophe.
I spot a throw blanket over the back of the sofa and pull it toward me. Wrapping myself in it, I pull my knees against my chest and stare into the fire, trying to concentrate on the dancing flames instead of the wind battering the windows.
It doesn’t work.
I glance toward the hallway.
Where is he?
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Pull yourself together, Mialina,” I mutter under my breath. “You’re nineteen years old, not nine.”
Another gust whistles around the tower, followed by a dull groan from somewhere deep within the building.
My stomach twists.
That’s normal. Buildings make noises. Maximo lived here. He would know if something was wrong.
But what if this is the one storm they didn’t build it for?
My head snaps up when I hear footsteps echo down the hallway. Maximo reappears carrying an armful of thick blankets.
For one ludicrous moment, my panic evaporates.
My brain abruptly abandons any concern about the structural integrity of this skyscraper, because it’s too busy gawking. Gone is Maximo’s impeccably tailored suit that’s as much a part of him as his infuriating confidence.
In its place are charcoal sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a fitted black long-sleeved shirt that does absolutely nothing to conceal the broad shoulders and solid chest beneath.
My throat goes dry.
I’ve never seen a man look so attractive in loungewear. Actually, I’ve never seen a man in loungewear. Perhaps they all look like that?
No, somehow I doubt it.
He drops the blankets onto the rug in front of the sofa before peering over at me.
“Still with me, little rebel?”
“Hmm?”
My brain appears to have stopped processing words.
Amusement flickers in his eyes.
Oh God. He noticed I’ve been staring.
“I thought we could settle in front of the fire,” he says just as there’s a knock on the door.
The sound slices through the apartment, startling me out of my stupor and straight back into reality.
Wonderful. I’d much rather have continued pretending sweatpants were the most pressing issue in my life.
I drop the blanket and shoot to my feet.
“Who’s this? Are they here to evacuate the building?”
Before answering, Maximo closes the distance between us and gives my upper arm a gentle squeeze.
“It’s all right,” he says, waiting until my eyes meet his. “That’s Leon. I asked him to collect something for me.”
He brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear, letting his hand linger against my cheek.
“Why don’t you spread the blankets out in front of the fireplace? We may as well make ourselves comfortable.”
I nod, grateful he’s giving me something to do while he disappears from sight again. Keeping my hands busy gives my mind less opportunity to invent another catastrophe.
I kick off my heeled boots and kneel on the thick rug.
I unfold one blanket after another, layering them over each other until they cover almost the entire space in front of the fire.
Then I raid the sofa, stealing every cushion I can find and arrange them into what can only be described as an oversized nest.
I pause to study my handiwork.
It looks less like the sophisticated penthouse of Chicago’s most feared Mafia Don and more like the setting for an overenthusiastic twelve-year-old’s sleepover.
I rather like it.
Another gust hurls something against the window, and before I even realize what I’m doing, I dive into the middle of my creation and yank a blanket up to my chin.
Is it childish to believe a pile of blankets and cushions offers any protection from an eighty-six-story plunge to my death?
Yes.
Do I care?
No. It makes me feel better, and right now I’ll take whatever comfort I can get.
A moment later, Maximo returns carrying a large shopping bag.
Huh. I wouldn’t have thought there were any shops open. Not only because it’s nighttime, but mostly because of the storm.
He stops beside the sofa, his gaze traveling over the nest I’ve built. I suddenly feel self-conscious.
“I know,” I mumble. “It’s a little…”
“Cozy.”
I blink. That wasn’t what I’d expected him to say.
One corner of his mouth lifts. “You appear to have used every available cushion.”
I glance at the sofa. It’s looking rather naked.
“I may have overcompensated for the impending apocalypse.”
“Well, at least we’ll be warm.” He holds out the bag. “This is for you.”
I glance at it and then back at him. “What’s in it?”
I get up and take it, our fingers brushing.
“Something more comfortable to wear.”
I peek inside. Folded on top is a pair of dark green lounge pants with the tags still attached. Underneath are matching socks and a soft oversized sweater.
“Where on earth did you get these in the middle of a freaking snowstorm?” I ask, staring at the clothes.
I’ve been eyeing Maximo’s sweatpants with envy ever since he walked back into the room.
“There are several boutiques on the lower retail levels.”
I stare at him.
“But they would be closed.”
“They were.”
“How then?” I ask, though I have a fair idea.
“The building’s management has master keys. Leon contacted the store owners before anything was touched. They’ll be compensated when they reopen.”
I look back into the bag.
“That’s… incredibly thoughtful.”
His expression barely shifts. “This will help make you feel better. Go and get changed.”
My heart does that strange little fluttering thing again.
The only problem is…
Changing means leaving this room… and Maximo. My enthusiasm dampens. But I also need the bathroom.
The thought of wandering through a giant penthouse while the building impersonates a metronome isn’t particularly appealing.
Maximo studies me for all of three seconds before apparently reading my mind.
“I’ll show you.” My eyes snap back to his. “The closest bathroom is only a few steps away.”
I release a slow breath, actually happy for once that he’s so perceptive.
“Okay.”
His hand settles against the middle of my back, the contact somehow making the short walk less intimidating.
Once inside the bathroom, I lock the door, make embarrassingly quick use of the facilities, and swap my clothes for the loungewear in what must be a new personal speed record.
The dark green lounge pants are soft, and the oversized sweater is wonderfully warm. Better yet, they fit perfectly.
Apparently, my self-appointed future husband is remarkably good at estimating my clothing size.
Feeling more comfortable, I step back into the hallway. Maximo is in the living room, placing candles around the fireplace. Somehow, that seems rather domestic.
He’s positioned fully within my line of sight, and I know right away it’s deliberate. He could have been anywhere in this enormous penthouse, yet he chose the one spot I’d see the moment I walked out of the bathroom.
A surprising warmth spreads through my chest.
Not once tonight has he laughed at my fear or dismissed it as irrational. He’s just accepted it, adjusted to it, and found ways to make it easier for me.
I’m not quite sure what to make of this side of him.
His gaze finds mine. “That was quick.”
I shrug, walking toward him. “I’ve never changed clothes with quite so much motivation.”
He chuckles. “I’ll remember that.”
“Oh, please don’t.”
When I reach him, I take his hand in mine and squeeze it.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “I’m much more comfortable now.”
His gaze lingers on me for a brief moment before he gives a single nod.
“Come on. Let’s get you in front of the fire.”
I climb back into the nest I’d built and wrap a blanket around myself. Somehow, in the few minutes I’d been gone, it has become even cozier.
Several large pillar candles now flicker around the space, casting a warm golden glow across the room. Bottled water and an assortment of snacks have appeared beside the cushions, everything neatly arranged within easy reach.
“You did all this while I was changing?” My eyes drift to the candles. “In case the electricity goes out?”
His eyes twinkle.
“The building has backup generators. If the power fails, they’ll start up.”
Yes, I remember Leon mentioning checking them.
“Still…” He follows my gaze to the candles. “You can never be too prepared.”
I can’t help smiling. “I’m beginning to think that’s your life motto.”
“It has served me well.”
I don’t doubt it. In this line of business, preparation isn’t a personality trait. It’s essential to stay alive.
“Wouldn’t a flashlight or two be better?” I ask.
Maximo settles beside me, stretching out his long legs toward the fire, and nods toward the sofa.
Two flashlights are already sitting on the side table, ready to be used.
“I prefer anticipating a problem before it becomes one.”
No kidding. At this point, I’m certain he has a Plan C tucked away somewhere should the candles and flashlights both fail.
I shake my head, unable to suppress a smile. “You really have thought of everything.”
For a while, neither of us says anything. The fire crackles beside us while the storm continues to howl beyond the windows, occasionally hurling another wave of snow against the glass.
Without thinking about it, I let my head drift onto Maximo’s shoulder. His arm slips around me, drawing me against his side as though this is the most natural thing in the world.
I breathe in the scent that is unmistakably his. Crisp aftershave, fresh cotton, and something warm I can’t quite place. Somehow, it quiets the anxious chatter in my mind far more effectively than all the engineering explanations he could give me.
My body gradually unwinds, the tight knot that had settled between my shoulders beginning to loosen. I curl a little closer, the warmth of him chasing away the lingering chill.
Fear does strange things to people. It makes them seek comfort wherever they can find it, and right now Maximo happens to be the nearest source of it.
It has nothing to do with the quiet tenderness that seems to be settling between us.
Nothing at all.