Waiting
ESTELLE
“What do you mean we’re not going back today?”
Carlos reaches across the car seat for my hand. I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for an explanation.
He breathes in deeply and exhales loudly. “I already told you why.”
I shake my head emphatically. “All you told me is that Alice fessed up about where they’re keeping Elsa and Micah. You said they need to see me to open the gate.”
“I said they want to see you first,” he corrects calmly.
I stare at him. “What’s the difference?”
His fingers start tapping on the leather seat. “You really think I’m going to put you in harm's way?”
“What other choice is there?” I feel the tension tightening the back of my head and bring a hand to the nape of my neck, massaging slowly.
“They’ll get a dummy.”
“What? You can’t send a fucking doll to replace me!” He smiles that crooked smile that I usually love but right now irritates me to no end. “Carlos—”
“A body double. Someone trained who looks a lot like you,” he says. “Just to fool them.”
“And Alice?”
He shrugs and reaches for my hand again. This time I don’t pull away. I want to believe that everything will be okay, but his plan feels half-baked.
“Don’t worry. Did you eat yet?”
I groan.
Why does he keep monitoring my food intake?
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“No, you’re not. You get extra cranky when you’re hungry.”
“Carlos,” I sigh, “this really isn’t the time for jokes. You have not known me long enough to know what I’m like when I’m hungry.”
“Ross told me.”
Damn Ross.
He has the audacity to snort from the driver’s side. “You really do get in a bad mood when you haven’t eaten in a while.”
“I’ve noticed, too,” Grayson chimes in.
“So, it’s agreed. You’ll eat when we get to the hotel and—”
“FUCKING STOP!” I snap loudly.
I’m suddenly raging mad. How are they acting like the lives of the people I care about aren’t on the line? How can they joke at a moment like this?
How are they so fucking calm?
“Breathe, Estelle. We’re just lightening the mood,” he caresses the center of my palm with his thumb, “we take this very seriously, baby. This isn’t our first rodeo.”
“They could die,” I choke out.
He clenches his jaw. I know he hates it when I cry.
“I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen. Trust me a little. Just a little.”
I nod, wiping at the stray tears in the corners of my eyes. I do trust him, but he’s here with me, while Elsa and Micah are back in LA. He’s putting his trust in his men to do this work.
How can he still trust any of them?
Alice blindsided him, and so did those men who kidnapped Micah and Elsa.
I trust him.
I don’t trust them.
*********************
Pad Thai noodles and an assortment of desserts are waiting for me on the hotel room’s dining table. I sit in one of the plush leather chairs numbly, looking over the food without seeing.
My stomach growls audibly, and I reach for the fork on automatic, eating for the sake of my body’s upkeep, but not enjoying anything.
Carlos went to oversee the rescue mission, and even though I wanted to insist on accompanying him, I knew it wasn’t my place.
I have zero experience in his world.
Like a baby learning to take her first steps, or an alien exploring a new planet.
I’m useless.
So utterly useless.
All I can do is eat so my emotions aren’t a burden to anyone, and I hate it. I hate that the best thing I can do right now is nothing.
Eat and wait.
My appetite kicks in halfway through the noodle bowl, and I devour the rest without chewing properly. I gobble down the water and reach for a small, intricately decorated pudding cup without pausing.
I focus on the complex flavors, identifying the ingredients easily. Caramel sauce, vanilla, and is that a sweetened cherry in the center?
Decadent.
I reach for the small chocolate cake next. The fudge oozes out between the layers as my fork cuts into it.
Rich dark chocolate, and a little lemon zest in the icing. They complement each other perfectly.
All they want me to do is eat, right?
So I’m eating.
The tiramisu is heavenly. The strong coffee they soaked the ladyfingers in hits me hard, causing the exhaustion to ebb away slightly, fueling my emotional roller coaster.
I stop as I’m reaching for a macaroon. My stomach churns, stuffed to the brim. I breathe in deeply, then drink some water slowly.
What the fuck am I doing?
My hands cover my face, and I just sit for a while. I haven’t done this since I was a child, when my father first started drinking and taking out his frustration on us.
Elsa is too young to remember most of it. I do a pretty good job of blocking everything out, and it helps that our father was on the road a lot as a truck driver, but every time he came home drunk, I’d stuff my belly until I got sick.
Just so Mom would let me go stay with our grandmother.
It was the only solution I found to getting away from my father, my coping mechanism to feeling trapped.
Is this going to be my life with Carlos?
How often does a mafia boss have to deal with a situation like today?
Clearly, it happens often enough that he’s unfazed by any of it.
If Alice hadn’t showed up, I would be walking down the aisle of a small chapel right now, but am I ready?
“Fuck,” I groan.
I can’t answer that question.
The chair screeches loudly against the floor, and I push it back, standing up. The sound is deafening in the empty penthouse.
I head for the bedroom and stop in my tracks when I see the large garment bag flung over the back of the couch. The zipper lowers smoothly, I reach inside for the hanger.
The white silk wedding dress has been washed so thoroughly—it’s like brand new.
A few hours ago, I was looking at myself in the mirror, sure that it was the one. But was it, really?
It felt right.
Looked beautiful.
But it ended up covered in blood.
I stuff it back inside the bag, unable to bear the sight.
My steps are loud as I walk to the door and fling it open with too much force. The man standing guard closest to the door snaps his head toward me.
“Miss Signon, do you need something?”
“Yes, I do.” I hand him the garment bag. He takes it, brows furrowed. “Please throw this away.”
I don’t wait for his reply and close the door quickly, breathing hard.
My gut tightens and I open the door again, gentler this time. He looks up, probably expecting me to hand him another bag.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Frederick.”
“Thank you for taking care of this, Frederick.”
He nods once. “No problem.”
After closing the door again, I pull out the encrypted phone. Carlos said he would let me know once Elsa and Micah are safe, but can’t I send a message asking for an update?
Of course not.
I don’t know anything about this fucking world. He can’t talk tactical warfare with me. He will probably just tell me not to worry.
Because what do I know?
Nothing.
I’m just a chef.
Hot tears start spilling down my cheeks, and I let them. The dread tightening my gut loosens with every sob that wracks my body.
I’m used to being in control of my situation.
I’m used to taking care of myself—I had to.
I left home early, put myself through culinary school to chase my dream of becoming a chef, moved to the city, and made a name for myself for a while, even though my apartment was small, my car's old, and the elevator threatened to trap me daily.
It was my life.
I was in control.
Now, I’m in Carlos’ world.
A place he controls.
And I’m terrified.
I love him, but I’m scared his world will kill the people around me, and then, when everything’s taken away—it will kill him, too.
I drag my feet to the bedroom, suddenly overcome with exhaustion, and get under the covers. Heavy sleep claims me as soon as my head hits the pillow.
Soft kisses peppered on my cheek pull me from anxious dreams. My eyes open slowly, and I look up groggily at Carlos’ handsome face.
He’s smiling.
He rubs his nose against mine and kisses me, first slowly, then hungrily. When he pulls back, we’re both panting, and his erection is pressed into my core.
“They’re safe, baby. We’ve got them,” he whispers.
Tears of relief spill down the side of my face, and I bury my head in the crook of his neck.
They’re safe.
For now.