Chapter 10 - Elena
All of this is temporary.
I know I’m just waiting him out, regardless of how long it might take. I’m just a piece of whatever plan Wyatt has cooked up, and until he reaches that endgame, or until my brothers tear the city apart looking for me, it’s easier to just breathe and look at it that way.
Really, I should be freaking out, but I have enough faith in them. One way or another, they usually get the job done.
So I stay calm.
I resolve to not scream or fight every instruction. I don’t waste energy or try to bring us attention with the hope of a bystander noticing something’s wrong. I know it won’t change anything, so I just watch, listen, and I learn as much about him as I can.
More importantly, I wait.
But as easy as that seems, there’s a small snag. Annoyingly, the whole thing is starting to feel oddly normal.
I expected to be more on edge, but if anything, Wyatt’s the one who’s always watching and double-checking anyone who comes even remotely close to us. He’s paranoid, and he absolutely should be.
After the bill is easily paid, I catch how he glances out the wall of windows, scanning the front parking lot like he’s prepared for anyone to jump out at us.
“Do you ever relax?” I ask, vaguely amused by how jumpy he seems, even if he’s doing his best to hide it.
Wyatt’s glance betrays a hint of irritation as he pushes the door open, gesturing for me to go first. “Do you ever stop talking?”
Something in me wants to be annoyed by the response, but I don’t have it in me. Instead, I huff and walk out. “Touché.”
He doesn’t say anything more as we leave the diner and continue on through the relative darkness, eventually stopping briefly at a corner store.
He grabs a few things, like bottled water for each of us, some protein bars, and a couple of packs of gum.
Only practical things, and nothing unsavory like cigarettes or scratch tickets. He doesn’t even glance at them.
Of course, I’m meant to keep my eyes and hair covered beneath the ever-watching eye of the cameras stationed around us. But I glance up as we stand at the counter, watching how the teenage cashier fumbles with the register, looking a bit flustered.
Still, Wyatt waits without complaint, even when the short line behind us grows more restless.
“Sorry,” the kid mumbles, fixing the register as best as he can, hardly looking up. “It’s my first week.”
“You’re doing fine,” he says with surprising understanding, almost like an older brother might say to soothe a distressed sibling.
The relief on the cashier’s face is immediate, and after taking a breath, he gathers himself enough to finish up the transaction.
It shouldn’t be significant at all…it’s just a standard interaction between strangers. Yet, I take it all in with something close to disbelief settling over me.
This man made an even older man tremble in his shoes without batting an eye.
He married me without doing so much as bringing it up to me, and he stashed me away in his house.
He’s currently wanted by multiple groups.
And yet, he thanks the cashier with more grace than he likely sees in an entire shift, then holds the door open again and steps aside for a woman carrying a small child.
Every small gesture hits like another drop landing in the bucket, and before I can stop myself from noticing, it’s almost overflowing already. I try to ignore it, but by the time we reach his condo again, my thoughts are a mess of contradictions.
But as we pull up to the parking garage, I remind myself of the truth.
Wyatt didn’t rescue me from Vito out of the goodness of his heart. He took me because it suits his needs, and whatever decency he shows in passing doesn’t erase the fact that I’m here against my will.
Even if those little acts of kindness are throwing me completely for a loop.
I’m biding my time. That’s all. None of this means anything.
He stays close, keeping an eye on me as we head up. I nearly feel the heat of his palm against my elbow, but it comes up short as he surely remembers the demands I laid out for him. He still hovers, but doesn’t touch. Good.
Heading inside, I force myself not to think about how weirdly domestic it feels to kick off the sneakers he had grabbed for me, moving through the place like I’m well acquainted with it.
Really, I should feel like a complete outsider here, not like a guest. But I’m not used to shrinking myself in a space. If anything, I do whatever I can to make it mine and create the atmosphere I want. And for some reason, Wyatt doesn’t try to stop me.
In the foyer, I shed the disguise with a huffed breath, then pile it in my arms.
“I’m going to—”
But I stop when I turn and realize Wyatt isn’t behind me.
Glancing at the door, then across the foyer, I still don’t see him. With my brows furrowed, I continue inside, finding him standing by the balcony with one of the windows propped open.
Curiously, I watch him as he moves something out there, resting it on the ledge. Then, I hear him…talking?
Stepping closer, I try to get a better look at what he’s doing, only to catch something grey moving just outside.
A cat sits on the far end of the railing.
It’s small and scruffy, with one ear nicked like it has seen its fair share of fights.
It watches him closely, obviously interested enough to stick around.
Then, with a flick of its tail, the cat moves along the heavy metal frame until it’s nearly within touching range.
The little thing bows its head, and that’s when I realize it’s eating from a small ceramic dish. A plate full of food put out by someone I’d never expect to be a cat person.
With quiet and deliberate movements, Wyatt backs away, giving it space. Leaning against the windowsill, arms loosely folded, he watches in a surprisingly gentle way.
As if this is perfectly normal, the cat eats at the soft food piled on top of hard kibbles with enthusiastic bites.
Exhaling gently, Wyatt doesn’t move, and even from behind him, I swear his posture shifts into a satisfied one.
Slowly, I approach, keeping a healthy distance between us. “What are you doing?”
He glances at me, as if slightly startled, then he gives me a neutral look and keeps his voice quiet enough not to scare the cat away. “Feeding him.”
“Him?”
Wyatt shrugs. “I think it’s a him, anyway.”
I blink back at him, still completely off-center by this small revelation. “You…feed strays?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looks genuinely confused by the question, almost like it should be obvious. “Because he’s hungry, and I caught him climbing up the fire escape before.”
I don’t know why this detail seems so hard to grasp, but I can’t help it. It’s an odd sight, seeing someone like him going out of his way to feed a stray. One that would just be a dirty inconvenience to most.
“You’re a walking contradiction…”
Wyatt snorts at that with a small shake of his head. “Maybe I’m just full of surprises.”
My knee-jerk reaction is to not allow myself to believe that, but given what I’ve seen from him already, it seems more substantiated than I care to admit.
He has been surprising me, even if I shouldn’t care.
With a measured breath, I cross my arms and lean against the windowsill in front of me. “How long has this been happening?”
“A couple months, I’d guess.”
“Months,” I murmur back, watching as the cat eats. “This isn’t a one-time thing then.”
“Nope. It took two weeks for him to let me stand this close without darting off,” he adds, looking at the little creature with more fondness than anticipated.
After a beat, I hum to myself. “You name him yet?”
At this, he scoffs, throwing me an unimpressed glance that seems more on-brand for him. “Don’t push it.”
Despite myself, I smile and keep my eyes on the matted grey fur on the other side of the glass.
Eventually, he finishes eating and moves into a small stretch before settling closer to the window and settling down in a loaf shape like he owns the place.
Wyatt doesn’t move. Instead, he watches while the faint crease between his brows eases away, seemingly glad to know the cat has gotten his fill.
“You’re not worried about getting attached?”
He shrugs again, seeming more noncommittal than his actions are. “He comes and goes. So long as he comes back, I’ll keep putting food out.”
Something about those words lands harder than it should, and neither of us says anything for a long moment.
That silence lingers as the cat’s eyes shift to a squint before slowly closing and resting, paws nestled on his tail, within the windbreak of the balcony. He looks perfectly comfortable, even if he’s still outside.
When the wind stirs through the window, Wyatt glances at me and breaks the quiet. “You should stay warm.”
“You’re worried about me now?” I ask, part teasing, part genuine in my curiosity.
Without hesitation, he meets my gaze, letting those dark eyes say everything before he even needs to. “Always was.”
Those two words stick somewhere inside me; they never should’ve come close to, and regardless of how gently they were spoken, they’re dangerous. This is dangerous.
Further fueling my disbelief, he isn’t cruel, which only makes all of this worse.
My pulse does something traitorous, and I shove the thoughts down before they can get out of hand. But it doesn’t stop my mind from wandering anyway.
Even if I tried to keep distance between us, he’s still close enough for me to need to look up at him, and his frame seems even more imposing from this proximity.
Something in me softens as I take in his features, betrayed by whatever urge I have to lower my defenses, even if that’s the last thing I should do. It absolutely terrifies me.
Silently telling myself it’s just his pretty privilege doing what it surely does best, I turn away from him, forcing myself to put more distance between us.
“This is temporary…” I mumble, more to myself than anything.
“Most things are.”
As much as I want to pause as he says it, I don’t let myself. Instead, I push forward, needing time by myself before I start going insane and losing more of my restraint.
There’s no point in getting used to any of this. Not to him, or the illusion of softness he keeps showing me, intentional or not.
I’m waiting him out…that’s it.
It has to be it.