Chapter 19 Bitsy #2
Wyatt didn't say a word to validate her shame.
Instead, his large hands simply began moving the heavy bins and bags, transferring them into the spacious cargo area of his SUV with methodical, efficient care.
He treated her belongings with a quiet respect that made her chest ache.
Within minutes, the metal cage she had been living in was entirely empty.
He slammed her trunk shut, locked the sedan, and guided her back into the warmth of his passenger seat.
The drive to the restaurant was short, the silence between them heavy but no longer terrifying. Wyatt parked outside a charming, low-lit brick building with a green awning that read Luca's.
The moment Wyatt pushed the heavy wooden door open, the rich, intoxicating aromas of garlic, crushed tomatoes, and fresh baked dough wrapped around Bitsy like a physical embrace.
Even though she'd had a warm meal at lunch, the savory scent made her mouth water all over again.
The hostess led them to a secluded, high-backed leather booth in the corner, offering them a sense of complete privacy.
"A sweet tea for the lady," Wyatt ordered seamlessly as soon as the waiter arrived, "and I'll take a glass of the house Chianti."
As the waiter disappeared, Wyatt slid the menu across the table toward her. "Look it over, Bitsy. But I highly recommend the lasagna. It’s the best in the city."
Bitsy looked down at the script print of the menu, the prices making her eyes blink rapidly. "The lasagna sounds really good, sir," she said softly, glad to defer the choice to him.
When the waiter returned with their drinks, he placed a basket of steaming, fresh-baked bread between them, the crust glistening with a light brush of olive oil and sea salt.
Wyatt immediately took a piece, slicing it open and spreading a thick layer of soft butter across the steaming crumb before placing it on her bread plate.
"Take a few bites of that while it's hot," he instructed, his tone sliding back into that steady, protective Daddy mode that made her feel instantly looked after.
He leaned back slightly, keeping his gaze fixed directly on her.
"We are going to lay out how this works, Bitsy.
You've spent a long time looking out for yourself, but that stops now.
Moving forward, I am taking charge of your care and your schedule.
You have a choice to accept it, but realistically, you need the stability I am offering, and I am not going to let you run yourself into the ground anymore.
You are a brilliant analyst, but you are incredibly reckless with your own well-being. That ends tonight."
Bitsy took a bite of the warm, buttery bread, the flavor so intense it almost made her weep.
She chewed quietly, her mind racing. She was incredibly attracted to him—to his strength, his absolute control, the terrifying safety he offered.
But it was so much, so fast. "It's just hard for me to understand why you're doing all this, sir. "
"You are my little girl," Wyatt said, his voice dropping into a register that was purely for her. "And a Daddy takes care of his little girl. You don't have to understand it yet. You just have to accept it."
Their salads arrived shortly after, followed by two massive, piping-hot portions of lasagna. They ate in a comfortable, rhythmic silence, the occasional dialogue centering only on minor office logistics. With a quiet, possessive focus, Wyatt ensured she finished every single bite on her plate.
By the time the waiter cleared their dishes, Bitsy felt warmer and fuller than she could ever remember being.
"Would we care for any dessert tonight? Our limoncello cake is spectacular," the waiter asked, hovering by the table.
Bitsy’s eyes widened slightly, a sudden, bright spark of longing hitting her chest. Limoncello cake.
She couldn't even remember the last time she had allowed herself the luxury of a dessert.
It had been years. But the adult survival mechanism in her brain instantly slammed the breaks.
Wyatt had already bought an apartment, paid her rent, moved her things, and bought her a massive dinner. Asking for more felt greedy. Pathetic.
She forced her expression to go flat, shaking her head quickly. "No, thank you. I'm fine."
Wyatt watched her face, his dark eyes tracking the exact micro-expression of desire and the immediate, defensive shutdown that followed. "We'll take a slice of the limoncello cake," he told the waiter, his voice completely overlapping her refusal.
As the waiter nodded and walked away, Wyatt leaned across the table, his expression hardening into something deeply loving but entirely serious. "Look at me, Bitsy."
She lifted her eyes, her lips trembling slightly.
"I want you to listen to me very carefully," Wyatt rumbled, his large hand resting flat on the table.
"You are never to deny yourself something you want out of fear of imposing on me.
If you want a dessert, you vocalize it. If you have a preference, or if you need emotional reassurance, you speak up.
I have more than enough resources to give you absolutely anything you need, materially, physically, and emotionally.
Your job is to be honest with me. Do you understand? "
"I just... I didn't want to be a burden," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You've done so much."
"You are not a burden. You are a joy to take care of," he said firmly as the cake was placed between them. "Now, eat your cake."
She did. The sweet, tart flavor exploded on her tongue and filled her with a deep sense of indulgence that left her entirely pliant by the time Wyatt paid the bill and led her back to the SUV.
The drive to the large department store a few blocks away was quiet, Wyatt’s hand once again holding hers securely.
When they walked through the automatic sliding doors, the bright fluorescent lights and massive aisles felt overwhelming.
Wyatt grabbed a shopping cart, pushing it forward as he kept a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Get anything you think you might need, and several things you simply want," he instructed. "Hygiene, clothes, whatever catches your eye."
Bitsy walked methodically through the aisles, her fingers tracing full-sized bottles of lavender body wash, shampoo, and conditioner.
She added a high-quality razor, shaving cream, and a few basic makeup items to the cart—sticking to practical necessities.
But as they transitioned into the home goods section, her hand brushed against an incredibly soft, plush throw blanket hanging from a display rack.
She stopped, her fingers lingering in the deep softness, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
Wyatt didn't even hesitate. His massive arm reached out, grabbing the plush blanket and dropping it right into the wire basket of the cart.
"Wyatt, please," she protested softly, her adult brain trying to fight back. "It's just a want. It's unnecessary."
"I want you to have it because you liked it," Wyatt said, his voice final. "Keep moving, little girl. Pick out some things you want, or I'm going to start filling this cart with items you might not like."
The quiet threat of his control made her stomach flutter.
She realized, with a wave of exhausted gratitude, that he wasn't going to let her deny yourself.
She walked to the candle aisle, lifting a few glass jars and inhaling deeply before settling on one that smelled strongly of sweet jasmine and honeysuckle.
Next, she selected a pair of thick, ice-blue cotton pajamas and a matching pair of soft, fluffy slippers.
As they bypassed the endcaps near the clothing section, Bitsy’s breath hitched.
Sitting on a middle shelf was a small, plush octopus.
It was a vibrant shade of purple and teal, with massive, glittery plastic eyes that caught the store lights.
It looked entirely childish, entirely meant for a toddler, but a fierce, protective pull hit her chest. She stared at it, her fingers twitching inside her sleeves.
Wyatt tracked her gaze, reached over, and placed the purple octopus directly on top of the plush blanket in the cart without saying a single word. Bitsy’s face flushed a deep, beautiful pink, her heart swelling so fast it hurt.