Page 101 of Enzo

Chance would be a fine thing.

Back in the waiting room, Enzo stood. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

There was a door at the back of reception, which led to luxurious rooms, and then beyond the surgical unit itself. The receptionist showed us through to the room we’d be staying in for a few days, and Enzo placed our bags on the bed.

The suite we’d been given was more like a five-star hotel than a recovery room. Plush carpet in a neutral beige absorbed our footsteps as we moved through the space. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Beverly Hills, though privacy glass ensured no one could see in. A king-sized bed dominated one area, with white covers and more pillows than any human needed. The sitting area featured a sofa and two matching armchairs arranged around a glass coffee table.

“This is nicer than anywhere I’ve ever lived,” I murmured, running my hand over the marble countertop of the kitchenette.

Enzo whistled low, and glanced down at his jeans and purple T-shirt, “I am way underdressed for this.”

The bathroom was equally impressive—a rainfall shower, jetted tub big enough for two, heated floors, and a vanity stocked with high-end toiletries. Everything screamed money. There was a menu on the desk, with a list of very mundane things like burgers and then other stuff I had no idea about.

“What the hell is Wagyu?” I asked, squinting at the room service menu.

Enzo leaned over my shoulder, his breath on my neck. “Some fancy beef. Costs more than my rent.”

We both laughed, but it faded, the reality of tomorrow morning settling heavy between us. I set the menu down and moved to the window, staring out at the city lights blinking to life as evening approached.

“Are you scared?” Enzo asked, coming to stand beside me.

I nodded. “Not of the surgery. Well, not just that.” I turned to face him. “What if it doesn’t work? What if I go through all this and they still find me?”

“Then we try something else,” he said, as if we were discussing backup plans for a rained-out picnic rather than my continued existence. “But Killian seems to think this is the answer.” Enzo’s confidence was unwavering, and I envied him that. “New face, new identity. Roman Lowe is dead and buried.”

I turned away from the window, unable to look at the sprawling city anymore. Too many people, too many chances to be recognized.

“What if I don’t recognize myself?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.

Enzo’s expression softened. He reached out and placed his hand on my cheek, his palm warm. “You’ll still be you. The parts that matter won’t change.”

I leaned into his touch, closing my eyes. “Promise you’ll tell me if I look weird.”

His laugh was soft. “I promise. Though I doubt that’s possible.”

We ordered room service—burgers, not Wagyu—but when they arrived, I wasn’t hungry. I had something else on my mind, and it wasn’t food.

Enzo picked up on me not eating and placed his burger back on the plate. “Sweetheart?” he asked.

“I brought something with me, something I want to try.”

“What?”

I went over to my backpack, scarlet with mortification, and lifted out the dildo and lube. “Doc said…” I stopped. “I’ve been trying with toys, and I want to… just once before I’m not me, I want you to…” I was lost for words, and Enzo stood to examine the toy, and then picked up the lube.

“You could try it on me, and see?—”

“No, that’s not me. I’m not a top… I want you to… I need…”

He stopped me talking with a kiss, then tugged me into the bathroom. “Take out your contacts,” he whispered, and waited until I’d done that, blinking them out, and then disposing of these ones. I had more waiting for when I got done with surgery—they couldn’t fix my odd colored eyes without extensive surgery, and the side effects were awful. I’d have to live with contacts for the rest of my life, but I could do that if it meant I lived and was with Enzo.

“Shower,” Enzo murmured.

Enzo helped me strip down, his movements gentle but deliberate. The warm water cascaded over us both as he washed me with careful hands, his touch reverent as if I were something precious. I closed my eyes, letting the sensation of being cared for wash over me.

“Are you sure?” he asked when we were dry, standing beside the massive bed. “We don’t have to do this tonight. There’s no rush.”

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