Page 116 of Cara
And it hits me.
I won, fair and square. No tricks. No deceit.
When Bo says, “I'm proud of you,” I let myself feel the victory.
“Pay up.”
As we stroll across the lawn, Dante, still reveling in his personal victory, reaches out for his gambling recompense. Bo brushes him off until I jump on his back, hearing Dante laugh heartily as I manage to put Xavier’s best man in a chokehold.
Laughter surrounds us while Bo rummages through his pocket for the cash—until I slip up, forgetting where I am, letting my gaze drift around the area.
My smile disappears at the sight of the prison in daylight.
A foreboding place even at this distance. It evokes something inside me that brings clamminess to my skin, the feeling that all of my food is about to be expelled from my body. Bo’s hands loosen their hold on my legs, allowing me to slide down onto the grass.
The construction surrounding the building was not there previously. My two companions are dead quiet.
“Is it being updated?” I ask, my chest tightening.
“No,” Bo says, dropping down next to me. Four years ago, he wouldn’t have touched my shoulder to comfort me like he does now. “X wrecked that place years ago.”
“Why is it still standing?”
“He ordered the demolition a few times. I'm not sure why he’d always pull out last minute.”
Dante sighs, placing his hands on his hips, surveying the ominous building with disdain. “It’s about his father. That’s where he…”
Where he killed him—exactly where his father tried to kill me.
A heavy silence hangs in the air, one I'm not comfortable enduring for long, and thankfully, I don’t have to.
The creaking of the front gate parting draws all our attention to the side of the main house. My eyes absorb the sight of the massive six-foot-three Italian gangster moving through the garden, the sunlight catching the softer colors in his mass of curls. Xavier’s features are stoic and strained, as if he’s worn that expression for so long that he can’t shake it off… until he catches sight of us on the lawn.
And the scowl eases.
Gravity naturally draws me into his embrace, held tightly against his chest as he declares to everyone above me, “In two days, at the Senator’s reelection gala, we’ll show the world who we are… together.”
Sophie
A quilted picnic blanket flutters in the breeze, anchored by a variety of what I imagine would be a child’s perfect meal. A lavish breakfast spread with candies and toys that I picked up today with Dante while Xavier was working out—a ballerina doll and a picture book featuring giraffes, similar to the old stuffed animal he cherishes in his office.
All morning, to ease my nervousness, I cut roses from the bushes, arranging them among the food in an effort to make everything perfect.
“She’s going to love it,” Dante insists.
“She has to,” I respond, soiling the dress as my knees press into the earth. “Shehastolike me.”
“All kids are weird at first with strangers.”
Obsessing over the colorful spread, my heart pounding in my chest, I'm struck by how unfamiliar this feeling is. For as long as I can remember, I never wanted a child. I vehemently rebelled against the idea.
Part of that stemmed from knowing that, to my parents, that was my sole purpose as their child and as a woman.
I hated that.
In that hatred, I saw myself less and less within that life.
And then Xavier happened.
