Page 167 of Hexed
Enzo wasn’t lying when he said the furniture would be here today, because as soon as I pick items, Vivian is on her phone, and then they’re here within hours, showing up like magic.
By the end of the day, right after sunset, she’s gone, and the apartment is filled with new things. Nice things. And most importantly, thingsIpicked and that I know Aria never would.
Scotty and Bastien are back, having gone to the grocery store and bought enough food to feed an army, and we’re all in the open kitchen right off the living room.
Scotty’s cooking dinner—his homemade meatballs—and Bastien is sitting at the island next to me.
It’s comfortable, and for the first time in forever, it feels like I have a place. A family. Like I’mhome. It doesn’t have to do with blood—not really—and maybe that’s where I’ve always gotten it wrong. I’ve been searching for things in the wrong places. But there’s a part of me just waiting for the other shoe to drop, and that makes it impossible to grasp the comfort fully.
It’s rare that good things last, and people are great at being their own downfalls, myself included.
Scotty’s droning on about some new people who moved in a few floors down, but I’m not paying close enough attention to care about what he’s saying.
“Let me ask you something, kid.” Bas finally cuts him off. “How the hell do you know so much random shit?”
“I pay attention, Bastien. Something you should try every once in a while, you know? It’s good to listen to your surroundings. Women love a listener.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Scotty stops forming his meatballs and turns to Bastien with a frown. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that. We’ve talked about this a hundred times already.”
“Yeah, Bas. Be nice to Scotty.” I reach over and smack him on the arm.
He gives me a wide-eyed look and then sits back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the countertop.
“What did you two all day anyway?” I ask.
Scotty shrugs. “Just burned daylight.”
“Burning daylight?” I ask, because what the hell does that mean.
“You know…shooting the shit. Wasting the day away until night falls and the real fun can begin.” He waggles his brows and then asks, “So what’s up? You all moved in now, or what?”
“Like I’d tell you, the world’s biggest gossip,” I joke. But I don’t feel the amusement.
What am I going to do, move to New York and become a mob wife?
He pats the meatball he’s forming and grins. “That hurts, V. Honest. You’re killing me. I gotta deal with this knucklehead all day”—he gestures to Bastien—“and now I deal with you too? How’s a guy supposed to feel the love with all this animosity?”
“I’m not focusing on things I can’t control, Scotty. I’m only focusing on the right here and now.”
He purses his lips and bobs his head. “E know you feel that way?”
I studiously avoid Bastien’s gaze. “You let me worry about Enzo.”
Bastien snorts.
I glare. “Cut it out. Focus on your make-believe stories, not on me.”
He rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in a surrendering gesture.
Faintly, I hear an elevator ding, and Scotty looks into the hallway, then jerks his chin at me. “Better go see who it is. You’re the queen of the castle, babe.”
“What if it’s somebody here to kill us?” I’m only half joking. I don’t really like that an elevator opens directly into the penthouse, despite it only being accessible by a key.
Scotty laughs. “Then I guess you’ll die and give us time to either escape or be prepared.”
“That’s not funny,” Bastien says.
