Page 17 of Mine to Love
I groan and catch myself fidgeting with the drawstring on my gray pajama pants. Though, as I hear Delilah rustle in the covers, I immediately cover my mouth with my hand and remain still and quiet until I’m sure she’s settled back into sleep. Knowingshe needs her rest, I retreat from the bags—which will have to be dealt with another day—and quietly ease out of the room. I’m too riled up to get into bed without waking her. And I remember seeing some herbal tea in the pantry this morning. Maybe it will help me relax.Relax, yes. That’s what I need to do. Though, as I consider the fragility of mine and Delilah’s predicament, I find it even more difficult not to stress.
I want to feel safe here. I want to feel at home here. I want to feel like it’s okay to heal, like this is a step forward for me—for us—especially considering the growing attachment Delilah is forming with Gio and Ru. But, if I can’t do the job, then it all goes away—our home, our clothes, the money Gio’s promised me, everything. I suppose that makes it impossible to feel truly safe. This is a job, and it could disappear at a moment’s notice.
With that thought weighing on me, I softly shut the large wooden door to our bedroom behind me. Turning around, I let out the deep breath I didn’t even realize I was holding and take a moment to assess my surroundings. There’s a relatively large open yet dark space on the second floor between mine and Delilah’s room and Gio’s. At least, I presume the room with a perfectly matching door directly across from ours is his. I wonder if he’s in there now. I mean it’s late, easily 11 p.m. or after, given when we left the French Quarter.Crap.What if I wake him? Is it weird for me to go downstairs without him? I mean, people saymake yourself at home, but they don’t really mean it.
I turn around and reach for the handle to mine and Delilah’s room but stop myself before retreating. My brain is even more of a mess than when I walked out. Feeling another groan rise in my throat, I stifle it and spin back around. I can’t go back in there, not yet at least. But I can’t stay here either. I don’t want to risk waking Gio and the darkness filling the space between us is growing too uncomfortable, suffocating even, to remain in it. Ihave a thing about the dark, probably because of my time spent in that closet.
Taking a step forward, I direct my attention toward the staircase. There’s two actually—one headed downstairs and one that goes up to a third floor that I’ve yet to explore. In truth, I haven’t done much exploring at all. I suppose that’ll begin tomorrow as well.
As I make my way down the stairs, I consider the possibility that I’m overthinking. Gio has been kind and generous. He said he would take care of us. And I doubt he’d be so quick to cast me and Delilah out after buying us all these things. Perhaps I’m putting more pressure on myself than is necessary. But it’s hard for me to understand all of this, process it. I suppose our shopping excursion put off the processing and now everything is bubbling up all at once. After everything I’ve been through, it’s not easy for me to believe a man’s promises. And I still don’t understand why he picked me, of all people, for this position. And then there’s the less confusing reason for my overthinking and fears oozing from the inside out—Clive.
Being triggered is one thing. It’s a very real dilemma for me and one I don’t know how to overcome. But being unqualified and incapable is another. Gio hired me to do what I’ve essentially been doing for years—cooking and cleaning. Though this is on a much larger scale, given the size of the house. But still, I shouldn’t feel so unqualified and incapable, but I do because of Clive. He was so particular. He wanted everything a certain way. There was no room for error. And mistakes, such as a burned entrée, a foul smell in the kitchen, too must dust on the shelves—the list goes on and on—were all met with violence and verbal degradation.
Years of experiencing such treatment,such trauma, have created two warring emotions inside me. The first is my desire to flee because of my belief that Gio is not who he seems to beand that his kindness and generosity will run out, or perhaps that it’s a ruse altogether. This fear, justified or not, is one of the main reasons I saidnoin the first place. But now that I’ve agreed there’s the second emotion, which is my desire to please him both out of fear of losing the sense of security this arrangement could provideandof upsetting him and enduring the wrath that may be lurking beneath his polished, stoic surface.
Perhaps, even still, there is another reason for my nerves, overthinking, and desire to please. Perhaps I also desire to do a good job because I want to prove to myself that I can do it. I can keep a clean house. I can cook good meals without drawing a complaint. I can provide for my daughter.I amworthy of respect and kindness.
As I near the bottom of the staircase, I know everything I’m feeling right now is because of Clive, because of my past. I know none of it is healthy or, perhaps, even fair—to me or to Gio. But that knowledge doesn’t stop me from having these fears, however contradictory or even imaginary they are. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I pause and close my eyes as memories of Clive bounce from the back of my mind to the front. “Imaginary,” I whisper.
Gio is not Clive. Clive was a predator, an asshole. He was looking for a reason to hurt me. I didn’t deserve his harshness. He was not normal, and neither was our marriage. That’s not how all men act. My father was an example of that, if no one else. I recite these things to myself internally and take another deep breath. The recitation gives me enough resolve to open my eyes and continue to the kitchen. Though, as I do, the warm glow of a lamp draws my attention to the living room. And it’s there, seated on one side of the inset booth which is framed by an arched window overlooking the front of the property, that I find Gio.
I come to a sudden stop at the sight of him. He has his back to me as he plays a game of chess against himself. He wears a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, which takes me a bit by surprise considering I’ve only really seen him in darker colors. His dark hair glistens in the soft light of the lamp, letting me know it’s still damp from his shower. Those must be his pajamas, and this must be part of his nightly routine, which I risk interrupting.
I’m not sure if he heard me coming down the stairs and is just ignoring me because he wants to be alone or if he hasn’t heard me at all. If Ru were awake, she surely would’ve alerted him, but her motionless paw hanging over the armrest of the cream-colored sectional suggests she’s out for the night,whichis what I should be. Waking Delilah is one thing, disturbing Gio, or making him bear witness to my mental scramble is another.
Quietly, I take a step back and turn to retreat up the stairs. Though, as I place my foot on the first step, it lets out a whine so painfully drawn out, I scrunch my face and pinch my eyes closed. “Forget something?” I hear Gio say.Damn.Quickly, I collect myself, or at least try to, and turn around once more to find Gio, with his eyes still on the chessboard, waiting for my response.
“Oh, no,” I say, moving from the staircase slowly. “I just…I was going to fix a cup of tea, but then I saw you and I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Though there’s still a bit of distance between us and the lighting is dim, I see Gio’s lips draw up into a small smile. Shifting his attention from the chessboard, he looks at me and I see his smile touch his eyes. The gentleness in his features allows the nerves dancing in my stomach to calm. “I would never classify you as a disturbance, Darcy. Please, make your tea and come join me.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he returns his attention to his game before I can, and I decide it’s better to just comply than to argue. I suppose, even after today, I’m still a bit nervousaround him—at least, being alone with him. But maybe this will be good. The more time I spend with him, the more comfortable I’ll become. At least, I hope. And I can get a better idea as to his expectations for me. Not to mention, I could really use that cup of tea.
I nod to myself and continue to the kitchen. Finding the tea in the pantry—Lavender Chamomile, to be exact—I decide to grab two tea bags instead of just one. There’s already a kettle atop the stove, which saves me the time of having to search for one and allows me to remain as quiet as possible while fixing us both a cup. Though, the layer of dust covering it suggests it has only been used for decoration up until this point. Maybe he doesn’t even like tea. What if making him a cup is just wasteful, and he’ll begrudgingly drink it when he’d prefer something else?
As I wipe away the dust on the kettle, I consider asking him if he’d like a cup or something else to drink. But, as I peek in his direction, I see a wrinkle creasing his forehead, suggesting he’s deep in thought. It’s then that he moves one piece on the opposite side of the board, clicks the timer on the little booth table, and then returns his attention to the pieces in front of him. Hmm. Interesting. I’ve never seen someone play chess by themselves. It’s an unusual way of spending one’s alone time. The fact that he seems so comfortable doing it suggests he’s been doing it for a while, which tells me he’s used to being alone. I suppose that’s something I can relate to.
Although I have Delilah, I’m no stranger to solitude and I quite enjoy it. Before Clive was laid off, there were weeks at a time when he’d been gone on a job. I suppose that level of solitude—not to mention the utter lack of resources to leave—is what kept me there for as long as it did.
“Everything alright?” It’s then that Gio’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I realize I’ve been standing still, staring into space.
“Oh, um, yes,” I say, shaking the thoughts of the past from my mind. Quickly, I finish wiping down the kettle and fill it with water. As I turn from the sink to place the kettle on the gas stovetop, I find Gio still watching me. The wrinkle in his forehead is still present, and I wonder what he must be thinking. To keep my mind from assuming or worrying, I break the silence between us and ask, “Would you like a cup?”
At that, Gio’s facial features relax as do his shoulders—the muscles of which seem big and tense enough to rip through his thin t-shirt. “That would be lovely, Darcy. Thank you.”
16
Darcy approaches wearinggray pajama pants and a matching long-sleeve button-down. Her face is free of any makeup and the ends of her long blonde hair are still a little damp from her shower. I do my best to avoid tracing the curves of her body with my eyes and remain focused solely on her beautiful face. As she gently places my cup of hot tea on the edge of the wooden table, she skillfully avoids eye contact with me, prompting me to shift my attention from her to the teacup. As I do, I inhale the herbal scents of the brew, which are perfectly complimented by the sweet scent of her skin.God, she smells amazing.Feeling saliva pool in my mouth from her mere proximity, I quickly swallow and thank her for the tea.
“You’re welcome,” she says, her voice mild and meek. Then, with the same shyness, she sets her own teacup down and slides onto the booth bench directly across from me. Finally, as she settles in, she lifts her eyes to mine, and I’m not sure if I should hold her gaze or redirect my attention to the chessboard in front of me. I could look at her for hours,forever, but I don’t want to risk making her uncomfortable. And the longer I hold her gaze, the more nervous I notice her become.
Her lips part and she fidgets with her fingers in her lap. So, I shift my attention to my teacup and take a sip of the warm, soothing liquid, prompting her to do the same. “It’s very good,” I say, after taking a few sips. “Perfect for a night like this.”
“A night like this?” she asks as she continues to sip from her cream-colored cup.
I wave her off and redirect my focus to the chess pieces in front of me, knowing I can’t tell her much. I can’t tell her I’m worried about a former hookup and leader of one of the world’s most dangerous criminal organizations potentially breaking her alliance with my equally formidable—although somewhat fractured and unstable—criminal organization. And even if I could, I probably wouldn’t. A man shouldn’t burden a woman with such things. It’s my job, any man’s job, to eliminate the stress in his woman’s life, to free her from worry, and to make sure she is calm, comfortable, and happy at all times. At least, that’s what I hope I can do for Darcy. I want her to be able to exist in a bubble of protection and pleasure, a bubble I will personally safeguard.
“Just a lot on my mind—work related,” I finally say. “I’m struggling to put my mind to rest.” It’s then that I make my next move and click the timer.
