Page 68 of Game of Love
God…
Having him in my house just added to the shit. I’d never wanted him to have keys to my place even when we were together. It was just a thing I had about myself, where I wanted to know I was the only person with keys and I knew that if I heard my door opening it wouldn’t be Armand, Frankie, Vinny, Freddo, or even Pa.
Just me. Like any normal person, I’d wanted to answer the door when the bell rang or someone knocked.
Instead he had this all-access pass and this morning couldn’t have pissed me off any more because Armand actually came up to my bedroom and sat on the edge of my bed watching me sleep.
I was naked under my sheets and completely freaked out when I saw him. Freaked and creeped because no one I knew thought it was normal to do that.
Honestly, when the other guys came they never did anything like that. They always waited downstairs.
Him though… no.
It was the first time that he’d done that and I suspected it was because of Xander. Xander who was nowhere to be found when I awoke.
I was right in thinking that sleep took him from me. I was right and I knew it would happen. It was just a matter of when. I knew last night was just last night.
Armand only left because Pa came by shortly after I woke up.
Pa came and Armand left when instructed to join the others in their search for leads on last night.
Pa’s presence gave me the chance to get dressed properly.
I went downstairs and was greeted by the aroma of eggs, bacon and French toast.
When I got to the kitchen I noticed Pa had made a full breakfast just like he used to when I was little. He and Ma would make sure they cooked together in the mornings for breakfast and at dinner time. It was a standard thing our families did in Italy. It was bonding.
It was nice.
Pa hadn’t done that in years and seeing him now took me back. It took me back despite the absolute shit that had happened over the last few days.
Yet, when he looked at me that embarrassment he’d sported since he hit me filled his eyes. He could barely look at me.
Different to when I was sixteen, probably because back then I did as I was told without question and hadn’t enraged him the way I had the other day.
“What’s this Pa?” I asked, looking over the exquisite breakfast he’d laid out.
“Making breakfast for my not so little girl,” he answered with a wide grin.
“It smells wonderful.” I nodded and offered a little smile.
He left the stove and came over to me, planting a kiss on my forehead.
I thought he would go back but he took my face and inspected my cheek where he’d hit me.
“I’m sorrybellezza. I shouldn’t have struck you.” He spoke with the remorse that glittered his eyes.
I couldn’t tell him it was okay. I couldn’t say not to worry about it or that I was fine, because I wasn’t.
“Papa, what’s going on?” That was the question of importance. That one. Not anything else.
After last night I thought I was well within my right to ask.
He dropped his hand to his side and went back over to the stove to finish cooking the scrambled eggs.
Ignoring my question, he grabbed one of the large ceramic bowls from the cupboard and started serving the eggs. They were the last thing to be ready.
“This was supposed to be breakfast in bed but Armand spoiled it,” he stated, still ignoring my question. “Like when you were sick. When you were little and had a cold or anything like that, you stopped eating everything during the worst part and when you started getting better you’d always like eggs. Breakfast in bed.”
