Page 155 of Flawed

It's my fault. Too many years of too much deceit is creating her caution.

I can't say I blame her. She's a single mother who would do anything for her child. And if I step back and think about all she had to deal with on her own at such a young age, I'm in awe—especially when she thought I was an Abruzzo.

Zara's amazing. The only complaint I have is how she's treating Chanel. But I plan to put an end to that today.

"What do you think?" I ask her, my stomach jittery. I don't usually care what people think about my place—not that I've had many people visit me over the years.

Zara glances around the suite in my penthouse I thought would be best for her. It's in a different wing than my bedroom. I thought it was best to give her some privacy since she's a teenager and soon to be an adult.

Her expression lights up brighter. "I love it!"

Relief hits me. I point to the wall, stating, "If you want, we can turn that room into a game room so you have more space when your friends come over."

"I can invite my friends here?" she inquires.

"Of course," I state, but I also have my reasons for wanting her to hang out here. If she's here, I can keep my eye on her. I can ensure she's hanging out with a good crowd and not getting into anything bad.

She throws her arms around me. "Thanks, Dad!"

I hug her tight, grateful I finally found out about her. "You're welcome. Should we go to lunch then to the store?"

She retreats. "Sure."

We leave the penthouse and get into my SUV. "Your mom told me you like sushi?"

"Love it," she affirms.

"Great. I know a hole in the wall you're going to love," I claim.

She beams. "What's it called?"

"Sushi."

She cocks her eyebrows. "Original."

I nod. "Yep. But it's amazing. Promise."

Her phone buzzes, and she glances at it, groaning.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"Didn't sound like nothing," I push.

She rolls her eyes, admitting, "It's just my mom."

I decide to hold off on our conversation until we get to the restaurant. I ask, "Is everything okay?"

"She wanted to know if I'll be home for dinner," she replies.

I calculate how long we'll be out and assert, "Tell her I'll have you home no later than six."

Zara tilts her head and looks at me in question.

"What's wrong?"

She cautiously asks, "Can I stay with you?"

---