The pillowcase against my cheek is soft and cool, and my body snuggles into the feeling.
A girl could get used to this.
My eyes slide open, squinting against the sunlight creeping past the heavy floor-length drapes covering the windows.
It’s Nero’s room. In Nero’s gigantic house.
Or as he calls it, our house.
I can’t believe how casually he said it last night. Like it’s actually mine, too. Like this is totally normal and something people do every day.
Meet a guy.
Have sex twice.
Fall in love.
Move from your tiny crummy apartment to this multi-million-dollar house and claim partial ownership.
Then live happily ever after. With the minor detail of people trying to sabotage us.
Or something like that.
I stretch my arm out in front of me, smoothing it across the unruffled bedding on the other side of the mattress.
My chest gives a funny clench, thinking of Nero out all night. But it’s not from jealousy, it’s from worry.
After King called while we were eating tacos, and after Nero made a comment about inviting King’s sister, Nero told me about the woman, Nikki. He told me that the same beautiful woman who had her hands all over him, was the one who slid the envelope under my door.
A wave of possessiveness made me grip Nero’s arm. I didn’t care that we’d worked out what happened at the party. It didn’t matter that we were stronger than ever. I just didn’t want him to go to her. I didn’t want her laying her eyes on my man ever again. Because even though Nero didn’t say anything about her motivation, I knew it was personal.
But before I could object Nero gripped the back of my neck and dragged my mouth to his.
“What’s mine is off limits. You’re mine. And people need to understand the consequences of what that means.”
With no way to argue, I did as he told me to do, by finishing my tacos and going to bed.
My fingers tap on the comforter.
I want to call him, or text him, or do something to find out if he’s okay. Talking to that bitch shouldn’t have taken all night. My teeth bite down on my lip. I have to trust that doesn’t mean anything bad happened.
Getting up, I decide to be patient. For all I know, he could be somewhere in this house, working on his laptop, or doing whatever it is a mobster with a security company does.
My feet barely make a sound on the thick rug that extends out from under the bed, as I pad over to my bag, still sitting in front of the closet.
I was too tired last night to unpack my things, or take a shower, so I have to dig through the unorganized contents of the duffel until I’ve found my nice leggings and an oversized long sleeve tee.
I found the shirt years ago––and being a pastel purple, it’s not my usual neutral colors, but I thought it made my eyes look bluer––and it’s become my favorite item of clothing.
Carrying my bundle into the massive bathroom, I instantly second-guess the outfit I just choose.
This house is so fancy, so grand, I’m not sure how to act. Do people wear leggings in houses like this? Or do they wear pencil skirts and blouses?
Dropping everything onto the ten-foot-long vanity, I blow out a breath. It’s not like I own a pencil skirt. Or anything that would be referred to as a blouse… Nero is pretty much always in a suit, but maybe at home he’ll be more relaxed. And if not, there’s not really anything to do about it now anyways.
Resigned to my poorly dressed fate, I reach into the shower to turn on the water. Then I pause because there are several levers and knobs.
The marble shower stall is big enough for half a dozen people, and more showerheads for twice that many people sticking out of the walls.
“Okay.” The word comes out slowly.
First challenge of the day, figure out how to take a shower.
Picking a handle, I twist it, then jump back when my arm gets doused in a spray from above. So, a dozen and one showerheads, since I didn’t see the giant round one hanging down from the ceiling.
After too many tries, I finally have a normal amount of water jetting out of the front wall and at a temperature just below scalding.
Stripping my clothes off, I leave them on the floor and step into the steam.
And groan.
It’s not like I didn’t have hot water at my apartment, but it never got quite hot enough and never lasted long enough to take the long languid showers I craved.
So, with no shame at all, I stand under the water, not scrubbing or lathering or rinsing. Not doing anything at all except enjoying the water pressure.
The heat melts the aches in my muscles, and as my hair gets soaked through, the constant stress pressing against my temples begins to fade.
I know this shouldn’t be so easy. And I’m not delusional enough to think that there won’t be any more hard days in my life. But for once––for-fucking-once––fate has decided to gift me with something, rather than take something away. And I’m going to hold onto it with both hands.
Nero loves me.
My lungs squeeze.
Someone loves me.
My heart swells.
Someone chased me.
My knees buckle, and I brace a hand on the wall as I lower myself, until I’m sitting on the warm wet tile.
My greatest fear, since I ran away from home, was Arthur or my mother finding me. I checked every dark doorway. I slept with a knife next to my bed for years. I’d wake up crying, begging them not to take me back. I didn’t want them to come after me. I dreaded the possibility. But…
I tip my face down and suck in a breath, the water streaming over me.
But as bad as it would be for them to find me, it hurt that they never even seemed to try. It left me with a vast emptiness in my chest.
I would’ve taken my own life before I went back into that house. But to be so unwanted. So… disposable.
A true sob tears out of my chest.
Nero came for me.
Nero wouldn’t let me go.
He’ll never let me go.
The relief of not having to spend the rest of my life alone is so consuming I feel like I might drown in it.
Nero might be crazy. But he’s mine. And he loves me. And even if it’s wrong, I love him too.
I tip my head back, letting the water chase the tears off my face.
I’ll never be alone again.
Nero standing in my doorway.
Nero walking into the café.
Nero pulling my body against his at a concert.
Nero washing my body in my small, cramped shower.
Nero breaking into my apartment to make sure I don’t leave.
Nero telling me he loves me. Holding my hand in front of his men. Calling it our home.
I allow one more shuddering breath. One more moment of indulgence. Before I shake my head.
No more crying.
Using my feet, I scoot back until my face is out of the direct spray.
Crying is exhausting, and even though that was a quick little bout, I’m ready to crawl back into that big comfortable bed.
I need to collect myself and do the showering part of taking a shower.
I’m shifting my weight, getting into a kneeling position, when I see it. The recessed shelves built into the wall.
One is above my position, but the other is right at eye level. And a sound between a laugh and a choked cry tumbles out of me when I reach out and pick up the bottle of rose scented body wash. Next to it are three sets of very expensive looking shampoo and conditioner. All the bottles are shades of pink and they’re all rose scented. And next to all of that is a fancy looking rose hips face wash and two big jars of body scrub, also rose.
I bet when I get out and dig through the cabinets, I’ll find lotion to match the body wash.
Arching my neck, I look at the contents of the shelf above mine. No surprise that the bottles are all men’s products, except for a small, mostly empty bottle of red liquid tucked into the corner.
And I smile, because I know it was fuller than that when he stole it from me.
