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It feels like only a few seconds pass, but when I open my eyes again, Luca is tying a knot in a silk necktie, standing in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. Apparently, I must have drifted back off. “You’re not having meetings with any women, are you?” I ask, propping my head on my hand and drinking in the sight of him wearing a charcoal gray suit and crisp white shirt.
“Uh… no. Why would I?” he asks, smirking at my reflection before turning to me.
“I don’t want some random woman falling for you, looking like you do.” I make sure to growl a little the way he always does when feeling jealous or possessive, which is pretty much most of the time.
“It doesn’t matter what unfortunate woman falls for me. They might as well not exist.” He strolls my way and leans down for a kiss, smiling down at me. “I’m taken. There isn’t another pussy in existence that could possibly compare to yours,” he announces, backing away again.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I murmur, narrowing my eyes.
“That’s how I meant it. Oh, and do me a favor.” He offers a sexy smirk as he turns to me, framed in the doorway. “Stay this way. I’m going to want more of that world-class pussy when I come back later.”
“Stay like this, you mean?” I stretch my arms over my head until the sheet falls away from my body. His growl makes me giggle, though it also sparks fresh heat between my legs. I cannot get enough of him.
“You’re a menace.” He takes one last look, then turns away with a miserable groan, and I laugh to myself again when I hear him grumbling as he leaves the house.
As lovely an idea as it is, lying in bed all day and waiting for him to come back and ravish me is not very practical. I get up, quickly strip the bed, then toss the sheets into the wash before heading for the shower. It’s easy to sing my heart out on a morning like this, and I do. I sing until the entire bathroom is full of steam and the water starts to run a little cooler.
I feel like a new woman when I emerge, freshly scrubbed and blissfully happy. The date with Luca and the few days that have passed since then have been like a dream. It helps that the house is chock full of luscious roses, reminding me of that night and all the pains Luca took to make me happy. That alone is enough to touch me deeply and make me smile fondly as I go through the motions of drying my hair and getting dressed.
My good mood lasts until I grab my phone from the nightstand, where it’s been sitting face down since I left it there last night. Everything comes crashing down at the sight of a missed call from Mom.
Her timing is nothing if not impeccable. Now I’m like a deflated balloon, dragging my feet out to the kitchen to make coffee. She left a voicemail, too, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to listen to it yet. I need a little caffeine first.
Maybe a lot.
There’s only so long I can put off the inevitable. Fixing myself a cup, I sit at the counter and offer a silent prayer to whoever might be listening as I pull up the voicemail, touching the play button.
“Emilia Jane, enough is enough.” She launched right into it, didn’t she? Why waste time? “I am going to have to go down to the station and start raising a little hell if I don’t get some answers from you. Where are you? Why have you not been home yet? Why are your things still missing? What sort of job do they have you on that requires you to move half of the things out of your apartment? I’m going to ask questions, and I’m not going to stop until I get answers. So either you call me back and tell me what I want to know, or I speak to your supervisor. Make your choice.”
As if there is one.
My hands shake hard enough to make gripping the phone a challenge. I call her back right away, hoping like hell she hasn’t gone ahead with whatever cockeyed scheme she has in mind. For once, I need her to be rational. I should’ve known that was too much to ask.
“There you are,” she practically shouts, answering on the first ring. “So that’s what it took? Threatening to go over your head and talk to your boss?” Her shrill voice leaves me wincing. I think I’m getting a headache.
“Could you please not yell at me like I’m the enemy?” I demand, forcing myself to take a deep breath before I lose it.
“Could you please not go out of your way to avoid my calls and messages? What am I supposed to think? You could’ve been dead for all I knew. Why have you not gone home?”
“Here’s a question for you,” I counter. I sound much too angry—because I am—but there are certain things I can’t pretend to be okay with. “Why do you keep going to my apartment? I was not even aware you still had the spare key, much less that you come and go as you please.”
“Is it wrong for me to want to keep you safe and healthy?” she asks in that saintly voice that always makes me want to shriek until I lose my voice.
“So you break into my apartment?”
“I’m using your spare key,” she reminds me. “I would hardly call that breaking in.”
“You are there without my permission or even my knowledge, Mom.”
“Since when do I need permission to check in on my child?” she asks, and the worst part is, I think she believes herself.
“Since I signed the lease, Mom. I’m an adult. You can’t go in and out of my home without me knowing about it.” God forbid somebody from the Vitali crew is watching. A sickening chill washes over me and leaves me fighting back nausea. “Please, promise me you will not do that again. It’s important.”
“More secrecy?” she asks. “More mysteries?”
Help me with this woman. “Mom, I’m serious. It’s part of my job. I am a detective. Don’t do it again. Please,” I beg, and I’m not above sounding scared because, well, I am.
She keeps me waiting a second before breaking her silence. “You are starting to frighten me, Emilia.” There’s no more shrill demand. She’s somber, which is somehow worse. “This isn’t you. You aren’t secretive. You don’t disappear for weeks at a time. We used to talk almost every day. What’s changed?”
