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The question catches her off-guard. I spent too long on the internet, reading about children. Car seats are a big discussion topic on parenting forums. Apparently, the age when you turn a child around can be quite controversial.
It isn’t something that should annoy me, that we never had these discussions. But it does. She should have involved me in these decisions. Instead of voicing this, I make sure the car seat is tight enough.
“So, do you have a wife or any kids?” she asks.
I hold back my pleasure at her question as I catch her trying to glimpse at my left hand where a ring would sit if I were married. “No kids, no wife. Not yet, at least.”
“Oh.”
I move out of her way so she can get Matteo into his seat. The kid is quiet, but he watches us closely. He watches the way his mom responds to me. When I smile at him, he glances at his mom to make sure he can smile back.
“My name is Enzo. What’s your name, buddy?” I introduce myself. Enzo isn't what I want to say, but it's what I need to.
“Matteo.”
Emma freezes as the name leaves his lips. I deserve an Oscar for the performance I’m putting on. She isn’t exactly subtle as she waits for me to react.
“Matteo. I’ve always liked that name.”
“Thank you.”
Maybe I should be insulted she thinks she can pull this over on me. To think that I can’t do the math and realize he’s the right age to be my kid. Or even look at him and notice the fact he has my face on a smaller body.
Desperation makes people find hope that shouldn’t exist. I’ve seen it when someone ends up on the other side of my gun.
I usher her into her seat before making my way to the driver’s side door. Within seconds, we’re peeling out of the spot in front of the airport pickup. I wave to the parking enforcement officer as we leave.
As soon as the car starts driving, all the doors look. They’ll only unlock from the driver’s side. And, with all the windows made of bulletproof glass, no one gets in or out of this car without my permission.
Can’t have her try to run away from me at a stoplight. She wouldn’t leave without Matteo, and he’s safely secured in the back.
She presses her body into the door, trying to put as much distance between the two of us as possible. As if she doesn’t trust herself to get any closer to me. Like putting distance between us would stop her from wanting me so much.
She’s lying to herself.
The night I met her, she had been a collection of contradictions. A gorgeous body wrapped in a conservative dress. A playful rebellion in the way she reached for me, and a guilty conscience as she peaked over her shoulder to look for her father. A blushing virgin and an insatiable whore. I couldn’t tell whether she wanted to reach for me or if she wanted to run away.
She presses her body against the door of the car. It’s like she thinks if she can put enough distance between the two of us, I won’t be able to tell her secrets. Her hands are woven tightly together. She can’t trust them. If she lets them free, then they’ll reach for me like she’s so desperately craving. She won’t look at me, keeping her eyes trained out the window.
“Will you drop me off at my father’s house? I can take one of his cars to the hospital,” she requests. Her voice is so low it’s just above a whisper.
I don’t answer her. I won’t lie to her and tell her I’m going to allow her to go to her father’s house. A lie by omission isn’t the same. She can believe we’re heading to her father’s house. It’s in the same general direction as ours, so she doesn’t realize for a while we aren't heading there.
“Oh, that was the exit,” she says as we speed past it.
“No. We’re heading in the right direction.”
“What are you talking about? My father’s house…”
“That’s not where we’re going, sweetheart.”
She inhales sharply but says nothing. Instead, she settles into the seat, an uncomfortable silence falling over us. I can see her glancing in the rearview mirror at Matteo. He’s observing us. Watching. I hoped my boy would ignore what was happening in the front seat, but he's an observer by nature.
It’s an excellent trait to have.
Emma assesses the situation. She glances outside the car and at the locked doors. Her eyes move over me as if there is a chance in hell she could take me on. Then she glances at Matteo in the backseat and deflates. Starting a struggle in the car would put him in danger. Neither of us wants that.
“Where are you taking me?”
