So many questions sat on the tip of my tongue.
Is it normal for her to bring Enzo’s guests breakfast?
Does he have guests frequently?
I didn’t want to interrogate her and make it awkward, so I kept those questions to myself. Then she left.
I devoured the best omelet of my life and drank the latte.
The news hadn’t changed from last night.
The president was alive and recovering from surgery. The person who’d shot him was on the loose.
My posture straightened when the vice president stepped in front of a podium, surrounded by reporters. Brooks stood to his side. I set down my latte and rubbed my chin as the VP spoke, telling the American people to remain calm and that no terrorism was welcome in this country.
Brooks nodded with every word the VP said, but I could see it.
The crack in his armor this time.
That perfect, polished manner was dead. He didn’t stare into the cameras with sadness. He stared into them with suspicion, like he knew whoever had done it was watching. His eyes screamed every warning that he’d get his revenge.
When I had enough of hearing the same stories repeated, I turned off the TV and looked around, unsure what to do next. I had no clothing here. No toothpaste, deodorant, or makeup. Literally nothing.
That meant it was time to return to Enzo’s closet for today’soutfit. The smell of him drifted through the air, and I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing a bottle of his cologne and spraying my hair with it.
The walk-in closet was organized impeccably. Shirts and hoodies hung, organized by color and length. Same with trousers and jeans.
I pulled a shirt free from a hanger and brought it to my face, taking a deep sniff. I opened the drawers, finding boxer briefs and socks in one. Another with sweatpants and shorts. One with swim trunks, another with tees, and the last with trays of watches and jewelry.
I stripped out of his sweats and grabbed a fresh set and a shirt. Just as I was leaving, I stopped, backtracked, and stole a pair of fresh socks that I knew wouldn’t fit.
My next stop was his bathroom for a shower.
Like everything else, the bathroom was yet another sign of their wealth. I opened the glass shower door to turn on the water, letting it warm up as I splashed water over my face. I searched through the bathroom drawers for a spare toothbrush.
“Jackpot,” I muttered when finding a new one still in the packaging.
I used his charcoal toothpaste and checked the water temperature before snatching a fresh towel and setting it on the hook. The warm streams from the massive showerhead felt like heaven against my skin.
I’d grown up taking not only cold but timed showers, five minutes max. That never gave me enough time to even wash my hair. I often didn’t have shampoo anyway. My mother had refused to share hers.
I shook my head, telling myself not to go back to that place. I was here, inthisshower.
Tilting my head back, I shut my eyes as water splashed over my face.
When I lowered it, my eyes met bottomless brown ones.
Thirty-Nine
Enzo
I stoodacross from a soaking wet Blair in the shower.
What a fucking sight.
She looked ethereal, standing there.
Like the mural on my ceiling, she was the good angel in the light. And I was the dark one, bathing in the darkness.
