I knew the second she woke up fifteen minutes ago. I kept the door ajar when I left it a few hours before. I wanted to be there if she needed me, but I also knew that I needed to give her space to wake up on her own and realize where she was.
I expected her to gasp. But there was nothing. Instead, it was just the creak of the bed frame from her sitting up.
I wonder if she knew where she was after I moved her last night. Or maybe she just knew she would end up in my bed eventually. Or it could have been when I held her most of the night.
Once she fell asleep, I pulled her in close, trying to keep the nightmares from getting to her. First it was out of a need to let her know she was safe as I gave her my warmth and strength with my arms wrapped around her as I whispered in her ear that she was okay. And then it was for me. To feelherwarmth sinking into me.
When I awoke, still wrapped around her like a koala to a tree, I pulled myself free and left the bed.
I needed time to think and order food. Lots of food. The joy on her face from me cooking a simple meal last night brought me pure satisfaction. I never knew I needed this. I always thought I would find a woman who was equal to me. And Payton is. But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy taking care of her. Finding a strange kind of pleasure in seeing her taken care of. Taking care of her does something for me too. Seeing her smile at what I provide seems to heal a part of me I thought was broken forever because of what happened in Russia.
“Morning.” Her small smile brightens the entire room as she moves to the kitchen table. Her hair’s in a loose side braid that seems to show that the innocence I thought was lost last night is still there. The braid and her pink cheeks have me focused on her more than I should. She barely makes eye contact with me as she sits down and reaches for the stuffedegg croissant sandwich I had delivered along with the grocery order. I figured she still needs some energy in her, and protein will help with that.
I wait until she’s halfway through her breakfast, which is more brunch than breakfast at this hour, before I tell her what’s happening.
“You won’t be going into work for the weekend.”
She stills mid-bite as she looks up at me.
“But it’s Friday.”
I shrug. “Consider it a long weekend, then.”
She puts the food down and folds her hands in her lap as she looks down. I wait, knowing she’ll speak when she finds her courage. And true to form, she does. And I’m proud that she looks up at me for half of what she says before looking back down again.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” I say firmly so there’s no doubt.
“Then why?”
Now I have to choose my words carefully.
“You were attacked. At my club. A place that should have been safe for anyone, especially those who work for me. Giving you time away is the very least I can do. Plus, I think you need more time to rest fully before you start at it again.”
I watch her take in my words, glancing at me from the side to see I’m not hiding anything in my face. That my words aren’t meant to deceive but to let her know that I hold myself responsible for what happened to her. And if she’s willing, I want to make it up to her in a way I can.
Time off won’t help her clear her debt, but it’s paid time off. Not that she’ll ask. She’ll just assume she has to put in more time. What she doesn’t know is that I’m contemplating that every attack on her meansI’mpaying the debt for her.
“So… what do I do, then?”
I smile softly at her. “Whatever you want.”
“Come in,” I call out following the soft knock on my door and look up. Something tight in my chest loosens at seeing her in my space, a sensation that still hasn’t gone away since the first time it happened.
I watch her take hesitant steps into my office, looking it all over quickly, though I doubt she’s noting much of anything. It’s nothing extreme, but I have more personality in here than the rest of the place. Mostly because I’m in here more often than not.
The view on the right side shows the main street and some of the larger buildings in Manhattan, including the one Bobby owns. Unlike my eldest brother, I prefer lighter tones to the true dark nature of a Mafia lord and picked lighter shades of gray for my desk and chair, pairing it with navy office chairs and a sofa sitting against one wall, facing the TV and bar. The bookcase houses pictures of my childhood and books that I haven’t actually read but plan to. One day. If I find the time.
This ismy space.
Out there? That was the decorator’s space. It was never my own. More like a staging place for guests who occasionally visited.
However, recently I’ve thought about adding something more to it. With Payton in my home, I’m seeing things a bit clearer. And one thing I’ve noticed is how cold the front room is unless she’s in the same space.
I watch her hands. While the rest of her is fascinating to watch, her hands tell the story she tries to hide. No shakes, so her fear is being held at bay, but the way she twists them over each other tells me she’s nervous. Either because of me or what she’s about to ask.
Either way, I don’t give her the easy way out. I just wait for her to figure out which way she wants to go.
