Page 86 of Loyalty

Siena smiled to herself as she rinsed off the bowl. For as fit as John was, she couldn’t exactly imagine him binging on a package of cookies.

But what did she know?

Siena went about drying the dishes and putting them all away. She opted to leave the big bowl on the cupboard beside the pantry where she had found it.

The clock on the wall said it was only nine, which meant she still had a couple of hours before she needed to be at her father’s dealership. It only really registered to her in that moment that her phone had been dark all night and morning.

No calls from Matteo.

No calls from her brothers.

None of them had even come downstairs when Johnathan left the night before, so she seriously doubted that they knew she had left with him. Except … her car was still at her parents’ brownstone, so they must have suspected.

Yet, no calls.

No check-in to make sure she wouldn’t be late today.

Nothing.

The cupboard over the fridge caught Siena’s eye. It was the only cupboard she hadn’t gotten the chance to check while she was prepping to cook earlier.

Maybe a container or something would be in there to store the food until John got back. Pulling a chair out from the table, she pulled it over and stepped up onto it. The half of a dozen cards and papers pinned to the fridge made her pause.

One in particular made her stop altogether.

Dr. Amelia Goodane, PhD and PsyD, the card read. It had an address and phone number printed on the plain, white card. Under the woman’s name, it said, Psychologist.

The appointment printed on the card was for January eighth, at eight o’clock in the morning.

Today.

Siena glanced at the clock. Actually, an hour ago.

Had he blown off his appointment, or just forgot altogether?

Her gaze drifted back to the card as she took in the doctor’s qualifications once more. John was in therapy—but for what?

Siena figured it didn’t matter because it wasn’t her damn business to begin with. Had he wanted her to know, then John would have brought it up.

Besides, it wasn’t like they were a thing. They weren’t anything where he owed her something, and certainly not an explanation about his personal business.

She put the card aside in her mind, and reached for the cupboards. Better to get the food put away, and deal with whatever else later if John decided it was something she needed to know about him.

The cupboard did not have containers or plastic wrap.

It didn’t even have food.

Medication greeted her. Pill bottles with child safety orange caps stared back at her. She thought to close the door to the cupboard because this was—again—none of her business, but her gaze stiff drifted over the labels.

Johnathan Antony Marcello

His name was on every single one.

Lithium. Zoloft.

Another mood stabilizer.

Antidepressants.