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I looked at my phone. It felt like hours had passed, but I groaned quietly when I realized I’d only been Helpful Friends for less than a half hour. The windowless basement was the antithesis of beauty, and I couldn’t wait until I was back in the relative splendor and comfort of my own home.
A loud bell rang and a crowd of homeless people in tattered, smelly clothing lined up. I tried not to look into their dirty faces as I landed stew into their bowls and handed them bread and fruit. Some of them stared down at their feet – I guessed they were ashamed – but some beamed into my face and thanked me with heartfelt kindness. I knew that I shouldn’t be feeling as disgusted as I was, but I couldn’t help it. I’d never been around people this poor in my whole life, and it made me feel uncomfortable.
A camera flashed in my face and I looked up, dazed. “What the hell?” I frowned as I saw a reporter making his way through the building.
“Mr. Amoruso! Mr. Amoruso! How long have you been helping the homeless?”
I gritted my teeth and forced a smile. “I’ve just begun helping,” I said. “I’m trying to change this city from the ground up, and I realized that in order to make that happen, I’ve got to get in myself. I can’t just keep expecting people to support the Amoruso family unless they know what we really stand for.”
The reporter nodded, scribbling notes on a pad as he filmed me. I smiled and mugged for the camera, wondering who had tipped a news crew off about my presence at the soup kitchen.
Silvio, I realized with a touch of pride. He may disagree, but damn if that man doesn’t know how to help promote with the best of them.
The reporter clicked a few more pictures. For the last one, I pulled a couple of homeless people out of line and wrapped my arms around their skinny, shaking shoulders.
When Karen saw, she shook her head and clicked her teeth. “Mr. Amoruso, we typically frown on news personnel here,” she said sternly.
I shrugged and grinned. “I didn’t call ‘em,” I said lazily. “Why the hell would I do something like that?”
Chapter Seventeen
Beth
I barely slept that night. Alessio haunted my dreams – in ways that managed to make me both terrified and incredibly aroused. When I woke up, my panties were soaked through and my clit was throbbing for want of attention. But my sheets were damp with sweat, and my hair was clinging to my head in sodden tangles. I yawned, then wrapped my bathrobe around my naked body and padded into the bathroom.
A long, lukewarm shower helped me feel more human again. There was a knot in the pit of my stomach that couldn’t be loosened, though. Not even a mug of my favorite peppermint tea mixed with three tablespoons of honey was enough to calm me down.
By the time Heather woke up, I’d been sitting at the kitchen table for hours.
“Hey,” Heather said. She sat down and looked at me with concern. “You okay?”
I nodded slowly. “I don’t know.” I swallowed. Alessio was weighing so heavily on my mind – I was dying to tell her what happened, but I feared her judgment.
“Oh, Beth, it’ll be okay,” Heather said. She reached over and rubbed the back of my hand with her own. Compared to my icy skin, her touch was almost hot enough to burn.
“I wish,” I said. I sighed. “I’m sorry to be such a burden all the time. You probably miss your fun friend.”
Heather shrugged. “It’s not a big deal,” she said. “But I know you’ll get better, Beth. You’ll find someone even better than Michael eventually.”
Part of me wanted to laugh – Heather thought I was still sad because of Michael? A pang of guilt stabbed my heart as I realized that was exactly how I should be feeling. A normal fiancée would feel guilty for years, I thought. The guilt seeped through my veins like poison. A normal fiancée wouldn’t ever want to give up on the man she once loved.
“I know,” I said. And I maybe already have, I added silently.
Heather yawned. She got up and walked over to the door, leaning down and grabbing the paper. “Holy shit,” she said. “Someone sent you something.”
I laughed dryly. “And why is that so amusing?”
Heather blushed. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said softly. “Here.”
I frowned. The envelope was made from a thick material, almost like card stock, in a beautiful eggshell color. My name was scrawled on the front in
spidery black ink that almost looked archaic.
“Open it,” Heather said. “Come on, I’m curious.”
My heart sank. The guilt came rushing back tenfold. “What if it’s from Douglas,” I said with a groan. “What if he wants more stuff back?”
Heather snorted. “That’s ridiculous,” she said. “Besides, you gave him everything you had that was Michael’s.”
