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It must have been nice to have that. Even if the closeness could chafe a bit at times.
"Romy, do you—" Luca started, tone soft, when the door burst open, bringing in Michael, his arms weighed down with bags, the ones in his hands cutting into his skin.
"I think I got everything you guys will need. At least for the night."
"Or the next month," I told him, offering him a grateful smile.
Luca was right, after all—they were helping me. And while I didn't love the idea of not being able to move around freely, now that I had a little food in my system, and felt less irritable, I could see how lucky I was that it hadn't been a shoot-first-ask-questions-later kind of scenario. They were going to help find my sister. They were going to exact revenge. And on top of all of that, they were getting me supplies to make my stay more pleasant.
"I think you are holding more items than I own," I added, watching as he dropped them down on the floor.
"I called my sisters," Michael told me, looking a little sheepish. "You know, to ask about what shit women might need for a visit."
"Oh, yeah? What did they say?"
"That if this woman was staying with me, she'd probably need black-out glasses," he told me, but he was smiling, someone who enjoyed the ribbing of his female siblings. "But they shouted out some other things too. I think I did alright," he added, shifting his feet. Being a lower man on the totem pole, he was looking for some validation. I wasn't his boss, which meant I wasn't likely giving him exactly what he wanted, but I figured my appreciation wou
ld gain him his boss's approval.
"I'm sure it is more than enough. Thanks for going out of your way to get me everything," I told him, wondering if his sisters had mentioned panties, or if they had assumed I would have thought to bring my own.
Either way, if I had pants, at least that was a little coverage. I was a panties girl to the bitter end, but in extreme situations, beggars couldn't be choosers.
"Thanks, Michael," Luca said, giving him an approving nod. "Tomorrow, I will have someone drop by your new hotel to grab your things on top of this," he told me.
"I appreciate that. As nice as I was sure everything they got me was, there was something comforting about things that belonged to you.
With that, Michael moved outside to act as a guard, Luca and I finished our late meal, then he helped me sort through the bags, shoving everything for me into what ended up being more than enough to last me for a couple weeks, then helping carry them to my temporary room, dropping them down near the closet door.
It wasn't a big space with a bed pushed up the wall with no headboard. The walls were bare and white. There were plastic mini-blinds on the windows, and a dark wood nightstand with an old frosted glass lamp.
Bare bones, but comfortable enough.
Luca made his way back into the hall, pulling the door half-closed.
"Goodnight, Romy," he told me, voice smooth, deep, a sound that shivered across my heightened nerve endings, making a strange heat pool in my lower belly.
But before I could determine if he meant it the way my body was clearly taking it, he was pulling the door closed, and going across the hall to his own bedroom.
Alone, I found myself too antsy to sleep despite the long days weighing down my eyelids.
I gathered the bags, putting them near the bed, and sorted the items.
There were comfy clothes—yoga pants and tank tops—as well as t-shirts, flip-flops, a sweater, and silky pajama sets.
No panties.
Oh well.
Then there was the good kind of shampoo, conditioner, body wash, a facial moisturizer, and—inexplicably—a bottle of feminine gel. Which had to have been tossed out to Michael as a joke by his sisters, but he hadn't been in on it, so he added it to the list.
I tucked that in the bottom drawer of the nightstand with a smile as I put the clothes away in the closet, then put all the bathroom products on a bag that I hung for the doorknob.
It worked in two ways. As a reminder to bring them with me to the bathroom in the morning. And as a makeshift security system seeing as my door didn't have a lock.
My instincts said that I could trust Luca Grassi. But my rational mind reminded me that I didn't know him from Adam. And that he was a criminal. And that I had no idea what he might be capable of.
I did not change into one of the new silky pajama sets Michael had picked out for me in their pretty, delicate floral patterns or polka dots.
