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"You are," I sniffle, then swallow down my tears. She leans back and I lower my hands, "I am fine as long as I keep my mind occupied."
She straightens, "Hey, you can tackle the taxes. I am not complaining."
I laugh.
"But we need to do something else, something to really take your mind off of everything and help you get over thatstronzo." She taps her cheek.
"What are you thinking of?"
"Something you are going to absolutely love."
"I am?" I ask cautiously.
"Yes," she snaps her fingers, "I know just the thing."
"You sure? The last time you tried to cheer me up, I had three men in strange purple suits try to serenade me as I walked the street."
"They were a Mariachi band," she protests.
"Who carried loads of flowers on their back."
"I was trying to combine it with a marketing stunt for the shop," she reminds me.
"I was really embarrassed when they followed me around on the street. Everyone was watching me."
"Everyone was applauding their singing," she points out.
"The most embarrassing moment of my life," I scowl at her.
"Well, they cheered you up and took your mind off of the fact that our business was really slow, didn’t they?"
"Temporarily," I admit. "You also spent money we didn’t have," I add.
"But thanks to the stunt, people noticed you and our little flower shop, and business picked up shortly afterward.
"It’s true, but that was just a coincidence."
"My ideas always pay off," she tosses her head over her shoulder, "it’s just that, it might take a little time to see the benefits."
"Hmm," I rise to my feet, "just as long as there are no mariachis, or anyone following me around with flowers, trying to serenade me."
47
A week later
Axel
I walk up the path that leads to my new home. After the Sovranos had left with Theresa—I hadn’t seen her after that insulting goodbye that she didn’t deserve. Call me a coward, but I knew if I saw her face again, I’d haul her to me and ask her to forgive me, and I couldn’t let that happen. For her own safety, it’s best that I maintain my distance from her. At least, until I untangle this mess that is my life—I had marched into the police headquarters the next day and met my boss. I had given him the abbreviated versions of events—it’s always best to stick as close to the truth as possible—and shared just enough information on the Sovranos so he wouldn’t suspect that I was trying to hide anything from him. It was helpful that I had information about Trinity and their efforts to move everything toward the right side of the law. Everything had been going swimmingly. Well, until I told him I wanted to resign. James had been suspicious, of course. He is a cop, and his instincts must have prompted him to ask me if I had fallen in love with the woman I had married.
I hadn’t denied it, nor had I answered the question. I had slipped my hand into my pocket and toyed with the ring that I had taken off before walking in there. Yeah, I hadn’t been able to take it off earlier, nor could I bring myself to start divorce proceedings. I mean, it’s only been a week, but yes, I still have feelings for her. Turns out, I can’t just stop myself from thinking about her, dreaming about her, wanting her, needing her, tasting her essence on my tongue, sensing her curves under my fingertips. Goddam it, I am a goner. I know I hurt her with what I did, but damn, if I didn’t hurt myself more.
James had refused my resignation. He’d told me I was too important an asset. He’d told me to debrief the assignment to the rest of my team, then to make sure I had written up my notes, including any incriminating evidence to help them crack down on those within the organized crime groups with which I had interacted. Then, he’d ordered me to take some paid time off, as much as I need, until I’ve cleared my head, and think about whether I want to continue with the assignment or not. I had been too exhausted to argue with him, so I had complied. At least, I no longer have to keep in touch with my team and send them updates on my assignment. One less lie to live, for which I am grateful.
I had decided to move out of the house which I had occupied throughout the time I was undercover. I had gotten used to the place, I admit, but the fact that Freddie had been able to get through my guards and my security had left a bad taste in my mouth.
I had opted to move into a penthouse in a new apartment block overlooking the Thames. Sure, I am—was? —an undercover officer, but thanks to the money that my mother and Thomas left me, I am wealthy enough to afford a place in the center of the city. Now, I push the door open and walk in. The floor-to-ceiling windows at the end of the living room frame the view of an illuminated London Bridge, and beyond that, the lights of the city spread out. Without bothering to turn on the lights, I walk toward the view. My footsteps echo through the empty room.
I moved in, but I haven’t had the motivation to furnish it yet. I left everything in the house when I moved out, since it was all a part of the undercover façade and didn’t belong to me. The only furniture I have now is the mattress in the bedroom. I mean, I need a place to sleep, right?
