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“Comforts of the past have to be left behind to achieve the dreams of the future.”
Unknown
Bianca
Four of Rio’smen accompany me to the Happy Beans coffee shop. At least they don’t try and sit in the same booth as me, though they do a fairly obvious sweep of the place when we first arrive, and dictate where I should take a seat.
Then one pair slides into the booth behind mine, and the other pair takes up residence at a table near the door.
What would they do if I got up and sat somewhere other than where they ordered? Judging by their impassive yet alert expressions, I can guess I wouldn’t like the outcome. It would probably involve being summarily bundled back into that black SUV outside and more time in isolation at Rio’s estate, contemplating the error of my ways.
I sit quietly until Dave arrives, almost ten minutes after our agreed meet time. Just as I’ve come to the conclusion that he must have decided to stand me up, he enters the shop. He stops and stares around for a moment, as if unsure whether or not to stay. Then he spies me and starts forward.
He is using a cane, and his limping progress across the café is slow. Despite the fact that he’s tall and decently built, he seems smaller than I remember. Less virile. My heart aches for what might have been between us.
What likelywouldhave been, until Rio tore our lives to pieces.
That budding interest I felt on my birthday—the hope that Dave would finally ask me out and we could explore the thread of attraction between us—is gone. Drowned in the wake of the tsunami that Rio unleashed upon my life, my body…and my heart.
Finally, Dave reaches my booth and stands there, staring down at me. Is he wondering whether or not he should hug me? I jump to my feet, intending to take the initiative, but he flinches back, and I freeze at the unexpected slight.
He slides into the booth, angling his injured leg so it juts out a little. And I’m left standing there feeling foolish for expecting a hug under the circumstances. Why on earth would he hug me? He probably hates me for what he thinks is a betrayal of our friendship.
Imarriedthe man who ordered him shot. And yes, I was forced into marrying Rio, but with at least a couple of chances to run since then, I have to accept responsibility for the fact that I’ve chosen to stay.
Slowly, I slide back onto my own seat, my cheeks warm. “Sorry, I just thought…”
I don’t know what my jumbled brain planned to say. My thoughts are whirling at the sight of him. My real life suddenly feels like a distant memory, and I don’t quite know how to reconnect with the part of myself that was Bree—or how to reconnect with Dave, for that matter.
His gaze is reproachful as he settles in and stares at me. “You came here with the same big men and their guns that populate my nightmares,” he says, and I glance around at the goons, horror leaching through me.
“Oh my God. Was it one of these guys?” That whole experience was a blur of terror. I don’t think Rio would assign any of the men from that night to watch over me now. Would he?
As I meet the gaze of one of the goons who took the next booth along, the guy—I think his name is Leon—surreptitiously shakes his head.
Okay. Not one of these guys, then. Relief slackens my muscles, and I lean back against the bench seat. Then sit up as the realization strikes. Oh. So they really are listening in.
While I’m processing that, Dave lets out a snort. “I am trying not to look at them at all, Bree. I didn’t mean literally. I meant the comment metaphorically. Are they here to protect Gregorio Agosti’s new marital asset? Hiswife?”
He almost spits when he says Rio’s name. I frown at the vitriol, trying to steer the conversation into something less controversial than guns and my husband.
“I already ordered our coffees,” I say. “Same as what we always had in the past. I hope that’s okay?”
Doubt assails me. I should have waited. For all I know, he now hates lattes with a light dusting of chocolate on top and only drinks tea.
“That’s fine, Bree. Thanks. It is good to see you, actually.”
Really? Could have fooled me.
At my raised eyebrows, he laughs. The dry sound seems to release a little of the tension that has held us both since he walked in.
He leans forward, adjusting his position and laying his hands on the table, and on impulse, I reach over and grab his fingers. He jerks beneath my grip, then settles, allowing the touch.
“I thought you were going to turn up dead after that night,” he admits. “Did you know they were coming for you?”
I release his hands and tuck mine down tightly into my lap. All the better to hide the tremble. “Of course I didn’t know! I’ve never had anything to do with…well, you know…”
“Mafia? Huh. Me either. Until that night.”
