AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I hold my breath. My ears are ringing.
“Why are you holding your breath?”
I exhale in relief.
“Why are you sitting in my room in the dark?”
“Ourroom,” he corrects. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Just for future reference, it’s super creepy to sit in the dark and listen to me sleep.”
He remains silent for long enough that I think I’ve offended him. “Do you hate it?” He finally speaks, genuine curiosity in his tone.
“It’s creepy.”
He sighs. “So you said. But that’s not what I asked. I asked if you hated me in the room?”
I consider lying. But I know he’ll stop coming, and these snippets of time make me feel as though we could make it. Maybe we could be more than strangers. Maybe the dark could bring us together enough to find one another in the light.
“No,” I answer truthfully.
“Your honesty is admirable, Bianca. It’s one of the many things I like about you.”
I’m glad for the darkness. Thankful he can’t see the guilt and shame on my face. He can’t read the truth of his brother's demise in my inability to meet his eyes.
“Promise me that you’ll always be truthful with me?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “What would I have to lie about?” I sit upright, my eyes seeking his shadow in the dark.
“I don’t know,” he says. “But if you have secrets,dolcezza, I’ll find them. Best you always be up front to save us the turmoil lies can cause.”
I swallow heavily.
“We have to go away for a little while.”
“Go away?” I ask dumbly, still reeling from his promise to dig into my soul and discover my secrets.
“Hm,” he answers, the tap of a ring against glass echoing as he sips on his whiskey.
“Where?” I lean over, switching on the bedside lamp.
My eyes take seconds to adjust to the invasion of light.
“Does it matter?Away.”
I pull my knees to my chest. “Why?”
“I’m certain you never asked your father this many questions.”
He’s sitting in the large armchair in the corner of the room. The one place that has an unfiltered view of the bed. He’s pushed his dress shirtsleeves haphazardly up his arms and left the top buttons of his shirt undone. His hair sits messily on his head, hands having run through it too many times and forcing it to stick out in different directions. Worry lines the sides of his mouth, lips turned down in a bothered glower.
“My father isn’t my husband,” I speak softly, quietly concerned by the disheveled man in front of me. “His business doesn’t dictate my life. Yours does.”
He watches me for a drawn-out beat, his mind working tirelessly behind his pained eyes.
“We gotta go on the lam for a while.” His voice slurs, words pushing together in rushed justification. “Just until the heat dies down on some business.”
“For how long?” I move to the side of the bed. “Why do I have to go? Can’t you just go?”
