It's almost miraculous, the change that comes over him. A grin splits his face, and the worry creases on his forehead become smaller. “You know nothing would make me happier. I’ve wanted you home since the day you left.” He’s not lying. “However, I hope this doesn't mean you're having trouble.”
Funny you should mention that. I came here because I was running away from the man you think widowed you. Yes, that's precisely the sort of conversation we need to have at the breakfast table. Or ever.
Time to break out the excuse I had prepared. “Things weren't going so well with my sublet. I have to start looking for a new place, but in the meantime I figured I’d crash here.”
“Or you could always stay here, with your old man.” He winks before pushing his chair back and going for another cup of coffee. “I wouldn't charge you rent, even when you have that fancy job that pays you so well.”
A fancy job I sincerely hope I still have by the time my life returns to normal.
If my life returns to normal.
He's obviously not going to say anything about Mom, and I haven’t built up enough courage to. That's a can of worms I don't feel like cracking open.
It’ll lead to so many other questions, too. Like why he never told me how Mom actually died. Would he bother to tell me the details now? Or am I still too young to know?
The aggravation these questions stir in my head gets me out of my chair. “I'm going to unpack my things, since I was too busy around here last night to do it then.” I make a big deal about leaning in and giving him a sniff in passing before waving a hand in front of my face. “Maybe you should take a shower, Detective. How are you supposed to sneak up on the bad guys when they can smell you from a mile away?”
“Very nice,” he grumbles wryly while shooing me away. “That's exactly where I planned on going.” Good. Maybe he can soak his head under some cold water for a while and start thinking clearly.
It's better to be away from him, upstairs in my old room with all the certificates and awards on the wall. I always did like getting a gold star, which is probably why I would be drawn to a man like Gianni. He goes against everything I'm supposed to be, everything I imagined for my life back when I was a kid getting an award for never missing a day of school. I was always a good girl, except I’m tired of always doing the right thing. I want to rebel against the person I used to be. The one who was never really seen.
For as long as I can remember, before I knew the specifics of his life and work, I sensed an aura of danger around him. Even now, I can't put my finger on it. The particular light in his eyes; the way he carries himself. He could change the temperature in the room with a single look. He has the power with just the lift of an eyebrow or the tip of his head to the side, and everyone around him falls in line. There's something sexy about that. It draws me to him.
And look where that got me. I should have been less concerned with perfect attendance and more concerned with learning how to read people. I've made so many mistakes.
I’m probably making one now, filling the dresser drawers with my clothes in the house I swore I’d never move back into. My heavy heart is dragging me down. Already, I miss Gianni so much it hurts—and I hate myself even more for it since he doesn’t deserve my heartache.
That doesn’t stop me from grasping at straws, frantic to explain away Dad’s beliefs. I can't imagine how he could be right. Gianni never does anything without a motive; there can't be one. My mom, the woman smiling at me from a framed photo on the dresser, couldn't have done anything to put herself in his crosshairs. She was good, pure, and devoted to us.
The alternative is Dad driving himself crazy trying to solve what could’ve been a simple car crash. Not comforting. And if I ask him for specifics, he won’t give them up, if only because of my friendship with Tatiana.
I wish I could trust either of the men in my life to give me the whole truth. I’m sick of never knowing who to believe, whether I’m being manipulated—for good reasons or otherwise. I sag down onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling. I’m tired of being in the dark, tired of allowing myself to be led astray. If I want answers, there might be only one way to get them. I might have to dig for the truth on my own.