Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
If this goes on much longer, I’m going to go insane. If Enzo thought he had a problem on his hands before, he’s in for a big, unhappy surprise when I go off the deep end.
Two days after the funeral, there is a knock on the bedroom door. The fact that anyone is knocking surprises me enough on its own. “Yes?” I call out. The door swings open wide, and Enzo appears before me, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks. I wish he didn’t look so good. I wish my lonely heart didn’t immediately want to reach for him and beg for his forgiveness. It felt like we were so close to something real. I couldn’t have imagined that. No matter how he’s acting now. I can’t shake the feeling that I met the real Enzo at some point back in Miami, the one underneath the mask he wears now.
A mask I’m sure his grandfather fixed in place a long time ago.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “I thought it would be nice for us to have breakfast together out on the terrace. It’s a beautiful morning. And I would like it if you joined me.”
I wonder how much it took for him to get all of that out. It’s like every word was torture.
Is this a good sign? I wish I knew. I wish I didn’t always have to wonder what’s behind every comment, every simple invitation. “Sure, it would be nice to eat somewhere other than this room.”
“I thought it might.” He looks me up and down, and for a moment, I find myself hoping it means he’s taking an interest in me again. My heart sinks when all he says is, “I’m glad I bought you all those things back in Miami. At least you have something to wear.”
“Thank you for having everything sent over for me.” After all, we sort of left in a hurry, and I wasn’t exactly allowed to pack. But my clothes and other items arrived the day of the funeral, after Enzo left me, once I finally told him everything. For all I know, he was holding it back, waiting for me to fess up before giving me the dignity of wearing actual clothes. I’m not sure I even want to know where he dug up the nightgown I was wearing at first.
I have to follow him from the bedroom since this house is an impenetrable maze to me. I haven’t exactly had the opportunity to take a tour and learn the layout—and once I get an idea of the true size of the place, I have to wonder how long it would take me to figure it all out. It’s so huge, sprawling, and nobody has to tell me where the money came from to build this kind of palace. I think back to the drugs I had in my bag and wonder how much the De Luca family is responsible for spreading all over the country and maybe even further than that.
Downstairs, past the bright, sunny kitchen, are a set of doors that lead out onto the terrace he spoke of. And while I’m trying my best to be dignified and quiet, always keeping my eyes and ears open, I can’t help but gasp like the out-of-touch, unsophisticated rube I am when we step outside.
It’s one thing to survey the grounds from upstairs, but it’s another thing to be out here. The heady aroma of so many luscious flowers makes my head spin. A pergola spans the terrace from end to end, and around the wood slats above me wind flowering vines. Bees buzz here and there, almost lazy as they go from blossom to blossom.
And in front of me is a garden that brings to mind the word paradise. Fruit trees, enormous roses, all other kinds of flowers I can’t identify but would love to. I wonder if there’s a book around here somewhere that could help me name them all. There are paths cut out and neatly kept, without so much as a weed marring their beauty, winding almost aimlessly through acres of meticulously manicured land.
Beyond this sits rolling hills, and in the distance, a lake shimmers in the morning sun. Like diamonds, sparkling, making me wish I was in one of the handful of boats already out there. I don’t think I’ve ever longed quite so hard in all my life.
“This is stunning,” I breathe, stepping up to the railing separating the stone terrace from what lies before it.
I turn to Enzo, startled into smiling, and his lips twitch. “Would you believe it if I told you this was my grandfather’s pride and joy?”
“I’m not so sure. It doesn’t seem like…” I really should stop while I’m ahead, shouldn’t I? He doesn’t need to know what I really think about that old man. Sure, he meant a lot to Enzo, but he was kind of a pig, too.