CHAPTER 9
SOFIA
Staying the night at his expensive house in a gated neighborhood is not what I ever thought would happen. I knew his family had money. They dripped with it. His parents looked and smelled rich.
Massimo’s green and black car is definitely expensive. Some brand name of a car I’ve never heard of and definitely can’t pronounce. When someone told me the name of the bike Emilio crashed, I had never heard of it either. The attending doctor said one word, ‘expensive,’ with a raised eyebrow.
The glow of the pool outside the wide glass doors is impressive. The water shimmers under the patio lights, reflecting off the stone deck. Beyond that, the lawn is manicured. The bushes are tall enough to block any view of the street, though the guard at the gate out front is the real protection. By the time we got in from packing up and grabbing dinner, it was pretty late. Emilio was passed out in his room. Having texted that he had shit, showered, and shaved, to his brother. Why that warranted a text message to Massimo is beyond me.
I’ve heard that twins are close, but these two seem inseparable. I know Massimo feels really guilty about what happened to Em, but I’ve assured him a dozen times, if not more, that he is not to blame. Em also texted that Ryan had gone home, then unleashed a tirade about being alone at home. Bored, then scared, and finally lonely. I’m beginning to think he’s one of those types of people who can’t be alone.
He does strike me as a guy who loves attention, or at least he loved all the attention he got in the hospital, which was a lot of his friends coming in and out of the ICU. Treating it like a frat house, often ignoring the two visitor-only rules until another veteran nurse or I kicked them out for the peace and quiet of our other patients.
What I also realized is that he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. He complains a lot. Like a child, but he’s happiest when he gets his way. Which I’m discovering is food, attention, his brother, and an unhealthy obsession with porn and jerking off. I caught him doing it way too many times in his room, especially when he thought I wasn’t around.
Now, Paco’s racing around their place, inspecting all the door cracks and snatching up an old pizza crust lying in an open box.
“Ay, your place . . . Paco, no!”
I race after him, try to pull it out of his mouth before he darts behind the TV cabinet. The television is beyond humongous and far too heavy to move by myself.
“Come here!”
Massimo’s hands are loaded down with my bags, Paco’s toys, food, and a dog bed. He’s not much help. I can hear Paco crunching through the bone. Eating it as fast as he can. I drop to my knees, palms flat on the hardwood, peering under the furniture where he’s wedged himself.
“Drop it.”
I snap my fingers. He growls around it, eyes daring me to try. I reach in. He darts back. I stretch farther, my scrubs pulling tight, and I’m afraid they might rip. Scrubs are too expensive for that. He finishes eating it with a dramatic snort before trotting out, happy with himself.
“He ate it. Just like that.” I groan, sitting back on my heels. “No wonder Paco’s finding food scraps all over the floor. You messy boys.”
Massimo stands over me, watching me wrestle with my dog and losing. “The housekeeper comes the day after tomorrow.”
I push to my feet, brushing off my scrubs. “Two days? You can’t pick up after yourselves until then? You live in a palace and treat it like a dump.”
He smirks, slow and infuriating. “We know where everything is.”
“No.” I snatch up an empty water bottle, hold it up like evidence, then shove it into his chest. He lets it fall right back on the floor. “You’re grown men, not niños. Pick up after yourselves.”
He just grins at me while Paco leaps onto the couch, circling three times before collapsing into a cushion. I should tell him to get down, but I’m too tired to care. At this point, the dog is safer up there than on the floor.
Massimo shrugs, unbothered. “It’s not that bad.”
“Not good enough.” I plant my hands on my hips. “If I’m staying here, at least the bedroom needs to be clean.”
He freezes, as if waiting to see if I’m serious. I am. But instead of bickering, he sighs and starts walking toward a hallway. “Fine. I’ll make my room decent. Fresh sheets and clean towels.”
That, I can live with. I don’t have the strength to do more tonight. I’m exhausted from losing a patient in front of his wife, coming home to my ex’s bullshit, and now standing in the middle of the Dimas brothers’ chaos. I need a hot shower, not another fight.
“Do that,” I murmur, too worn out to argue. “And I’ll pretend the rest doesn’t exist.”
I follow, listening long enough for him to set me up in the bathroom with clean towels and my overnight bag while he works on cleaning his bedroom. By the time I come out of the shower, scrubbed raw and finally feeling human again, his room is at least passable. No piles on the floor, no stale smell.
“Feel better?” His question comes just as he’s shutting his door. The house beyond it is dark and quiet. Paco is already on the bed, his tail whipping quickly against the pillow he’s claimed for the night.
“Sort of.”
Physically, I’m fine. Mentally and emotionally, I’m spent. A good night’s rest will help. I slip between the sheets, exhaustion dragging at my bones. Paco moves to curl against my hip. The moment I close my eyes, the relief is instant. I’m good. My dog’s snoring, and there’s nothing else to worry about tonight. When the light clicks off, I open my eyes to see him in the shadows.
