Tears stab my eyes. She is so kind, and I’m not sure I’m worthy of it. “Thank you.” I tie my long hair into a loose ponytail and clutch the aloe vera in one hand.
“You’re welcome, sweet Sloane.” She hugs me once before lifting one shoulder. “Come.”
Beatrice leads me out of the kitchen and down along the winding hallway toward the back of the house. Ornate staircases spiral above us on both sides, leading to the upstairs level. Large, heavy-looking gold frames house oil paintings on the walls alongside the polished mahogany banisters. “Are they relatives?” I ask as we pass under the grand stairs.
“Yes. Generations of the DiPietro family have walked these halls. We remember them by hanging their portraits.”
“You have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you. We have spent a lot of time and money restoring and maintaining it over the years, but it’s an important legacy we want to pass down to our children and grandchildren.”
Beatrice guides me into a stunning room with a vaulted glass ceiling and floor-to-ceiling dark wood shelving. There must be thousands of books in here. The sturdy old desk by the window is clearly an heirloom, the chunky mahogany legs gleaming under the dim lighting in the room. Healthy plants occupy large sage-green pots dotted around the room. Several tabletop lights are lit around the space, and it smells of paper, leather, and peppermint. Thick green and gold brocade curtains cover the windows, blocking the view of the gardens outside and helping to keep the heat in.
The roaring fire in the corner of the room beckons to me like an old friend. Cristian’s dad rises from one of the leather-backed chairs in front of it. “Come join me, my dear,” he says.
The old floorboards creak as I walk across the study-slash-library in my borrowed slippers. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get to meet Cristian’s sister, but I hope she doesn’t mind I borrowed some of her things. A thick, patterned rug blankets the floor underneath the seating area, helping it to feel extra warm and cozy. “Sit.” Josef pats the base of a brown leather couch. “Warm your frozen bones.”
“I’m heading to bed, Sloane,” Beatrice says, kissing me on both cheeks. “Press the service button in your room if you need anything during the night.” Plucking the aloe vera tub from my cold fingers, she sets it down on the end table.
“Thank you so much for your kindness and the yummy broth. It was delicious.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Goodnight, my love.” Josef embraces his wife, kissing her passionately on the lips, and I look away, not wanting to intrude on their private moment. “I’ll be up in a while.”
The only sounds in the room after Beatrice leaves are the crackling of the fire, the rhythmic chiming of the old grandfather clock, and the silent racing of my heart. Anxiety flutters in my chest as I tuck my feet up under me and cover myself with the soft blanket. Josef climbs awkwardly to his feet before walking toward the liquor cabinet. I watch as he pours two generous measures of neat whiskey. When he returns, he hands one to me. “It’ll help with the shock.”
“Thank you.”
He reclaims his seat, nursing a tumbler in his hand as he stares into the dancing flames.
I take a sip of my drink, and the whiskey burns as it glides down my throat, but it settles warmly in my stomach, helping to heat me from the inside.
“I am sure you have many questions, Sloane.”
I lift my head, my gaze connecting with Cristian’s father. “I do.”
He nods slowly. “That’s to be expected. I know my son, and he will want to explain it to you himself. I just didn’t want you to go to sleep being afraid. You are safe here. Safe with Cristian. We will not let anything happen to you. Family means everything to us, and you are family now.”
I can tell he’s sincere, and a lump forms in my throat. How I wish it could be so.
Josef takes a healthy mouthful of his drink. “Italian American families have lots of secrets and traditions. We don’t allow many outsiders into our world, but those we do are treated with kindness, respect, and loyalty. We only ask for the same in return.” He knocks back the rest of his drink and staggers to his feet. I move to help him, but he waves me away. “I don’t spring back as quickly these days after a knock to the ground, but I can still walk unaided.”
“Do you want to take this?” I offer him my aloe vera.
He curls my fingers around the tub. “I think my wife has shares in this stuff. We have tubs of it everywhere.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You should get some sleep, but if you want to wait for Cristian, this is the best place.”
“I’ll wait a little while.”
“Sleep well, Sloane,” he says, walking stiffly out of the room. The door snicks shut after him.
I sip my drink and try to quiet my mind as I snuggle on my side on the couch, staring into the boisterous flames of the fire. I fully intend on waiting up for Cristian, but I guess I doze off because the next thing I’m aware of is the creaking of the floorboards as someone enters the room. The couch conceals me, and I hold my breath for a few beats, my pulse throbbing painfully as fear sprouts goose bumps on my arms until Cristian speaks, and I relax knowing it’s him. “You should be in bed.”
Pulling myself upright, I fight a yawn as I look over at him. He’s propped against the front of the desk, looking weary as he scrubs his hands down his face. “I was worried,” I admit, kicking the blanket aside and standing. “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” I add, pushing messy strands of hair out of my tired eyes.
“Fuck, Sloane.” His eyes graze over me slowly, from head to toe, and I’m hyperaware of the hunger burning hotter and hotter on his face as he drinks me in. “Are you scared of me?”
“What? No.” I shake my head before taking a step toward him. “You don’t scare me, Cristian. That is the opposite of how I feel.”
