To hell with that.
Miss Jensen’s friendly smile falters. “You seem…displeased. Which part is not to your liking?”
“It’s all fine.” I grit my teeth. “Do you already have a wedding dress picked out for me too?”
Her grin returns. “While Mr. Pontrelli has shown me some dress styles that he likes, he’s instructed me to take you shopping for your wedding gown.”
Oh, so I do get to makeonedecision. Great. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, instead I adjust my glasses.
When I don’t respond, she taps on her phone, then glances up at me. “We could go Thursday morning, or I have next Tuesday afternoon. The sooner the better.”
“Thursday’s fine.” As soon as I agree, I’m hit with the realization that we’ll be going out in public. Yes, I’ll have bodyguards, but they can only offer so much protection. “Actually… how about we shop online? I’ll search and send you some links.”
Miss Jensen’s brow furrows in confusion. “We can do that for the initial search, but eventually we’ll have to go for a fitting and alterations. You can’t do those online.”
She has a good point. But right now, I don’t want to ever leave this apartment again. Actually, I correct myself, I do want to leave Maximo’s penthouse. For good. Once I manage to escape with the help of Mrs. Rizzo.
Being terrified to step out into the world and away from this slice of relative safety, has set me back years. How am I supposed to function in the world, on my own in Italy, if I’m too scared to leave my home? Even across the ocean, will I really be able to leave this all behind? Or will I always be looking over my shoulder? Expecting danger around every corner?
I don’t want to live with constant fear consuming me. But I don’t know how not to.
My hands shake as I tell her, “We can figure that out later. I’m not feeling well right now.”
She takes the hint and stands up, gathering her few things. “Call me when you’re feeling better.”
I walk her to the door, lock it behind her, and press my back to the solid metal surface. A heavy sigh escapes my lips.
I’m spiraling, I know I am, and I’m not sure how to stop it. I’m right back where I was five years ago—terrified to leave the house, a shut-in. I spent years going no further than the foyer of aunt Antonia’s home. The few times I had to travel for family affairs, I did so under a false identity, with my heart in my throat the entire time.
I can’t live like that. Not again. What am I going to do?
CHAPTER 22
Maximo
Iarrive home to find Elena curled up on the couch reading a book. She greets me with a soft smile that doesn’t reach her haunted eyes. While she seems serene enough now, I spent far too much time today watching her through the cameras. First there was the snooping through every inch of my office, for what I’m not sure. Perhaps she’s simply curious, maybe she’s building a case against me to send to the FBI. I’m just grateful that she didn’t destroy anything this time.
Then she met with our wedding planner. That seemed to be going fine until Miss Jensen abruptly departed. I wish I had audio. Since I don’t, I had to guess at their conversation. Miss Jensen said something that upset Elena. As soon as the woman left, my fiancée deflated, crouched against the front door with her head in her hands. That’s when I decided to come home. She obviously needs me—even if she won’t admit it.
Even if she doesn’twantme. She needs me.
I pour myself a drink at the bar, considering how to broach the subject. “How did your meeting go with Miss Jensen?”
“Fine.” Defeat colors her tone. Which jabs at my heart. More than anything in the world, I want Elena to be happy. She deserves joy after those long years of simmering in her trauma.
Loosening my tie, I approach Elena, settling down in the armchair across from her to give her space, when what I really want to do is hold her close, to comfort and sooth her. To kiss her sadness away.
“What happened today? Why did she leave in the middle of your meeting?”
Elena glances up from her book, eyeing me. “Do you do anything at work besides spy on me all day?”
Her biting accusation brings a grin to my lips. “Not really. Spying on you is my favorite pastime.” I eat up the blush that colors her cheeks. “Now answer my question.”
Dropping a bookmark between the pages, she snaps the paperback shut and sits up. “She wants to go dress shopping this week.”
“And that’s a problem because..?”
She licks her lips, her grey eyes filling with a look that I know on her all too well. It’s the same fear I saw in her gaze when she first arrived in Italy.
