6
DAISY
Adulthood is literally the worst neighborhood you could ever live in. Zero stars. Do not recommend.
What are you waiting for?” Michelle stops next to the row of metal mailboxes to the right of our apartment building’s lobby and gathers her hair back into a low ponytail. Several of the uneven strands fall out to circle her face. “There’s no point in hiding; he told you he was coming, so he knows you’re here.”
“Easy for you to say,” I snap back as I look nervously out the tinted glass doors of the apartment building. “You’re not the one who needs to go out there and face a man who could potentiallykillyou.” The metal bars that keep the doors safe from attempted robbers—or so the building manager claims, even though he never locks the damn things—do nothing to make me feel secure.
I have the distinct feeling that if Giulio La Rosa wanted toget anywhere, there would be nothing and no one that could stop him. I glance at Michelle as she nudges me on her way to the front door and rolls her eyes at me. “I’d rather be facing a sexy criminal than on my way to my next temp assignment.” Just as her hand hits the handle of the doors, Michelle pauses and looks back at me. “Heissexy, isn’t he? You wouldn’t have married Jabba the Hutt, would you?”
I consider her question seriously. Life or death, would I have? Maybe. Probably. “I don’t know.” I shrug. “But no, he’s…”
The image of Giulio La Rosa appears in my mind, and my explanation drifts off. Wide shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and eyes as visceral and stormy as an ocean—mysupposedhusbandcouldbe considered classically handsome. I mean, Ihadoriginally thought he was a model who the others had kidnapped.
“He’s handsome,” I finally answer. If you’re into the drop-dead gorgeous, rip-my-clothes-off-right-now-you-hunk-of-burning-love kind of attractive.
Michelle nods as if she expected as much. She’s got more faith in my vanity than I do. Personally, I don’t know that I wouldn’t marry Jabba the Hutt with all his greasy worm rolls just to stay alive. I’m no Princess Leia. There would be no Han Solo coming to my rescue, just a pissed-off Michelle who needed my half of the rent. Not that Han Solo technically rescued Leia. She totally rescued herself and then him, so I should be able to handle this. I can rescue myself… theoretically.
“Come on, might as well get it over with and find out what he wants,” she says. “Who knows, maybe he’s here to ask for the ring back.”
I gape after her. “We signed papers!” I remind her. She was the one who pointed that out, after all.
As she gets closer and closer to the door and then turns back to look at me, it hits me that she’s egging me on to give me someone to let out my nervousness on. A groan fills my chest at that realization. I cup my hands over my face. “You’re both the best and worst best friend ever,” I grumble.
“I know.” The door creaks open, and hot summer air wafts into the slightly cooler lobby of the apartment building. “But there’s no use in standing here and wallowing and freaking out. At least if you go out there, I’ll be with you.”
“What if he tries to kill us?” I ask sharply, lifting my head away from my hands. My heart thuds a rapid, staccato rhythm against my breast.
Michelle tilts her head to the side, and with the door still cracked open, she looks from me to the dark, obviously expensive town car sitting on the opposite side of the street, and back again. Her expression is contemplative, and I have to remind myself that despite our current lodgings, both Michelle and I graduated with honors from college. Sure, it was from a small college that more than half of the country hasn’t heard of, but we aren’t dumb. We came to New York for a reason.
We wanted adult jobs—Michelle in some high-rise corporate office, and me, the editor of literary stars across the globe. Or at least, a junior editor—or hell, I’d even take being an assistant at a publishing house.Somethingin that vein that would make all of the student debt worth it. We wanted adventure and travel and excitement. We wanted what we could find in the big city—diversity and hope.
We were dumb as fuck.
“I think,” she says, her voice low, “if this man wanted to kill you, he would have done so already.” Brown eyes meet mine. “If he’s as scary as you think, and if he’s the one who brought you home while I was sleeping—somehow managing to get in and out of our apartment without waking me—then there’s no point in running from him.”
She’s right. I know she is. I just don’t want to admit it.
Taking the last steps toward the door, I give her a begrudging hug. “Still the best and worst best friend,” I tell her, squeezing her tight before releasing her to step outside.
“Good luck with your new husband!” Michelle calls after me as she, too, exits the building and starts off in the opposite direction toward the train that’ll take her to whatever job the temp agency has her going to today. Yesterday was a one-off—likely something to do with Tony the Tool who I’m glad won’t be darkening our doorstep again—so today is back to business as usual.
Walking toward the town car, I lift a single hand and offer her the finger.
The back door of the vehicle opens as I approach, and Giulio steps out, dressed in a pair of dark slacks and a crisp black button-down business shirt, sans any jacket or tie. His ice-blue gaze is on Michelle’s back as she scurries away. Deftly stepping into his line of sight, I tilt my chin up in a silent challenge as his attention shifts to me.
Even if I’m shaking in my roughed-up Converse, he doesn’t need to know that. “Why are you here?” I ask.
His expression doesn’t change. “I’m here to pick up my wifeand take her to lunch.” He scans my frame. “Perhaps some shopping first.”
My eyebrows nearly shoot into my hairline. “What?”Shopping?
“Mypapáwould like to meet the woman who has become my wife,” Giulio says, eyes moving over my ripped denim shorts. His lips press together.
Scowling, I put both hands on my hips. “What?” I snap. “Don’t like the way I dress?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t care how you dress, but…” A muscle ticks in his jaw. “The place we are to meet him is not for casual attire.”
