Page 310 of Ricardo

“Jules.”

I hate how well he knows me sometimes.

“I am,” I say, but quieter. “Mostly.”

He waits.

I set the magazine aside. “I haven’t gone back to my apartment yet. It’s been cleared but…” I shake my head.

His expression shifts at once into serious mode.

“I know,” he says.

I lift a brow. “How?”

“Those aren’t your clothes,” he says, looking down.

I look down at my outfit. I'm wearing a blue sweater this time and some comfortable leggings.

“They could be my clothes. I would wear something like this.”

“Eh,” he says. “It’s not quite you.”

I shrug. “I think Victoria and Marisa are coordinating to keep me clothed. I’m grateful,” I say. “Really. I am. They’ve thought of everything. Clothes, toiletries, food that doesn’t make me sick, books, chargers. I think Marisa is keeping six kinds of crackers stocked because I made one comment about morning sickness.”

“Good.”

“But I want my things.”

Dante watches me.

I keep my eyes on my sleeve. “I want my own clothes. My own shampoo. My laptop. My photos. My books. Stupid things. Normal things.” I swallow. “I want to decide what I leave behind instead of having Harrison decide for me.”

Dante’s face grows hard at his name.

He knows by now who those men were. Hell, he probably knows more than I do about whatever plan is in motion right now.

He would demand it.

His fingers flex against the blanket.

“I hate that apartment,” he says.

“Me too,” I lament. “I used to like it. That bastard has to ruin everything, doesn’t he?”

“That bastard will get what's coming to him,” Dante says darkly.

“But the damage is done,” I say. “It was the first safe place I had after him, and he made it unsafe. He made it the place you almost died.”

“Julia, look at me.”

After a moment I lift my eyes to his.

His eyes are clearer than they’ve been so far, even with the medication.

“He broke into your life,” Dante says. “You didn’t invite him back.”

“I know that in my head.”