Page 91 of Enzo

“It’s the truth.” She reaches for the other items and quickly looks through them. “I’m warning you. I’ll be dull and boring for a few days. It might kill me, but I’ll try to stay strong.”

“I appreciate your sacrifice.”

But she’s right. These colors and style of clothes don’t fit her personality. They’re too formal and stuffy. How can I ask her to hide, when it's impossible for someone like her?

Molly shines, exactly how she was meant to. Me muting her personality feels wrong, but I remind myself that I’m trying to keep her safe.

“You add your own … “ I struggle for the right word. “… you add your own flavor to things.”

Before I can say anything, the elevator pings. “Would you look at that, breakfast is here.”

A server wheels in a small trolley laden with dishes covered by big silver domes.

“Can I open these?” Molly asks , referring to the silver covers.

This is the second time she's asked for my permission and it doesn't feel right. “Do whatever you want, Molly. You don’t need my permission.”

She squeals with delight every time she uncovers a dish.

“So many pancakes! Oh, and look at all these croissants.”

“Coffee?”

“Yes please.” She fills her plate with everything while I pour coffee in two cups.

“I was starving.” She eats ravenously, eliciting appreciative sighs with every mouthful. I watch her over the rim of my coffee cup.

She stops, a forkful of pancakes stopping short of her mouth. “Are you not eating?”

“I usually only have coffee.”

She sets her fork down, looks at her heaped plate, then stares at me. “So … you ordered all this for me?”

“Anything wrong with that?”

She tucks loose strands of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to keep doing nice things for me, Enzo. You’re too nice.”

“There’s no such thing as too nice.”

“It doesn’t seem right, after … after everything I‘ve put you through.”

“It’s just breakfast, Molly. Just breakfast, nothing else.”

But I start to wonder if she might think I’m after something. What with the penthouse, the clothes and this breakfast, she might mistakenly believe that. The thought startles me enough that I need to say something.

“I don’t know how to say this, but we’re staying here because you and I will be overrun by the paparazzi if we go out on the streets. That’s all. That’s why we have to stay here and do this.” I wave my hand between us.

She frowns, staring at me intently. “I know that. We’re just friends.”

I sit back, slightly perturbed by the decisiveness of her tone.

“Good.”

Of course we are.

We sit in silence for a while, but I’m curious to find out more about her. “What do you normally do when you have a free day?”

She picks up a glass of orange juice. “I read. Wander around thrift stores. Go and lie in the park with a picnic blanket and read.”