Demand (15 page)

We're just talking about coffee when the buzzer at the door goes off again, and Marabella glances at her watch. “I bet that's your clothes for tonight,” she says, having obviously spoken to Kayden. She heads toward the door.

“What's tonight?” Giada asks.

“Some political function Kayden and I are attending,” I say, standing, my body stiff from sitting so long. “I'd better go help Marabella.”

“I'll clean up our mess,” Giada says, while I head toward the front of the store.

Rounding the corner, I come face-to-face with Adriel as he enters the living area. “It's football time, and since it's still my store, and my TV, I'm taking over this room.”

“Never let it be said that I stood between a man and his football,” I proclaim, “but your sister might be another story.”

He grumbles something Italian that tells me I've hit a sore spot, and I laugh, stepping around him with a fond memory of my father and his pals sitting around the TV, yelling at football, carrying me to the front of the store. I find Marabella setting a collection of bags next to another collection of bags.

“What the heck is all of this?” I ask, noting several garment bags on top of the counter, as well. “Please tell me this isn't all for me? It's one party. I need one dress.”

Marabella holds up her hands. “I didn't do it. It was Kayden.” She offers me a black shopping bag with silk handles. “This came by way of a special, separate delivery, which seems to justify special attention.”

“You don't know what it is?” I ask, accepting the bag, tons of black and white tissue paper sticking out from the top.

“No idea at all,” she confirms. “But there's a card poking out of the top.”

Locating it, I remove it from the paper, and silently read the handwritten words
Open this package alone
printed on the front of it. As silly as it might be, what affects me is not the idea of a private gift, it's the fact that it's Kayden's script on the note.

“Something good?” Marabella asks.

“I don't know yet,” I say, stuffing the envelope back inside the bag. “I need to open it once I'm upstairs.”

Her eyes light. “Something good for sure. I'm sure you're eager to get to your tower and explore all your new things. I think if we both load up we can get it all in one trip. Once you go through it all, you can let me know if you need anything else.”

“Hair color,” I say. “I have roots.”

She gives me a keen eye. “Oh yes. I see that now. What color is it naturally?”

“I have no idea,” I reply, Giada's communication with Gallo dictating my noncommittal answer. “But the roots don't lie. They need to be covered.”

“I'll get you some once we get you upstairs,” she promises, draping one of the garment bags over her arm.

“Thank you, Marabella,” I say, reaching for some of the bags, when I suddenly remember my journal on the coffee table in the other room, and drop the bags, my panic instant. “I need to grab something from the living room.” As I hurry away I hear her call out, “I'll head on to the tower.”

I cut left and quickly pass under the archway to the living area. A soccer game, Italian “football,” is playing on the TV. I round the couch to find Adriel occupying my prior position, my gaze going to the coffee table where my journal should rest but does not, setting my heart thundering in my chest.

“Do you want to watch the games with us?” Giada asks from behind the kitchen island.

“I need to unwind for tonight and figure out what I'm wearing,” I reply, still focused on Adriel, who arches a brow my direction.

“Something I can do for you?”

“Did you see the journal I left on the table?”

Irritation flints over his expression. “Unless it has to do with football right now, I not only have zero idea what you are talking about, I don't care.”

“Oh, good grief, Adriel,” Giada says, moving toward us. “You men and your football. You get so rude. It has to be here.” She glances at her brother. “Get up.”

He gives her a heavy-lidded stare, and she squats by the couch, looking around his feet, then stands and grimaces. “I don't see it, but it has to be here. I'll keep looking for it.”

I want to ask Adriel to stand, but he's leaned forward, watching the game. “Thanks,” I say, motioning toward the door. “Marabella is waiting to help me carry my delivery items upstairs.” I turn and hurry away, running through the things I have inside that might be bad if they were discovered by any of the Hunters, who know I managed to get on Niccolo's radar in that alleyway, but not why.

I've just arrived at the front of the store to feel guilty at the discovery that Marabella managed to carry all of the packages, when I hear Adriel say, “Ella.”

I turn to find him close, too close, towering over me, my journal in his hand. “Don't leave things like this lying around,” he says, offering it to me.

“Thank you,” I say, accepting it, only to find myself fixed in his hard, deep green stare, a lock of his curly black hair teasing his forehead.

“Let Enzo be a lesson,” he stuns me by saying. “Mistakes have consequences.” He turns and walks away, exiting the store into the main castle, as if he can no longer stomach the game that he saw as pleasure minutes before. And for the second time in twenty-four hours, I'm not sure if he's warned me or threatened me. Kayden isn't my enemy, nor am I his, but Adriel . . . I just don't know.

I wait a good two minutes before I exit the store, hitting the button to shut the door with my elbow, and my gaze travels down the hallway to the room where Enzo died. For several seconds, I relive the moment when Nathan declared Enzo gone. And yet, we've eaten pizza, told jokes, and I'm about to try on fancy dresses. Like he never existed. Like he didn't just die. My chest tightens and I think of Kayden, wondering how many times thoughts of Enzo have gutted him today. Suddenly, I really need to talk to him, and not giving myself time to change my mind, I unzip my purse and grab my phone, quickly punching in his number.

“Ella,” he answers in only one ring, the deep textured tone of his voice doing funny things to my stomach. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. This isn't an emergency. Does that mean this is a bad time?”

“The only time it's a bad time is if I tell you not to call unless it's an emergency.”

“I thought we both needed to know that it's not a crisis every time I call. And I thought you needed to know that I
will
call.”

“Indeed,” he says softly. “I did.”

“But I know you're busy with whatever you're doing, and honestly, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I'm taking that advice you gave me last night in the shower about closure.”

My eyes go wide. “About . . .” I catch myself before I say “Enzo,” not sure if the phones could be tapped. “You are?”

“Yes. I am, and at the moment I'm waiting on a few details to come together.”

“I'm glad you're doing this. It's the right thing.”

“But not the easy thing—and I wouldn't have done it if not for you.” His voice is gravelly, exhausted almost. “Maybe you'll make me a better person.”

I read that as the self-blame it is. “This wasn't your fault. You know that, right?”

“Responsibility and blame,” he says. “The two walk the same fine line as love and hate.”

He means us. I know he does. “I could come with you. Maybe I could help.”

“Not this time. There's too much I don't want you near.” He hesitates. “I know I'm protective.”

I laugh. “Just a little.”

“And bossy—”

“Ridiculously bossy.”

“I just don't want this world to destroy you or us. It's going to take me time to ease up. Actually, I'm not sure I will.”

“You will,” I promise, “simply because I'm going to get better at taming the beast you are.”

“The beast? Is that what I am now?”

“Yes,” I say, “but at least you're a sexy beast.”

He laughs, a deep rumble of masculine perfection that is good in so many ways. “Ah, Ella,” he says. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Matteo's voice rumbles in the background, and Kayden replies in Italian, followed by Carlo. “I have to go,” he tells me. “I'll be there in time for the party.” He murmurs something to me in Italian, following it with, “And then, we'll work on that understanding we talked about.”

He ends the call, and I hear his promise in my mind:
I demand everything and more.

I
find Marabella in our closet, and not surprisingly she's organizing my new wardrobe items. “Dresses and coats are here,” she says, waving at a row of bagged garments. “Shoes are below and still in their boxes, in case you want to return anything.” She shoves her hands into the pockets of her baggy black skirt. “Kayden wouldn't bother, but I will. The money should be spent on things you want to keep and wear.”

I straddle the center bench and stare at the clothes hanging up and in boxes on the floor. “Good grief, the man goes so overboard.”

“Well, he has the money,” she says, sitting next to me, angled to face me, “and he clearly wants to make you happy and spoil you. He hasn't had anyone to do that with in a very long time.”

“Since Elizabeth,” I say, and I am reminded of Kayden's reference to some things as being better not remembered, and I know he does not mean her but rather the moments and years of pain that followed.

“Yes,” she says sadly. “She lived here for three months before her death.”

I give a grim nod. “I knew that.”

“Oh good,” she says approvingly. “He's talking to you. He needs to talk, and he hasn't for a very long time.”

“He changed after Elizabeth and Kevin died?”

“Oh yes,” she says. “He clammed up and seemed colder about life and his duty. But there is a shift in him since your arrival. He laughs and smiles with you. He kisses you, and some of those dark spots in his eyes fade.”

“He makes the dark spots fade for me, too.”

She tilts her head to study me. “You're different from Elizabeth. She was . . . gentler.”

When I stiffen, she smiles. “That's not an insult. Gentleness is easily destroyed by this world, and I'm not talking about her murder. Kayden knew that, so he sheltered her—but he's sure not sheltering you.”

“I'm not sure if that's by choice or circumstance,” I say, thinking of the way he tried to protect me from the necklace revelation. “I think he'd prefer to keep me in the dark.”

“Of course he would. Then he'd never have to know if you'd reject him.”

“And ironically, I'm worried about my unknown past doing the same.”

“Ah, the world of young lovers. Just remember that nothing easy is worth having.”

“He said something very similar,” I say.

“Because I've told him that his entire life. I taught that boy manners, and right from wrong. I never had kids. Just him.” She grimaces. “Well, Giada in some ways, too, but I fear this relationship with Gallo is the breaking point. She can't stay at the castle. It's too dangerous.”

“Please tell me you don't think there's a real relationship between them, that it's just an infatuation?”

“I'm afraid I do,” she says. “At least as of Thursday, when I ran into him at the market, not long before Enzo died. Running into him in the middle of the day seemed odd enough, but Giada went off on her own not long after. I finished up at the butcher's, and was headed to the checkout when I found them huddled together.” She purses her lips. “His hand was on her waist.”

“That's not good.”

“No. It's not, and I didn't let them know I saw it. I felt it was best I tell Kayden. He'll get to the bottom of it. I'm hoping he was just attempting to seduce her, and that we've shut him down now before he succeeds. You really influence her.”

“I'm trying,” I say. “I'm not sure it's helping, but I'm certain Matteo will tap both Gallo and Giada's phone and computer records, and we'll know for sure.”

Her lips curve slightly. “I am pleased that you know the ins and outs of Kayden's world.” She doesn't give me time to ask exactly what she means, already moving on and standing up. “I'll go get your hair color.”

“I appreciate that,” I say, following her out of the closet.

She runs her fingers over the edge of the giant white sunken tub, then turns to look at me. “This is unacceptable. You two need to decide what days I can come in and clean and cook. I know you want privacy, but this place is getting dusty, and you both need good food.”

I smile. “I understand. It is unacceptable. How about Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings?”

“Plan on me being here all day this Monday. And be at the table for breakfast at nine.”