Twirled Bond (Holly Woods Files, #5) (19 page)

“No.” He taps his finger against the side of his mug. “And I hope I’m never in a situation where I’m anywhere close to ever finding out.”

“Yeah. Me too.” I look down right as Rosie’s latest hire, Felicity, a teenager from the University of Texas, Austin, brings our omelets out.

Drake’s is so big that it almost slips off the plate when she attempts to put it down. Luckily for her, the man has lightning-quick reflexes and catches the plate before his brunch ends up on his lap.

Felicity’s cheeks heat. “Sorry, Detective Nash.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Miss Rosie.” He winks at her, which makes her cheeks burn brighter.

She hurriedly—but more carefully—puts mine down and runs back to the kitchen.

“That was cruel. You know she has a crush on you.” I pull some of the eggy, cheesy goodness away with a sweeping stab of my fork.

“What can I say? I’m the local teen heartthrob.” He flashes me a sexy grin that makes my heart skip a beat.

Right before he shovels a large forkful of egg, mushroom, bacon, ham, and spinach into his mouth and ruins the hot-guy persona.

“Careful. They might start printing your picture off the Holly Woods website for you to sign.”

He smiles as he chews and nods once with certainty. “I can’t help being hot.”

I stare at him. “I’m gonna have to move out, aren’t I?”

“Why?” He raises an eyebrow quizzically.

“So your new, massive ego can move in. Am I even going to be able to get into bed tonight?”

He throws a piece of mushroom at me, which makes me wrinkle my nose as I bat it back at him. “You won’t move out. You’re too lazy to cook again.”

“And you’re too lazy to do your own laundry, so I have to stay for that one reason. It’s a wonder you ever had clean socks to wear when you lived alone.”

He grins, a forkful of food poised in front of him. “I bought new ones a lot.”

“No shit. You have more socks than I have shoes. Washing them is a full-time job. Never mind your ego—I might have to move out to make room for those.”

He snorts, choking on his food. He has to take a mouthful of coffee before the water in his eyes clears and he can talk to me. “Drama queen,” he says with a teasing tone. “Stop getting my hopes up. You’ll never leave that house. Besides—it’s still yours. I’m technically just your sex-toy roommate.”

Now, it’s my turn to choke on my food. Not just at his last comment, but because he’s right. The house is still mine, legally, even if we know it as ours now.

Should I have added him to the ownership papers by now? Should we actually co-own the house? Is that too far? Too much too soon?

God damn this shit. Why isn’t there a manual on adulting in relationships? Can I Google this, or...?

“Now what’s wrong?” Drake’s question breaks through my inner panicking monologue, and his hand waving in front of my face pulls my focus back on him. “You’re zoning out on me.”

“Should you be on the papers for the house?” The question spills out of me before I can stop it.

Thank you, brain-to-mouth filter. You can wake up anytime.

“Ownership ones?”

“Well...yeah.”

“Is that why you’re staring at me like I’ve grown two heads and my cock has shriveled up like a raisin?”

“Pretty much.”

He laughs quietly and puts down his fork. He touches his fingertips to mine across the table. “Do you want me to be on them?”

“Does it bother you that you’re not?”

“Not at all. We split all the bills, Noelle. I’m not going to be emasculated because my girlfriend owns the house we live in and a successful business.” He slips his fingers between mine and strokes his thumb across mine. “I’ve already told you I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care if you own the house or if I do.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Am I not supposed to be?”

“You have a lot of questions.” He smirks. “You know you follow your gut in everything except our relationship, right?”

“Yes. And, luckily for you, that’s the case. If I followed it, I would have shot you on our first date.”

He squeezes my hand and laughs before going back to his food. “Woman, you’re crazy.”

I smile sassily before eating again too. We’re halfway finished eating when the bell over the door rings and an Italian accent announces the most exhausting person in my life.

“Noella!” Nonna claps her hands together and sits on the chair next to me. “I have-a been-a looking for-a you.”

“Oh, goodie,” I say under my breath.

Drake obviously catches it because he coughs.

“What’s up, Nonna?”

“I need-a your help. Your mamma wants to-a get-a rid of-a my Gio!”

Oh boy.

“On that note,” Drake says, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “I have to get to work.” He pulls thirty dollars from his wallet and throws the bills in front of me on the table. He stands to kiss my cheek and wink at me, and he leaves before I can protest.

Probably because I’m staring at him with my mouth open. Is he honestly leaving me here with her after what she just said?

He is. He is. Oh my god.

Fucking traitor.

“Ah. He is-a a pussy.”

My eyes widen as she chuckles. That’s something I never thought I’d hear her say.

“Wh-what?”

More chuckles. “He is-a a smart one, Noella. He knows I-a want something.”

“Yes. Presumably me to convince Mom not to sell the damn parrot.” I’m not hungry anymore. Surprised? I’m not. I put my fork down on the plate and push it away.

“Ah... No.”

“No? So, she can sell the parrot?”

“No. She is-a not-a selling him. He is-a getting training-a classes. For-a his-a dirty mouth.”

Well. That’s a new one. “I’m confused. I don’t have time for your guessing games. What do you want?”

She shifts in her chair to face me, a spark of excitement lighting in her eyes. “When-a are-a you asking that-a man to-a marry you?”

I blink at her. Quickly. A lot. Like there’s something in my eyes I can’t get out.

Did she just... Why would she... I mean, what?

The bell over the door rings, but it’s a mere echo compared to the way my heart is thundering against my ribs.

“I’m sorry.” My mouth is dry. “Can you repeat that? I thought I heard you ask me when I’m asking Drake to marry me, but I must have heard you wrong.”

“You’re proposing to Drake?” Gianna gasps, her hand flying to her chest.

She was the bell.

“No! Nobody is proposing to anybody!” I smack my hands against the table. “What the hell, Nonna? Where did that even come from? What is wrong with you?”

She sniffs, pulling her shawl around her shoulders tighter, unaffected by my annoyance. “Well, he is-a not-a going to ask-a you any time soon, is-a he? You should-a ask-a him.”

“Why? Why would I ask him to marry me? Jesus, woman! You’re losin’ your dang mind for real this time!”

Gianna slides into the chair Drake vacated not long ago. “Why wouldn’t you?”

Great. I’m outnumbered. By my Italian grandmother and my boyfriend’s Italian mother. This situation could not be worse.

“I ain’t even havin’ this conversation.” I snatch my purse from under the table and move Drake’s money to where it can be seen for Felicity to get for the bill and her tip. “I have work to do. Work that doesn’t involve people trying to force my relationship.”

Annoyance swirls through my veins as I get up and storm to the door.

“You are-a living in-a sin, Noella!” Nonna cries in one last-ditch effort to get me to come back.

I yank the door open and look at her over my shoulder. “Good. Then I’ll go to Hell and won’t have to deal with you in the afterlife.”

I slam it behind me before I shove my sunglasses onto my face and dig in my purse for my keys. God damn. Why couldn’t I get a normal grandmother who respects my wishes? Drake and I have been together a year and have lived together for half of it. It’s a miracle we even made it to a point where we could move in together.

Why can’t our relationship, our pace, and our choices be respected by her? And even his mom—I could see it in Gianna’s eyes. She actually thought Nonna’s idea was a good one.

God. I lean my head back against the seat in my car for a moment. Is it too much to be allowed to simply move on at our own speed?

I blow out a deep breath and start the engine. I’m going back to the office before Nonna comes out and starts again. I really don’t want to deal with it right now. Ever, actually.

It’s amazing how something so small can flip such a good brunch date into a horribly bad late morning.

After several minutes of driving, the edge is taken off my anger by the time I get to the office. I really wish her pushing didn’t affect me so much. I wish I could just wash it off like I used to be able to, but the fact is I can’t. I don’t want anyone’s nose being in our relationship—that’s when problems start.

I take my message cards from Grecia and head upstairs without another word to the sanctity of my office. When I’m there, I pull my phone from my purse and see that I have a new text, so I put my purse and my sunglasses on the desk and lean forward to read it.

It’s Trent.
You’re proposing to Drake?!?!?!

What. The. Hell?

No!!!!
I text back, hitting send before I can think of anything else to say.

Nonna’s here. That’s what she just told me.

Oh my fucking god.

Get her the hell out of there before Drake hears!!!!

Um...she told him too.

You’ve got to be kidding me. You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me. How did she even get there so fast? She’s like a damn senior ninja.

Tell her she can kiss my ass if she thinks I’m coming to dinner tomorrow. I’d rather walk through fire.

I hit send and drop my phone into the dark recesses of my purse. I’m no longer interested in anything to do with the woman. Not only does she ask me when I’m doing something she made up inside her head, but she goes to where Drake works and starts talking about it? No, no. That’s not okay.

Honestly, I think she’s getting senile. I know I’ve joked about it a hundred times before, probably a thousand, but now, I’m starting to think she really does need around-the-clock care. She’s clearly too unhinged to be out in the general public.

I slump into my chair and lean forward on my desk, sinking my fingers into my hair. I can’t believe her; I really can’t. As if we don’t have enough to deal with right now, she’s gone and done this. She’s gone and fed the gossip gits and I’m not going to be able to escape it.

I sit up a little and pull my hands from my hair, bringing them to cover my face. The pressure to get married in my family is ridiculous. If it ever happens, I’m going to fucking elope just to say, “Fuck you.”

“Knock, knock.” The words, Gianna’s, are punctuated by two light knocks on the door. “Can I come in?”

I look up and noncommittally wave my hand at her.

She shuts the door behind her and leans against it. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

I shrug. “It doesn’t matter. Nonna already drove to the station and told your son I’m proposing to him.”

“Ah. He knows better than to listen to her.”

I meet her eyes. I know there’s coldness in my gaze, mostly because she flinches, but honestly... Right now, I’m too upset to care. Maybe that makes me a bitch, but I don’t much care about that either.

“It doesn’t matter if he knows better than to listen to her. It’s one thing for her to preach to us about living in sin every time I see her or for her to ask me when we’re getting married every week at dinner. She’s at
least
half joking then just to rile me up. It’s another thing entirely for her to step over the line and actually tell people I’m going to do something I never have any intention of doing.”

“Really? You’re never going to marry him?”

“I’m never going to
propose
,” I say, putting the pressure on the word propose.

Gianna pushes dark strands of hair from her face and tucks them behind her ear. “He wants to, you know. Marry you.”

A noise resembling a strangled cat, rife with frustration, escapes from my throat. “You think I don’t know that? Do you honestly think we don’t talk about this stuff? Because we do. We have. And that’s exactly why we don’t need anyone else talking about it for us. I’m not blind to the fact that he’s perhaps always been half a step—maybe even a whole step—ahead of me in this relationship, but right now, we’re equal and we’re
happy.
Even with everything going on. The point is, we’ve always respected each other’s feelings. We still do. I don’t know why y’all can’t see that—and why y’all can’t respect our private emotions either.” I take a deep breath. “Besides. Don’t we have other, more important things to worry about than whether or not we’re getting married any time soon?” I finish by pointedly raising my eyebrow, because she knows better.

And she was in cahoots with Nonna. I know it.

“You’re right,” she acquiesces after a moment. “I should go.”

I nod and open my laptop. I don’t want to be rude by not replying, but honestly, I feel like I’m going to be so much ruder if I do say something.

I do some routine work—answering more e-mails, getting my accountant off my back for another week, and returning a couple of phone calls. Lunch passes in a blur, but I find a cupcake from Drake’s delivery yesterday in my top drawer, so that does just fine.

It’s the tedious stuff that makes the hours pass.

Bek walks in right as my phone rings. I hold my hand up for her to wait a moment and answer. “Hello?”

“Noelle? It’s Stacia Russo.”

I flap my hand at Bek for her to sit down. “Hi, Stacia. How are you doin’?”

“Could be better, but it could also be worse. Thanks.” She hesitates for a moment.

Long enough that I ask, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Are you going to my sister’s memorial tonight?”

“I was planning on stopping by.”

“Okay.” Her exhale makes the line crackle. “I have something I want to give you. Of hers. That I found. Can you meet me there at six thirty?”

“I... Of course. Where?”

“I’ll be greeting people at the door with Father Luiz. I’ll sneak off with you then. I have to go run to the store for Mom right now, but I’ll see you then.” She hangs up before I can say another word to her.