Page 97 of Enzo

“I don’t even care,” I murmured, brushing my lips against his. “It’s you I love, not your hair.”

37

PENELOPE

The days since Amara was admitted passed both too quickly and not quickly enough.

Time blurred, just like the city outside the passenger window with buildings and lights streaking past in gray ribbons of rain on the glass. The radio was off and so was Enzo’s cell phone. Our breaths in the space between us mixed with the pitter-patter of the rain, and a lowtap, tap, tap.

Enzo’s strong fingers tapped against the steering wheel in a rhythmic, thoughtful motion. His other hand rested on my thigh, warm and heavy, grounding me in the way that his absence unnerved me in the past few days. He’d been disappearing for a few hours every day, sending unease through me that I feared to question.

The visitor’s bracelet was still clamped around my wrist, a reminder of what we were taking a break from.

“I found a house close by that you might like. More land,” he said quietly. “A private beach. Lots of space for guests.”

I looked over at him, his profile sharp and so handsome. He was always so somber and serious, so it wasn’t unusual that hewasn’t smiling. But there was a tension brewing. It was in the lines drawn around his mouth and in his too-stiff shoulders.

“You want to move out of the cottage?” I asked.

“Eventually.”

“Is the new house close to my parents’?”

He nodded once, fingers tapping on the wheel. “Yes.”

My brows frowned. “Did you buy it already?’

“I did.”

“Without my input?”

“If you don’t like it, we’ll keep searching. We can’t stay at your papà’s forever.”

“Is it because of… what he said the night you came back?”

Atticus Popov.

The name hung between us without being spoken.

“No, but things might get ugly and I need us to be… safe.”

I turned my gaze back to the window, fingers curling over his.

“Okay,” I said softly. “As long as we’re together and my family is nearby, any house will do.”

He looked at me, a smile tugging at his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

There was still something he wasn’t saying. Something heavier than the constant sound of rain on the windshield.

It’s you I love.

Maybe I shouldn’t have uttered those words, but they just slipped out of my mouth and I couldn’t bring myself to retract them. I meant them, and they were precious.

But Enzo had barely spoken since.

“You know that I trust you, right?” I finally said, meeting his eyes.

He didn’t answer for a long time. Just kept driving, the wipers sweeping across the windshield in a slow, hypnotic arc.