Page 29

LIA

I was trembling on the couch when Rhaim returned, holding a trash bag.

He’d gone down and braved the complex basement trash for me.

That alone made me want to cry.

“I wasn’t followed,” he said, after he closed the door quickly behind himself. I stood up to throw myself at him, but he held a hand out. “Stand down. Give me a few minutes,” he said, calling someone else—who talked him through snooping through my entire apartment, waving his phone around.

Looking for bugs, I realized, hanging my head.

“You sure?” Rhaim asked whoever was on the far side of the line, before coming back into the living room with me. “Good. Thanks,” he said, and then hung up to ask me, “You okay?”

“No,” I said, and finally ran for him. He caught me and held me close.

“Who the fuck was that?”

“Arnold—my handler—and I thought you were going to kill him.”

“I did too,” he murmured into my hair. “You did good this morning, on TV.”

“I know,” I said, nodding against his chest, before he peeled me away to look at me.

“But what’s this about a doctor’s visit? You go to Enzo?”

“Yeah. I gave him some blood,” I said, as everything hit me. Being watched by Rhaim was one thing—being watched by anyone on the street was another.

Had all of New York City just become a cage?

“Why?” he asked, putting a hand beside my cheek, where I could lean into it.

“Because even as much as my dad sucks, he’s still my father,” I said, beginning to cry.

“Oh, little girl, I know, c’mere,” Rhaim said, shuffling me back till I could collapse on the couch beside him, and cry into his shoulder.

“It’s not fair,” I bawled, hating that it sounded dumb.

“I know. I know,” he said, stroking my back while I cried.

I felt so childish and silly—and then wondered what kind of shitty world I was living in where I couldn’t even safely feel sad?

Except with just this one man.

“He didn’t always suck—” I sobbed.

“You don’t have to tell me. There’s a reason I’m his best friend. But—I’m well aware how difficult he can be.”

I nodded again, wiping the foundation the make-up artist had given me this morning on Rhaim’s expensive suit. “And then—there’s layers, right? I—I just wanted him to be proud of me.”

“I get that.”

“And now I’ll never have that chance.”

“Believe me, Lia—I get that, too.”

I curled up against him, as the last of my tears flowed out of me. “I just went to Enzo to see if I could donate him a kidney.”

“Your father would never,” Rhaim said. “It’s a generous idea, but he’s paralyzed by the thought of needing anyone. You know how many times he’s pushed me away, mmm? Working for your father’s like being loyal to a cactus.”

“Then why do you stay?” I asked. I lifted my head to see, as he gave me a look. “No, really—I have to, I’m family—but why have you toughed it out?”

His head rocked back as he took a deep breath. “The world’s not built to appreciate men like me,” he said, when he was done thinking. “And besides—I don’t have anywhere left to go.”

“You do now,” I said, lacing my fingers through his quickly—except he turned my hand so that my engagement ring was facing up, where we both could see it.

“You’re right. And I’m getting you out of this mess. But I’ve got to get back to the office to finish up my day—and I’m going to be out of pocket tonight. I’ll message you when I get back to my apartment, but don’t worry about me,” he said, brushing a kiss against my hair.

I didn’t want to let him go—I wanted to hold onto him forever—so I thought of the next best thing. “Give me this shirt,” I said, rearing back to push his suit jacket back and pluck at his shirt buttons.

“Why?”

“Because it smells like you—your sweat and deodorant. And I need something, Rhaim, if I’m gonna make it.”

He nodded—and I got off the couch, grabbed the trashbag, and went into my bedroom.

Arnold had tried to throw away a fourth of my closet: all of my bodycon dresses, and any heels above two inches.

But luckily—I came back into my living room, and found a shirtless Rhaim waiting.

“They don’t call them boyfriend-T’s for nothing—and it missed my handler’s Amish sweep,” I said, tossing him a ball of black cotton.

He pulled it on, and it was mercilessly tight on him.

“Okay—I changed my mind—maybe I want that shirt, too—off of you, preferably—” I said, stepping up, where he caught my face between his hands and ran his thumbs beneath my eyes.

“Can’t. I’ve got to go. But trust me I don’t want to,” he said, right before bringing my lips to his, and giving me a careful kiss. I closed my eyes for it, and I knew however long it lasted, it would always be too short. “I’ll text you later though. I promise. I love you.”

I bit my lips to not give him a worried smile. “I love you too.”