Page 24 of My Treasured Obsession

Hunter read between the lines. He handed me Luna’s carrier. “I’ll see you around, Gabby. Take care.”

I gave him an apologetic smile. “Take care, Hunter.”

We waited until Hunter’s car peeled out of the driveway before going inside the house.

I whispered a prayer under my breath, knowing that the next hour was going to be absolute chaos.

CHAPTER 6

Dreaming Of You

Gabriela

When I first moved out of my childhood home last year, I felt like I could breathe properly for the first time. A huge weight was lifted off my shoulders and all the ailments plaguing me from living under the Bellafiore roof evaporated into thin air. The root cause of my occasional anxiousness—my parents’ dynamics—was no longer breathing down my neck like a fictitious dragon. Serenity was a state of mind I quickly became acquainted with and it was one I realized that I took for granted.

Because the minute I crossed over the threshold of said childhood home, the pressure returned tenfold and rested on my sternum like a block of cement. My fight or flight response kicked in like a bird in a cage. Flapping its wings frantically to fight. But held hostage by the reality of its situation.

Seeing my parents sitting together on a love seat in the living room, mere millimetres separating their bodies, amplified the anxiety. Their postures were defensive and their armours coated with the ashes of their once flaming love. But if you paid close attention, their stubbornness was an undertone of their longing. When you spent years yearning for something without avail, it made you vexed at the world and all its inhabitants.

Being the child of divorced parents was hard, and it was harder when the divorcees were still obsessed with one another…yet too prideful to actually work on their issues.

In general, I tended to be forgiving because I understood that they were still human and it was their first time on this earth as well.

“Gabriela,” Papà bit out through gritted teeth with barely concealed impatience. “Are you going to tell us why you called an emergency family meeting or do I need to keep sitting on the same sofa your mamma uses for her string of lovers?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.Here we go again.

Mamma’s back shot ramrod straight and she threw daggers at him with her gaze.

He smirked but didn’t look at her, blue eyes like mine fixed on the coffee in his hand.

Running her fingers through her red hair—the exact shade I inherited—she harrumphed, “You don’t see me complaining about the nauseating perfume radiating off of you fromyourstring of lovers,stronzo.”

Her insult hit bullseyes. Papà placed the cup down on the coffee table with a prominent clatter. “How many times do I have to tell you—”

“I’m going to stop you both right there!” I waved my hands in front of them, forcing them to redirect their attention to me. I was sitting across from them on a singular fauteuil. “This meeting is about me. Not your failed marriage. So could you please halt your arguing and listen to what I have to say?” I gulped. “Something bad happened today and I’m scared.”

To their credit, in the face of my distress, they both paled, instantly quieting.

With a deep inhale, I told them everything that occurred. From me coming home and finding my apartment door unlocked, my vase shattered, my wall vandalized with a nasty quote, my frightened Luna, and then Josh and Hunter coming to my aid after hearing me scream from across the hallway.

When I finished recounting the details, I was correct in my earlier assumption.

Mamma gasped and wept.

And Papà went berserk, kicking the corner of the coffee table as he stood up and paced in the living room like a lion locked in a den. “I told you it was a bad idea to let her move out,” he spat, pointing an accusing finger at Mamma. “We should have never allowed it, Lucia. If she’d been home when the break-in occurred, who knows what could have happened to her. We’re lucky she’s alive!”

I shrank under his tirade. It definitely wasn’t a good time to tell him that I didn’t need permission to move out last year when I’d legally been an adult.

His anger stemmed from worry and it was valid.

Mamma glared at Papà. “You think I don’t know that, Enzo? We both agreed that Gabriela could live closer to school for her own benefit!” She turned towards me, wailing, “You can’t live there anymore. We forbid it. It’s not safe. You must stay here.”

My worst nightmare was unfolding before me. I appreciated the concern, but living under the same roof as Mamma, with Papà visiting, would do me in. Including the long commute from our West Side neighbourhood to downtown every day. “I know I can’t live there anymore.” Which pained me, considering how much I loved my apartment. “But I can live elsewhere. Still closer to school, though.”

“Absolutely not,” Papà barked and rounded the sofa to take a seat beside his ex-wife again. “Starting now, you’re living here. I’ll have one of my trusted guards stationed at the house at all times, and another one will follow you around. To school. To work. To wherever the hell you go. You’re not to be left alone until I figure out which asshole had the balls to toy with my daughter and kill him.”

My head spun. “Papà,ti scongiuro. I don’t want your guards shadowing my every move. I’ll go crazy. Furthermore, I can’t have them sitting outside my classes or my meetings. That will draw unwanted attention towards me. Please don’t do this. We’ll figure out another solution.”