Page 166 of The Wicked

“And… he’s back.” She took my previous position, leaning against the sink as wide lustful eyes roamed my body.

I eyed her. “I have a small house downtown. That’s where we’ll be settling tonight.”

Her eyes spoke dirty thoughts as she watched my fingers fasten two buttons of my trench coat.

“Sport.”

“Yeah?” Her gaze snapped to mine.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Honestly, no. Your fingers are—distracting. Why are they distracting?”

By habit, I shoved both hands into the pockets of the coat. “I said I have a small house downtown, and we’ll settle there tonight.”

“Small house?”

“Yes. Angelo will be at his mother’s, and by the morning, we’ll be back on a flight to Milan,” I informed.

Hopefully, an enclosed space housing the both of us would be enough to get in her head and discover why her eyes held so many secrets.

“Okay, when you said small, I was thinking like a—smallish fancy house with black-and-white design and classy shit—” she said.

I could see what she was seeing now: the small living room with three yellow couches, soft beige wallpaper, decorative flowers on the walls, bookshelves lining a small space by the far end of one of the couches, and a soft, comfortable rug that added a homey feel to the house.

There was one kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom, and no passageways. The doors to the bathroom and bedroom were to our left, although the bathroom had another cojoined door inside the bedroom.

The kitchen was visible from where we stood, a small cozy space with a brown marble counter, one gas cooker, an oven, and one small fridge with picture stickers of my brother and sister, Elia, and my mom.

Some of the pictures were cut out; a face was missing—my face.

“The more I look at it, the more it feels… personal,” Zahra voiced.

“It is,” I told her, pulling off my coat and turning on more lights.

The room was now bathed in white, brown, and yellow.

I caught the look of discomfort in Zahra’s eyes as she turned to look at me. “Elio, why did you bring me here? We could have gone to a hotel or something.”

I took off my wristwatch. “It would be illogical to spend money on hotels when I have a house here.”

“You’re rich.”

“Yes, but I am not wasteful.”

“It’s—” She paused, exasperated and jittery. “Elio, what do you think we’re doing here?” She motioned between us.

“What?”

“What do you think this is? You can’t bring me to your space… You shouldn’t trust me so much.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Yet you bring me here. To this house that looks like your safe space. I’m pretty sure you’ve never brought anyone here, so what makes me an exception?”

She was right. No one had been here but me. This house was a delusion. I didn’t like flashy or extravagant things. I was born from wealth, but I wanted the most minor things that came with life.

Well, for now… while I’m still inconveniently breathing.