Page 143 of Veil of Obsession

“You bought this place?” Her voice is hoarse, as if saying it out loud makes it real.

I nod once, leaning back against the booth. “It’s ours.”

She blinks at me like I just confessed something unholy. And maybe I have. Because it’s not just a building. It’s a vow.

She’s silent for a beat.

“You’ve been…busy.”

I crack a grin. “Someone had to make sure we weren’t living in a damn bunker forever.”

She smiles—barely—and takes a sip of her coffee. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I did,” I say, reaching for her hand across the table. “Because this life, this thing we’ve built…it doesn’t survive on the run. I needed to give you something real. Something solid.”

Her fingers tighten around mine. Still no words.

“And about the other night,” I add, glancing down. “I was outta line. You didn’t deserve that. I was…sharp. Snappy.”

She snorts softly, almost laughing. “Snappy?”

“Yeah,” I say, a sheepish half-smile tugging at my mouth. “Asshole. Whatever you wanna call it. I’m sorry.”

Her expression softens. “Thank you.”

A pause.

Then, as if trying to change the subject before the moment gets too heavy, she asks, “So, what now? You gonna put me to work? Make me serve hashbrowns and wipe counters?”

I lean forward. “Only if you wear the uniform.”

She shoves my shoulder. “Pervert.”

We both laugh. Really laugh. And it’s the first time in weeks—maybe months—that the tension doesn’t hang in the air like a loaded gun.

We finish breakfast—pancakes, bacon, two rounds of coffee—in easy silence, and when she slips on her coat again, I see the way her eyes linger on the space.

She likes it. She won’t say it, not yet. But I see it.

We step outside into the fresh morning chill. The desert wind’s gentler now, the sky washed pale gold. I buckle Frankie’s car seat back into the back, making sure it’s sturdy. I don’t know how she’s sleeping through all of this shit, but I can’t say I’m complaining.

Back in the car, Princess curls her legs under her, yawns, and glances at me. “Are we going home now?”

I grip the steering wheel. “Something like that.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Lucio…”

“You’ll see.”

It’s almost an hour’s drive before we pull up the long, tree-lined driveway. The road curves through pines and stone lanterns, winding like something out of a movie. She starts straightening in her seat as the house comes into view—that sprawling, old-money kind of estate with its steep gables, tall chimneys, and soft ivy climbing the stone walls.

The car slows. She doesn’t speak. Just stares.

The driveway opens into a wide circle with a fountain in the center and lanterns lit even though it’s morning. I stop the engine.

She blinks, then turns to me. “What is this?”

I step out, walk around to her door, and open it.