Envy by Eve Marian

19

Natacha

Walking in through the backdoor of Giancarlo’s house Monday morning, I walked past Pete’s office. “Morning,” I said, and Pete nodded. His nose nearly pressed against his laptop screen. It had been three weeks since I first walked through that door.

Dominic watched a soccer game on the big screen. I thought he had one of the best jobs in the house. Until someone tried to beat the door down or attempted to kill Giancarlo, he had it pretty easy.

I poked inside the refrigerator and pulled out the cod fish I’d left to defrost. Tonight would be a simple dinner. There was too much on my mind for anything more complicated than pan-frying some fish. I left my phone on the counter as I wouldn’t need a recipe for this dish.

Remembering we had no white wine left, I stepped around the island toward the basement door to retrieve a bottle from the cellar.

But before I reached it, Giancarlo walked in.

He wore a crisp white shirt, black pants, and had combed and gelled his hair. The scar over his eyebrow was especially pronounced without his hair covering it.

My heart stopped and kicked back up again. So many emotions wrestled inside my chest. Longing, regret, and fear.

I pulled at the neckline of the knitted beige sweater dress I wore. My entire body felt flushed from the wool and the heat radiating from Giancarlo’s stare.

“You didn’t come home last night,” he said.

I pressed my lips together. “I did go home.”

“I meant here.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

He stepped closer. “It is to me.”

“Giancarlo, you shouldn’t have threatened Dave last night. And how the hell did you get his number so fast, anyhow?”

He crossed his arms. “It wasn’t that hard. And it wasn’t a threat. It was a warning. No one touches what is mine.”

“I’m not yours.”

He ran his middle finger down my arm. “Yes, Natacha, you are mine. And I will stop anyone that tries to take what’s mine.”

“You can’t say things like that to me.”

“Why not? What’s going on? Do you like this guy?”

“No. But you and me. We’re not…”

“We’re not, what?”

“We can’t be anything more.”

He moved his hand to my waist and squeezed. “There’s something you’re not telling me.” His eyes searched mine, frantically moving from side to side. “What is it?”

I pushed away from him. The scrutiny was too much. I would crack and tell him everything. That I came here for a job, that I knew who had killed my boyfriend, and that despite all that, I was still falling in love with him. “Please, let me go,” I said and opened the basement door.

I ran down the steps even though I didn’t hear footsteps behind me. I was glad he hadn’t followed me. I needed a few minutes to collect myself and decide what I would say. I would tell him that we’d made a mistake and that we shouldn’t have slept together. I was his employee and we had to keep the relationship strictly professional.

But even as I said it, I knew I couldn’t do it. This was impossible. My head and my heart had never been at such odds. I had no idea what I would do.

Talk to him.

The thought lightened the weight on my shoulders. I didn’t have to figure this out completely on my own. I would tell him what I saw and what I suspected and see how he would respond.

I quickly grabbed the first bottle of white wine that I saw and jogged up the steps.

I knew it was confusing telling him to let me go three minutes ago and now asking him if we could talk about the past. But it was the only way forward.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I inhaled sharply and turned on my heels toward Giancarlo.

He held my phone in one hand and gripped the counter with the other. His face was ashen, as though he’d seen a ghost. When he turned to me, his eyes were hard and his mouth flat.

My face fell, too. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

He turned the phone toward me.

“Why is Luke Crawford texting you?”

All the blood drained from my body, and I gripped the bottle to keep it from falling from my hands. I watched him, hoping he would say something else while I gathered my thoughts and words.

But seconds passed without either of us saying a word.

“He’s a friend.”

He placed a hand on his hip. “A friend?”

“Yes.” I placed the bottle on the table and shook my hand. I’d gripped it pretty tight. “Can I have my phone back?”

“Why have you never mentioned him before?”

“I’ve never mentioned any of my friends before.”

“What does he want?”

“He’s a chef. We swap recipes.”

“Is that all you swap?”

“Yes. Not that it’s any of your business.”

I pushed past him. I needed to collect myself. I hadn’t expected to be confronted with my cover. I thought we were going to discuss what happened the night Chase died. I wasn’t prepared to discuss this. But I knew it would be necessary if we were to move on.

“There’s nothing romantic between Luke and me. He’s… he’s…” I couldn’t tell him he was a client. The Crawfords were my father’s biggest client. If he lost them, it would be a big hit. If they told others that we blab about what we’re doing, they would never hire us. I had to talk to my dad and figure out how I would tell Giancarlo the truth, yet still protect our client’s identity.

I sighed. “There’s a lot we have to talk about.”

“Then start talking.”

He stalked over to me. His boots fell hard against the porcelain floors. “Because right now, I don’t know what to believe.”

I placed my hand on his chest. “Don’t jump to conclusions. He’s just a friend and I’m the woman who woke up next to you and the one who cooks your dinners.”

His eyes didn’t soften. They bore into me and burned my chest. “But there’s more.”

I nodded. I wouldn’t deny it. “Yes,” I whispered.

“Then tell me.”

My bottom lip trembled. “I can’t.” I tried to walk away but he pulled me back.

His hand snaked across my neck, and his thumb pressed against my throat. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

I held his eyes and my breath. I wouldn’t let him intimidate me.

He let go and turned his back. Running a hand through his hair, he paced the kitchen.

I waited for him to collect himself, while my conscience screamed at me for putting him through this. But I had to get the words right. There was too much riding on how I explained all of this.

He dropped his fists onto the kitchen table and hung his head. He looked so defeated. I stepped toward him, but his voice stopped me.

“Was any of it real?” The pain in his words cut me, and I ran to him and placed my hands on his face. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, all of what I felt was real. It still is!”

I held his face tightly, but his tortured black eyes hardened instead of melted by my touch.

“Tell me the truth, Natacha.” His eyes burned red. “Are you the rat?” His voice was especially deep, as though he’d picked those words from a dark place in his gut.

“No,” I breathed, still holding his face.

He shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”

“I swear it.” A wisp of hair fell down my face and he watched it fall. His hands remained stoically by his sides.

“I swear I’d never put your life in danger.”

“But you would betray me?”

His instincts were sharp and they cut through me. He must have seen me flinch because he closed his eyes and scoffed. “Get out.”

“Giancarlo, please. Listen to me. I’ll tell you everything, but—”

He spun me around and pressed my back against the wall. His hands held my face, but his touch wasn’t soft like mine was. His skin burned my cheeks and his thumb pressed against my bottom lip.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I said, past his grip.

He stared at my mouth. “You should be.”

The coldness in his voice sent a shiver down my spine, and the hairs at the back of my neck stood erect. For the first time since I entered his home, I was scared.

I swallowed, and his eyes dropped to my throat. “I should kill you.”

Adrenaline raced through my veins as my flight or fight response kicked in. I was going to fight. “I’m not the rat.”

His fingers loosened, but I didn’t try to move. I would stay here for as long as it took for him to believe me. His face remained blank while his lips moved. “But you’re hiding something. I know it.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“It’s enough to know that you’re hiding something from me.”

He stepped back and crossed his arms. “Get out.”

“I just need to—”

He pointed to the back door. “Now!”

I jumped and despite my heart telling me he’d never hurt me, my instincts argued that he could.

I nodded once and walked away from him. Turning the knob to the back door, I looked over my shoulder, but he was already gone.