Page 6 of Heaven Help Me

My father bought it when he first got the teaching job at the university, long before housing prices went crazy. He tried to sell it five years ago, claiming it was way too much house for him to take care of. I couldn’t bear to let the place go, so I took it over and moved him into a small condo in town where he can walk to everything he needs. I didn’t realize how convenient that would be until he was diagnosed with cancer six months ago. Now I can keep an eye on him and make sure he’s taken care of while I work just one block over at my boutique.

We pull up the long driveway lined with tulips and daffodils. They’re just about done blooming. Once the hot and humid summer months are in full swing, they’ll go dormant and come back next spring. Valentina sits forward, her head on a swivel, taking in the property.

“You live…here?”

I can’t tell from her tone what she thinks of the place. I put the car in park at the front of the house and get out. We both reach for her bag in the back, but I get there first. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t fight me for it. Probably because she’s too busy picking her way across the walkway in her heels to the front porch, leaves and flower petals and spiky sweet gums littering the path.

I dash around her and unlock the door, putting her bag down. “Stay here.”

Valentina jams me with her side, basically hip-checking me like a hockey player to get inside before me.

“Fuck! Watch it, woman,” I snap, pushing her right back so I enter the house first.

I need to make sure no one’s figured out she’s here. Now that the mafia life has reached me, I have to revert to all the skills I was taught during those fraught summers living with Bettina. Never enter a house without giving it a good sweep first.

Valentina snorts. “What are you gonna do? Take ’em out with a karate chop in your fancy suit?” Then she winces and bends down to grab her ankle.

I roll my eyes. Serves her right for wearing stilettos at nine in the morning. I have a scathing comeback poised on my tongue, but Valentina springs into action, straightening up and dashing away from me, ankle perfectly fine. I watch her dart inside my own house, my mouth agape.

“Shit!” I follow after her, remembering to lock the door behind me.

She’s already gone, darting this way and that, not making a single creak of noise on my original hardwood floors. It’s like she’s weightless, despite being five foot ten. And that’s before the stilettos.

I trail after her, watching her enter rooms she has no business being in, mostly because my personal life is spread all over. Pictures, throw blankets, dirty clothes. Hell, she’s already hit the stairs, scampering up with every intention of clearing the second floor where my bedroom is. I sprint after her, suddenly desperate that she doesn’t enter my bedroom. Can’t a man have one room that’s off-limits to his mortal enemy?

I get my hand on her elbow right as she gets to my closed bedroom door. “I got this one.”

She looks down pointedly at my hand. I let her go and she moves away, off to inspect the other rooms that probably have an inch of dust covering the random furniture in them. I clear my room and meet her back at the top of the stairs.

“Clear,” she says sharply, always the perfect little soldier.

“Let me show you your room,” I say, biting back irritation at this whole situation.

She follows behind me down the hall, which I only know because I can still smell the scent of her: fruity shampoo, spicy perfume, and a whiff of arrogance.

I push open the door to the only guest room I have furnished. Its four walls are covered with blue hydrangea wallpaper, more crown molding than the White House, and a four-poster bed you could swing from if you hung the ropes correctly sits in the middle. Valentina looks around the room, then back to me, eyes wide, ruby-red lips open in a small little “o” that should disgust me but does the opposite.

“This is…” She pauses, as if searching for the words. “This is something. You surprise me, Deuce.”

“You’re welcome,” I say wryly, pointing out that the only correct response would have been to thank me for opening up my home to her.

She tosses her ponytail behind her shoulder and folds her arms across her chest. Clearly, she doesn’t give a flying fuck about manners. It’s going to make her time here in the South very interesting.

“Honestly, I may have to put a lock on your door.” Her irritation at my threat is clear, which makes my lips twitch with a held-back smile. “I’m half afraid you’ll knife me again as soon as I let my guard down.”

She huffs through her nose and drops her arms. “Oh, that was seventeen-year-old me. Forty-year-old me uses firearms.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Though I have dabbled in poisons and those can be so much fun.”

She’s honestly terrifying. Almost as scary as the woman who birthed me.

I need to keep her focused on why she’s here. And possibly remind her that Bettina will want to find me still alive when this whole stupid situation is over.

“We need to come up with a backstory.”

“I need water.”

I wave a hand in the direction of the bathroom right next door.

“I’m not a cat, Deuce. I don’t drink from the faucet.”