Page 62 of Heaven Help Me

“Easy for you to say. You were her actual biological child. She’d never fully turn her back on you, even if you told her you hated her. I was one wrong move away from being cast out.”

Now that truly makes my heart ache for her. She’s right, I never worried about arguing with Bettina. She could kick me out and that would have been fine with me. I always had Papa. Valentina had no one.

“And I bet she used that over the years to get you to do what she wanted.” I reach over to hold Valentina’s hand, my fingers squeezing hers. “That’s not love, V. That’s manipulation, and Bettina’s the queen of it.”

Valentina wipes a tear away that slips down her cheek. She’s no longer looking at me, but I know she heard me. I know it’ll take some time for her to sort out what she wants to do with her life and where her loyalties will lie. All I can do is be a sounding board for her. Not another person to manipulate her, but someone she can learn how to trust. If she’ll let me, I’d love to find a good therapist she can talk to. It will take a lot to unpack an entire childhood.

It’s a good ten minutes later that Valentina finally speaks again, her gaze on the trees. “I’m actually thinking of staying here in Heaven.”

Hope ignites in my chest. I’m head over knife in love with this woman and of course want her to stay here with me, but I can’t tell her that quite yet. I want her to make her own decisions about her life without anyone else’s opinions. For once in her life, she deserves to make a decision without pressure from outside forces. So I choose my words and tone carefully.

“Only you can choose what to believe and how to live your life, V. Don’t let me or Bettina or anyone else influence you or manipulate you.” I squeeze her fingers so hard I’m afraid I might be hurting her. “You have to choose it for yourself. That’s what love is. Giving space for the other person to be themselves and loving them through it.”

Valentina turns and finally looks at me, her gorgeous blue-gray eyes drilling into mine. I haven’t said the words, but I know she understands. I love her, but I won’t use those words to manipulate her.

“When you know what you want, I’ll be here to support you, whatever it ends up being.”

“Thank you,” she says so softly I barely hear it. Then she lays her head on my shoulder and swings her feet back and forth in the air.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Valentina

I stretch my limbs, surprised to see sunlight streaming through the curtains in Deuce’s room. Not surprised to be waking up in his bed, mind you, since I’ve been doing that more and more, but just surprised I slept in. I snuggle deeper into the sheets, wanting to stay inside that delicious dream I’d been having. Deuce and I had been at an ax-throwing facility, laughing with friends while competing to see who had the best accuracy. Spoiler alert: it was me. Deuce had just come up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and snuggled his gorgeous face into my neck, whispering about the things he had planned for me when we got home.

I’d felt at peace.

Happy.

In love.

It’s disorienting to wake up and realize it was all a dream. But is it really all a dream? I force my eyes open again and roll over, wanting confirmation that Deuce isn’t a figment of my imagination.

But he isn’t there.

I sit upright, then pivot to check out the time on the clock next to his side of the bed. It’s almost nine, which means he’s already at the boutique, getting the place ready to open. Normally I join him, the two of us working side by side. Ever since he suggested it and I opened myself to the possibility, he’d been right. We do make an incredible team.

Throwing off the covers, I slide out of bed and throw on one of his T-shirts from the dresser, pulling it up to my nose to sniff the laundry-detergent scent that reminds me instantly of Deuce.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask myself out loud.

I’m sniffing a man’s shirt! I scoff loudly, roll my eyes, and march down to the kitchen for some coffee. This is getting out of hand. There’s no way this built-up image of Deuce in my head can be real. Real men aren’t best friend material. All men out there in the world are ultimately about one thing: themselves.

Except there, right on the kitchen counter next to the expensive espresso machine that I tease Deuce about but love so much, is a handwritten note. My favorite mug is holding down the sheet of paper. The note’s definitely from Deuce, based off the barely legible slashes across the page. I pick it up like I’m trying not to get my fingerprints on it.

V,

You were sleeping like an angel and I didn’t want to wake you up. Protein pancake is in the microwave, just heat it up. Call me when you’re awake so I can come back to pick you up. I hope you have a restful morning.

Miss you already,

D

I drop it back onto the counter and bow my head, letting out a groan.

“Dammit!” How can I keep these walls up when he’s sweet like that? Is he for real?

My phone chimes and I snatch it up, hoping both for a distraction from this mess and for a text from Deuce. I’m fucking addicted to his attention apparently. But it’s not Deuce. It’s Betsy and a group text I’m suddenly a part of.