Page 52

I know it’s wrong, but I’m just trying to fucking survive.

Nonno ran the vineyard himself, but it was a much smaller operation until my dad and uncles took over. I’m doing the job of four brothers. We have more technology implemented now, but I’m just one person. Who can blame me for needing a boost in motivation?

Tilly doesn’t seem to. We had dinner together throughout the week. We’ve had sex since her accidental discovery. She slept over last night after I left her full of me. We’ve been having sex for almost two weeks. I should know soon if we’re going to be permanent, and I have no doubt she’s expecting. She may not know it yet, but she will soon enough. Unless she’s been taking Plan B behind my back, but she wouldn’t betray me like that. I told her not to the first time, and no one crosses me. Ever.

I don’t get off on the unprotected shit; I get off on holding her close forever.

For now, I leave her sleeping in bed. It’s too early for her to wake up after staying up well after midnight. She needs to rest, and I have big plans this week. This weekend marks the start of the week her dad is out of town. She’s supposed to be house-sitting for him, but that just entails watering a couple of plants and checking the mail.

Mostly, she’ll be here with me. She even brought extra clothes and her toiletries, so she has minimal reason to go home. It’s a good trial run to see what living with her might look like someday.

Someday, very, very soon, I hope.

I have to work this week, but I look forward to coming home to her. No longer coordinating what time to meet up after I leave the vineyard. She’ll just be here. It sounds traditional, and while I am, I don’t expect her to cook or clean all day. I’ll always happily cook for her.

She’ll be free to use my space. Now that she knows about the pills, I don’t have much to hide. Sure, I have a loaded Glock in a small gun safe in my nightstand’s drawer, but that’s not something I think she’d raise an eyebrow at. It’s purely for self-defense.

Hmm, I should take her to the gun range.

That could be a fun date, and she should know how to protect herself. I’ve always liked guns. My dad has quite a collection, but I wanted to gauge her first. Not everyone is comfortable with them. My mom hates them and makes my dad keep them unloaded and locked in his gun safe at all times, which is for the best now that they’re in their grandparent era.

I turn toward the kitchen and start up the espresso machine. It’s still dark out, and the light from the kitchen causes a reflection in the window. Looking back at me are the contrasting monochromatic tattoos against my skin. I’ve had them so long, especially the ones on my arms, that I don’t remember what I looked like before them.

When the machine is ready, my hands freeze on the counter. Caffeine right now could be a mistake, so instead, I head to my den with a pre-made protein shake, knowing damn well I won’t finish it, and sit down in front of my computer with spreadsheets, contracts, and wholesale price sheets scattered across my desk. I rub my temples.

It’s never-ending—when will I stop micromanaging everything?

Or ask Dad for help?

Fuck me.

I know he’d do it. As would Uncle Rob and Uncle Alex. But I told them I could fucking handle this. I should be able to handle it.

Hours later, I hear the soft thud of Tilly coming down the stairs. I already know she’s going to want coffee and breakfast, which I intend to get for her. By the time I stand from my desk, I find her looking in the refrigerator.

“Morning,” I say, placing my hand on her lower back. She turns her head to look at me, and I kiss her gently.

“Morning,” she replies.

“What would you like?” I ask.

“Hmm, that latte last weekend was good. Maybe an omelet.”

I tilt her chin up with my index finger. “Coming right up.”

“Do you have chocolate syrup? A mocha vibe sounds better.”

I laugh. “Of course I have chocolate syrup.”

She bites her lip and smiles. “Yay!”

She takes a seat at the breakfast bar while I prepare an iced mocha for her and an omelet. I’m really not hungry after half of a protein shake, but I make myself a small one. If I don’t eat, it could start a conversation about my dosage, which I’d like to avoid for now.

While she finishes eating, I excuse myself to go upstairs. She nods and picks up her phone, never knowing if anything is wrong. Before she knew the truth, I liked that about her. Now, it feels like she’ll miss a signal for help.

I hate this chemical leash. I really do. But I know it’s time to re-up to keep functioning the way I’m used to.

I open the bathroom cabinet and grab an almost empty pill bottle. I cracked this one open for the first time a week ago. It’s a month’s worth for a normal person like Tilly. A bottle like this used to last a month for me, then two weeks, and now down to just one week.