Page 27 of Wanted

“Can we go?” I wonder. “To the beach, I mean.”

He smiles, and that makes me happy, because more than anything, what I want is to put my feet in it, feel the waves, and the sand under my feet. To discover the scent of salt water. I want to find out if it’s as wonderful as everyone describes it.

“I suppose we can,” he replies. “I’ll have to check with the head of security. Maybe in a few days, when the media has found another scandal to chase.”

“Thank you.” Hearing him say those words makes me happy. And above all, I do hope things calm down.

“If you want, we can have dinner out here tonight,” he suggests, of course I accept his offer. “We can order whatever you want, I’m looking forward to a quiet meal at home.”

I also have plans and…

“I’m tired of takeout, don’t you want some homemade food?”

He laughs a little before answering. “You get used to it. I can handle certain stuff, the housekeeper who comes once a week leaves some frozen dinners. We can go check the fridge.”

I turn toward him, putting my hands on my hips. I don’t want to eat a frozen dinner. It’s so not appealing.

“Are you crazy? I’m perfectly capable of going to the store to get some groceries to fix supper for both of us.”

Lionel looks at me with a mixed expression of surprise and curiosity. “I didn’t bring you here to take care of me, I can manage on my own. We’re going to order something.”

“And I think they hit you in the noggin stronger than the doctor said,” I rebuke. “You know I love to cook, and when something gets into my head…”

He smiles again and it almost outshines the sun above our heads. “That is impossible to forget.”

* * *

At six in the evening, supper is ready on top of the pristine granite countertops in Lionel’s kitchen ready to be put in the oven. I prepared a feast for both of us. I had enough time. After our moment on the terrace, Lionel said he was in urgent need of a good shower. Although I wanted to volunteer to rub him down, I held myself back. Determined to enjoy a little sun and the beautiful view. A little later, one of Jackson’s men came to tell me that all the groceries I asked for were on the counter.

In fact, there were a few extras. It must have been Lionel’s doing.

At that moment, he comes in barefoot dressed in a simple cobalt blue t-shirt and gray shorts, asking me for help to put the sling back on. The task wasn’t easy. My hands on his back, on his firm and defined shoulders, was quite tortuous. Fortunately for me, he was looking straight ahead and didn’t realize that I had to press my lips together to avoid a gasp from escaping me. When I finished helping him, he took my hand and kissed my wrist, in the same place as the other day. He must’ve realized the effect it had on me.

It was impossible not to.

To my surprise, not only did he take a seat at the bar waiting for me to finish, but he tried to help out in some way.

“Put me to work,” he said, and even though his arm is still in the sling, he wanted to do something to help me. He helps me to organize the groceries in the refrigerator and points out where all the utensils are. I must admit that with the way Lionel moves around so effortlessly, it’s obvious it’s not a rented house as I suspected.

I shred some cheese on the pasta before putting it in the oven. This mac-n-cheese is going to be amazeballs, made with smoked Gouda and a parmesan coating. Set to one side, I have cooked bacon finely chopped to put on the dish when it comes out of the oven all bubbly and delicious. As I continue to prepare dinner, I simply ask him, “Why is the house still empty after three years?”

“I spend very little time here,” he replies, raising his right hand. “And for the record, it’s not empty, I have everything I need. When I give you the tour, you’ll see for yourself.”

We both know his statement leads us to a deeper topic—something the two of us have avoided talking about since he woke up ten days ago.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me, Lionel?” I demand. “I still don’t understand why you had to lie.”

He leans his free hand on the counter and closes his eyes for a moment. Then he looks me straight in the eye.

He has the most gorgeous brown eyes, and those eyelashes… A girl has to be strong… I have to be strong not to get lost in them.

“There are certain things that have a logical answer,” he begins. “It’s easy for people only to see a guy like me for what he represents and not for who he really is. But beyond achievement, money, and power, I’m a just man, Stella. A man like any other.”

Yup, a man like any other… that’s debatable.

“That’s somewhat understandable, but the thing about your family. Why did you tell me that you were never adopted? You told me you grew up in the system.”

I hear him take a deep breath. “That’s partially true, I was a newborn when I went to an orphanage downtown, coincidentally quite close to the place where I was attacked. I was there for five years. Apparently, my mother was a minor when she got pregnant and my grandparents didn’t think it was a good idea for her to keep me…”

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