Page 73 of Benji

I hadn’t been Benecio Barbieri for a long time. I also hadn’t any documentation, which had proved difficult these last few years. No Medicare card meant no hospitals or doctor appointments. Not having access to a bank account meant living cash-only. No proof of who I was.

That I even existed.

But I had those back now. I had myself back now.

Even if I was to become someone else.

But, like I’d told Nolan when we were eating dinner four days later, changing my name won’t stop my father from finding me.

“So do it anyway,” he’d said. “Take back some control. Don’t let your father’s name be a dark cloud hanging over you.”

“What name would I choose?”

“You told me your name was Benji Smith. That’s a good a name as any.”

“Or,” I hedged, “I could call myself Benji O’Brien.”

Nolan dropped his fork.

It made me laugh. “You own me anyway, so it’d just be making it easier.”

He cleared his throat, cheeks pink. “I don’townyou.”

I snorted and leaned in closer. “Youownme in everysense of the word, Nolan. I belong to you. I have your DNA in me, and that makes me yours.” I wiggled in my seat to remind him of how exactly he’d put his DNA in me. “I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.”

He made a face, embarrassed. “I don’t think that’s how it works at all.” He pushed his plate away. “But thanks for the visual.”

I chuckled, but my smile faded. “That wasn’t a no,” I said. “It also wasn’t a yes.”

“About what? Changing your surname to match mine?” His eyes met mine. “Were you serious?”

I nodded. “I was, yes. But if you don’t want me to, I won’t. I’ll pick something else. What’s Dominic’s surname again? Maybe he’ll adopt me.”

Nolan growled at me. “No.” Then he moved his seat out so he could face me properly. He took my hands. “Benji, baby, listen. If you want to change your name to O’Brien, I can’t stop you. I wouldn’t stop you.”

I pouted. “But? There’s a but coming, isn’t there?”

He narrowed his brows and touched his thumb to my lips. “No pouting.”

I sighed instead.

“But,” he began, “if you wanted to wait, we could possibly, maybe”—he cringed—“change your name the old-fashioned way.”

I laughed . . . until I realised he was serious. Then I gawped at him. “The old-fashioned way . . . Nolan. Are you . . . is that . . . what the fuck?”

He chuckled. “It’s too early right now, I know that. But you need to know where I stand with you. I could soeasily spend forever with you. I mean that. The way I feel, the way you make me feel... I’m falling in love with you, Benji.”

Holy fucking shit.

“So, if there’s no immediate rush to change your name, then maybe when the time is right, you can have my surname.”

Emotions I’d been trying to keep in check, the need to be loved and accepted, surged to the surface and I began to cry.

He, of course, looked horrified. He pulled me onto his lap. “No, Benji, it’s okay. It’s fine. If you want to change your name now, that’s fine too. Hell, I’d love you to have my name. Fucking hell yes, I would. Not that it would mean I own you but?—”

“Yes, you would,” I said, still crying, wiping my nose. “You do already. I’m yours, Nolan. Surname or not. And you’re falling in love with me,” I said, crying harder. “I can’t believe that. Why? I mean, god, Nolan. I’m a mess. My life is a mess. My father’s a piece of shit, I’m a hooker. And you love me? What’s wrong with you?”

He laughed, pulling me in for a kiss. “I don’t care about any of that. I just care about you. The past is past. I’m more interested in your future. And mine. Together.” He wiped my face and studied my eyes. “Whatever you decide to do, whatever you want. I’ll support you. If you want to go back to work with Fitch and Ky, then that’s okay with me.”

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