Page 19 of Devil's Tulip

“Are you coming?” she calls, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I nod at her and lock my car again, then make my way towards the front door. She stands there, waiting, arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to disappear into her damp clothes. I unlock the door and push it open, letting her step in first before locking up behind us.

The sensor lights flicker on as we walk inside, and without a word, I lead her up the stairs to the guest bedroom, trying not to think about how right she looks in my house.

“You should take a bath,” I suggest, my gaze lingering on the mess the night has left on her. No argument from her—just a silent nod as she goes in.

I need a bath myself, but first, I head to my room to grab a change of clothes for her—one of my old shirts and pants. Something comfortable. Something clean.

Back at her door, I knock, but when I get no answer, I crack it open. Empty.

The sound of the shower running filters through from the ensuite. My eyes drift to the bathroom door, and for a second, my mind conjures up an image of her—skin glistening, water streaming down her curves?—

Snap out of it, Michael.

Shoving the thought away, I drop the clothes on the bed and knock lightly on the bathroom door. The water stops instantly.

“What do you want?” There’s a panicked edge in her voice, like she almost expects me to barge in on her. I can’t deny that the thought is tempting, but that’s not why I’m here.

“I left some clothes on the bed for you,” I say. “When you’re done, come down to eat.”

A pause. Then, a clipped, “Alright. You can go now.”

Did she just issue a command to me?

I chuckle under my breath as I leave. Can’t remember the last time someone—other than my brothers—had the audacity to do that and remained alive.

This is the first time in years I’ve been with someone who doesn’t know who I am and isn’t afraid of me because of my reputation.

I like it. I like it too much.

I head back to my room where I exchange my bloodstained shirt for a clean one before stepping out again, taking the steps two at a time. In the kitchen, I swing open the fridge, fully stocked with everything she likes.

So what if, during my research into Gia’s past, I came to learn about the food she favored and stocked up on them? I wonder if she’ll even notice.

I shrug as I pull the first plate of food from the fridge. Not that it matters. It doesn’t mean anything. Let her think it’s coincidence if she recognizes anything.

My phone buzzes insistently in my pocket. I frown and pull it out—Rafael. Of course. He called me earlier when we just got home, waking Gia up from her short nap.

“What?” I answer, putting him on speaker so I can work while we talk.

“What’s the status? Do you have her?” he asks as I shove the food, container and all, into the microwave.

“It’s beenjustthree days, Rafael. I’m a tracker, not a magician.”

Silence stretches before he finally asks, “What’s the delay? Have you not found her?”

I pause, weighing my words. I’ve never had a reason to tell Rafael a lie before—I usually don’t give a shit about his reaction to my truths, so I’m always blunt, honest to a fault. But knowing him, the second he finds out I have Gianna, he’ll demand I bring her back to New York immediately.

And that’s not fucking happening.

I just got her. And I’m not ready to let her go. May never be ready.

So I dodge his question. “I mean, we’ve been searching for Emily for years and haven’t found her. It’s been three days, Rafael. Don’t you trust that you’ll be the first person I call as soon as I have her?”

The dial tone is my answer, and I chuckle under my breath as I take out some plates and spoons.

Yeah, mentioning Emilia is a surefire way to piss him off. I don’t know much about what went down between them five years ago, and I don’t give a shit either way, but he really shouldn’t let her get under his skin like this.

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