Page 14 of His to Keep
Trying not to get morbid as I think about my family, I focus my attention on Gio instead. As he moves around the kitchen, it quickly becomes obvious that it’s not his natural environment. His technique is inefficient. He washes a plate, rinses the soap suds from it, and then dries it off with a fluffy white hand towel rather than a dishcloth. Then he puts the clean plate away and grabs the next dirty one. His method shows a distinct lack of commonsense that I hope doesn’t carry over into other aspectsof his life. The last thing I need is for my self-appointed savior to be reckless.
A better person would no doubt point out the dishwasher, but I’m having too much fun watching Gio fumble around. He carries an air of arrogance that tells me he’s probably good at everything he does. Well, apart from washing dishes. If he ever gets too big for his boots, I’ll remind him of his ineptitude.
As Gio begins to scrub furiously at the frying pan with a wire brush, I curl my legs up under me and rest my head against the back of the armchair. It’s peaceful here, among the trees. I’ve grown used to quiet over the past few years of being largely left alone, but here it’s actually relaxing. Though I should probably be more wary, I feel safe. There’s something about Gio that soothes my fears. He’ll never make a good house husband, but when he talked about protecting me, I knew deep down that was a job he’d take seriously.
My point is proved as the unmistakable sound of tires on gravel outside alerts us to someone’s arrival. Gio moves quickly across the room. He grabs a gun from the backpack lying on the sofa opposite me and hands me the frying pan. Pushing me behind him, he peers out of the window.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” I ask.
“My sister-in-law killed a man with a skillet. If something happens to me, don’t hesitate.”
My eyes widen. Could I really kill someone with this? I test the weight of the pan in my hand. It’s not that heavy. I’d have to wield it with some force if I was going to do permanent damage.
As a compact red Volkswagen pulls up outside the window, Gio blows out a breath of what I take to be relief. He sticks his gun in the waistband of his sweatpants.
“It’s Danny,” he says.
A moment later, the tall, muscly guy from last night comes into the house carrying several shopping bags. Though some of the tension has drained from Gio’s body, he’s not entirely relaxed. As Danny greets me with a wink, I see why. Gio moves closer until he’s almost touching. Wary of the other man, he’s staking his claim.
“I’m Danny.” His accent holds a subtle hint of Glaswegian. “I got you some clothes.” He holds up a bag from a high street store. “And the cake you wanted.” He glances at the frying pan I’m still clutching. “Were you planning on cooking something?”
“Oh, no.” I can’t help giggling. “Gio wanted me to bash your face in with this if you were a bad guy.”
Danny shrugs. “I mean, you could have tried.”
Gio and I both follow him to the kitchen area. Danny drops a couple of bags onto the counter and hands me the one from the clothing store. I look at what he brought me. There’s a box with branded trainers, black leggings, and a cornflower blue jersey top. He bought a black jacket for me and also a couple of pairs of cotton panties and a sports bra.
“Did I do okay?” Danny asks.
“Yeah, this is perfect.” I’m not entirely sure what my style is anymore since it’s been years since I could choose my own clothes, but I often wore casual clothing like this when I hung out at home.
Danny nods. “I’ve got a kid your age. She’s never seen the inside of a gym, but she loves to wear sporty shit.”
I climb up onto a stool with Gio by my side while Danny unpacks the food he bought. He slides a brown paper bag across the counter to me. I take out the cake and smile. It’s been a long time since I ate anything like this. Jasmine Henry had me on a strict diet and cake was never on the menu. The realization that I last had this when I was actually in school hits me hard. I wish I’d had the chance to finish my studies and go on to university. I’ll bet that’s what all my friends have done.
“Are you okay?” Gio murmurs.
I blink, surprised that he detected my change in mood. While I was being held at Jason’s house, I learned not to show what I was feeling in case it was used against me. I knew after being mocked for crying over the deaths of my parents and siblings that I could never give Jason or his sister a glimpse of my emotions.
“Yes.” I lean over the counter to look at what Danny’s bought. “Is that a chicken tikka masala?”
“You like curry?” Gio asks.
“Love it, as long as it’s mild. I don’t respond well to spice.” It’s an understatement. Too much chili and my cheeks glow red hot while sweat pours from my brow. It’s not attractive. “What about you?”
“I can handle some spice,” Gio says, the gleam in his eye letting me know he’s not just talking about food.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got you a few different microwave meals,” Danny tells me. “There’s a sweet and sourchicken, haggis, neeps and tatties, a lasagna, and some fish thing with a butter sauce.”
“You did good, Danny.” My mouth is watering at the prospect of trying some of this food. “Maybe I should marry you.”
Gio’s jaw clenches as Danny winks at me. “Already married, doll.”
“And you wouldn’t want to make her a widow,” Gio growls.
Danny laughs off the threat. An unsettling warmth spreads through me. Gio’s possessiveness is as arousing as it is mortifying. Desperate to disperse the sudden tension in the room, I take a bite of my cake. It instantly brings back memories. A sob escapes me as I picture myself sitting in the school canteen with my friends.
Feeling like an idiot for having such a powerful reaction, I wipe a tear from my eye.
