Page 11 of Mine to Love
“Oh, Delilah is incredibly simple. We both are. Really, we’re not worth all the fuss,” she says dismissively, shaking her head.
“Yes, you are,” I say. With that, I grab her coffee mug from atop the countertop and offer it to her once more. “Besides, while my shirt looks great on you, I’m sure you’d be much more comfortable—and efficient—in clothing of your own.”
Darcy lets out a soft breath and lowers her gaze from me to the mug. She gently nods and takes it. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Good.” With that, I return to the prep table and throw all the ingredients for the burritos in a large pot with some oil and seasoning. I know something about this doesn’t seem right, but it was the only dish big enough I could find.
“Wait. What are you making?” Darcy asks, nearly choking on her coffee.
I look at the contents of the pot, at her, and back at the pot. “Honestly, I don’t know. I had a plan for burritos, but I’m struggling with the execution.”
“Hmm.” Darcy takes a few more sips of her coffee and looks around the kitchen. It’s made-up mostly of white quartz countertops for eating and entertaining, a large, wooden hood that centers the space, and a few floating shelves for the basic dishes needed to get through the day. To be honest, I feel like it was designed for mere appearance rather than functionality.
Before we let the staff go, my meals were prepared in the main house and brought out to me. So, while there is a walk-in pantry and plenty of lower cabinets filled with random gadgets and pots and pans, this space has never really been used for anything other than coffee, midnight snacks, re-heating takeout,and morning protein shakes. And it’s never really been a problem—until now.
Darcy makes her way slowly to the prep table where I stand. As she approaches, I’m sure to stand extra still. She glances in the pot and then looks in the direction of the arched wooden door, which stands out amongst the stone walls and gray-green-painted cabinets. “Is that the pantry?” she asks. I nod. Carrying her coffee cup with her, she enters the pantry and reemerges with a random small appliance.
“What is that?” I ask, standing up straight.
“Thisis the solution to our dilemma.” She places the device on the countertop facing the living room, gives Delilah and Ru a glance, and then returns her attention to me. “Gio, meet air fryer. Air fryer, meet Gio.” The sound of my name crossing her lips tugs at my own. It’s going to take a while but… Maybe one day she will be comfortable here, comfortable with me. At least, I hope so. Because I could get used to seeing her in my kitchen, wearing my button-down. I drop my head as the thought comes to me.
What she said yesterday about me wanting a wife couldn’t be further from the truth. And yet there’s no denying I want her. I want her happy. I want her safe. I want her relaxed. I want her in my space. I stop myself before mentally listing all the other things I want—from her, for her, to do to her, with her. No, I don’t want a wife. But I do want Darcy,justDarcy. And so, I will be patient, gentle, and understanding for as long as she needs me to be. I will keep my urges and forbidden desires in check, and I will give her the environment of professionalism that I promised while showing her the kindness I fear she’s unaccustomed to. With that resolve, I ask, “And what do you propose I do with Mr. Air fryer?”
Darcy sets her coffee cup aside and says, “I propose you let me help you, because there’s no rule that says guests can’t assist.I quite enjoy cooking, and this is far too beautiful of a home to risk you burning it down.”
I nod and surrender to her. “Very well.” I throw up my hands in defeat as she takes the contents of my pot, plucks out the sliced turkey, and puts everything else in the air fryer. Within a matter of minutes, she has the potatoes and onions crisped, as well as the tortillas, and the burritos assembled. While I had planned to help her, she moved so quickly, I thought it best to stay out of her way so as not to trigger her. Besides, I think I enjoy watching her as much as she enjoys cooking.
As she, Delilah and I sit down at the table to eat our burritos, I say, “So, you like the house?”
Darcy nods as she chews. “It’s beautiful. Not exactly what I would’ve pictured for you though. It’s so…” she trails off, unwilling to finish her sentence.
“Sowhat?” I ask. She shrugs shyly. “It’s okay. You can tell me. I won’t get mad.”
She looks at me then and allows her eyes to drift down, taking in my casual yet perfectly tailored ensemble of a gray shirt and navy-blue slacks. I saycasuallightly because my true casual attire is an all-black tactical uniform that I doubt would go over well. Finally, she says, “It’s so cozy and you’re so…polished. It’s just not what I would’ve pictured for you. Andthe dog? You seem more like a cat-guy.”
I smile and take another massive bite of my burrito. It’s a million times better than anything I ever could’ve made with those measly ingredients. After swallowing, I say, “Well, I have a soft spot for strays. Ru was a rescue, taken in by one of the companies I run as an emotional support dog for the employees. But, after a while, it became obvious she’d be better suited here. And, as far as the polish goes, don’t let it fool you. It’s a uniform, not a lifestyle.”
Darcy’s eyes narrow as she takes in all that I’ve said. I can tell she’s trying to figure me out, perhaps almost as much as I’m trying to figure out her. It’s then that Delilah asks, “What’s a lifestyle?”
11
I parkmy all-black Range Rover on the gravel courtyard behindOnly Black Ink, and send Damon a text letting him know we’ve arrived. The last thing we need is to walk in on him and Ana doing the deed on the sofa. Although, after what happened just three weeks ago, that may not be as much of a concern today. I need to remember to ask how she’s doing. Although sensing Darcy’s anxiety, I realize she needs checking on first.
“Are you okay?” I ask, shifting my gaze from my phone to her. She looks at me with hesitancy in her blue eyes and then directs her attention to the back of Damon’s tattoo parlor. It’s old, like most of the structures in the French Quarter. The brick is weathered and there are vines slithering up the walls from the poorly maintained courtyard. I’m surprised Ana hasn’t gotten on to him about that yet. Although, she’s not exactly the homemaker, plant-lady type to begin with. “It’s much nicer on the inside, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“No, that’s not it,” Darcy says then. “It’s just…where are we? And who did you say we’re meeting? This all just feels weird.” She shakes her head and slinks in her seat so that she is as far away from me as possible. Here I was thinking we were makingprogress since she rode in the passenger seat instead of in the back with Delilah and Ru. Yes, Delilah insisted we bring her and, honestly, it was better than leaving her home alone all day. They’ll be good company for each other.
“We’re at my friend Damon’s tattoo parlor calledOnly Black Ink.”
“Tattoo parlor!” Darcy interrupts me before I can continue.
“But only because his fiancé’s boutique is right upstairs,” I assure her. “Darcy, you’re alright. Okay? You both are.” I glance back at Delilah, who doesn’t seem to share her mom’s fear but is equally interested in the building just outside. She stares out the window while mindlessly petting Ru. Returning my attention to Darcy, I say, “Look, Ana is an expert shopper. Trust me. It’s both her profession and her purpose in life, at least, according to Damon. So, she’s going to help us today. And, with your measurements, she can have more things ordered and sent to the house.”
“Measurements?” Darcy’s eyes widen as her head snaps toward me. “I don’t need a whole wardrobe, just a few things to…” She trails off then and lowers her eyes to her gorgeous exposed thighs. I follow her gaze and find her tugging at the fabric of her makeshift-skirt to cover herself. Then she crosses her arms over her stomach. “This just seems unnecessary, and I just feel—” She bites her lip then, swallowing whatever words she meant to say.
I give her time to collect herself and remind myself that this is all new to her. I don’t know her background, but I can make certain assumptions based on the clothes she arrived in and her humble and meek behavior.Entitledorprivilegedwould be the last words I’d use to describe her. In fact, they’re not even on the list. She isn’t used to wealth or being catered to. She’s used to making do with what she has and is happy to do so. This way of life—the life I’ve become accustomed to along with everyone elsewho enjoys the riches of the Mafia—is the complete opposite of what Darcy is comfortable with.
Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps I have gone a bit overboard. Ana’s boutique is only our first stop. I’ve got private appointments scheduled for us at many of the shops in the French Quarter. With Ana as our guide or rather Darcy’s, we’re sure to return home with a vehicle full of items and three times that on order. But I want to do this for her,them. After everything they’ve been through, the extent of which I’m still unaware of, they deserve to be spoiled.
