Page 92 of The Woman on the Jury

“How would you know? I’ve never had to use my ‘I was starting to feel like a prisoner’ voice before.”

“Because I know you. And I know when you sound like you’re going to cry. Which you do. So, spill. I mean, you can do it now,” she said when I hesitated. “Or you can do it over margaritas later. But we both know margs make you even more emotional. You’ll be a blubbering mess. Might as well tell me now, when you have at least the hope of not sobbing about it.”

She was right about that.

“Things just got… complicated.”

“Complicated,” she repeated, clicking her tongue as I heard her heels click across the floor, then silence. Like she’d been walking somewhere for privacy before bursting out, “You fucked the mafia guy, didn’t you?”

My eyes squeezed shut as I admitted, “Yes.”

“Oh, my God. I mean, damn, good for you. That man just oozes sex. How was it?”

How did I explain this part?

Amazing.

Yet terrible.

“It was the best sex I think I’ve ever had,” I admitted.

“Of course it was,” Lauren agreed. “But?” she asked, sensing that one existed.

“But… he was really cold about it both times,” I told her.

“I… I guess that tracks. I mean, I can’t imagine mafia guys are all touchy-feely. He’s probably never even had a woman stay over before. Their world seems kind of cold and hard.”

That was true.

I’d told myself that more than a few times.

But knowing that didn’t really make me feel any better about it. It didn’t ease the sting of something that felt a hell of a lot like rejection.

“Okay, listen. Go into my room. Have a good soak. Use a face mask. Take a nap. Pamper yourself. I will bring home a metric ton of food. We will stuff our faces and talk this shit out, okay?”

God, I loved her.

“Okay,” I agreed, feeling a little lighter already.

I did exactly what she suggested, bathing, pampering, then napping in her guest room.

When I woke up, disoriented from vivid dreams of Cosimo, Lauren still hadn’t made it home, despite it being dark outside already.

I didn’t worry about her.

I mean, this was Lauren. The only person I knew who was more of a workaholic than my grandfather. And Cosimo, for that matter. She was determined to make an amazing life for herself, and that required her to sacrifice a lot of her free time. I couldn’t expect her to put all that aside just because I was crashing with her temporarily.

When six turned to seven, I felt anxiety starting to work its way up my spine.

Could the brothers have figured out that Lauren was, aside from my grandfather, my only close person? That, through her, they could get to me?

No.

I had to stop it.

I was getting too wrapped up in this situation.

I was safe.

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