by Penelope Sky
“I’m sitting in my truck at the curb. I haven’t seen anyone all night.”
I sat up in bed and leaned against the headboard, my heart beating a little faster. “Why?”
“You know why.”
“But I want to hear you say it.”
He sighed into the phone. “I worry about you, baby. You’re sleeping in there by yourself, and it scares me. Knuckles got you once, and then Joe’s men could have gotten you a second time. At least, if I’m here, I know that can’t happen again.”
I closed my eyes, feeling my heart slow down until it turned into a dull ache. It shouldn’t mean anything to me that he was out there in the cold. I shouldn’t want to invite him inside. I shouldn’t have called him in the first place.
“So you can sleep now. I’ll be out here until morning.”
“And when will you sleep?”
“After you get to your parents’ place.”
All I had to do was hang up and go to sleep. But I stayed on the phone, struggling with the words that wanted to burst out of my throat.
When he knew I wouldn’t say anything else, he ended the call. “Good night, baby.”
“Wait…”
“It’s okay. You said you wanted space. I’m not out here hoping for an invitation.”
“But I’m giving you an invitation—and I know you can’t say no.”
He was quiet for a long time, his breathing increasing slightly. I heard the door to his truck open and then the click of the phone as the line went dead.
He was coming.
I heard the front door open and close and then heard his heavy footsteps against the hardwood floor. His shadowed figure appeared in the doorway, six-foot-three of muscle and strength. His outline was intimidating, even to me when I knew he would never hurt me, not after he promised he wouldn’t.
I knew I would be able to sleep well for the rest of the night.
He stripped down to his boxers then crawled into bed beside me. The mattress dipped with his weight, and then his smell surrounded me. He lay still next to me, not touching me like he normally would. His head rested on the pillow, and he stared at me, stared at me exactly the same way he had that morning. “No one can ever get to you as long as I’m here. So sleep.”
I moved into his chest and hooked my leg over his waist and my arm around his torso. My face was pressed close to his, and I could feel his gentle breaths from his nose. We shared one pillow and one side of the bed because we were so close together. I could feel his hard dick in his boxers, but I knew an advance wasn’t coming.
My eyes felt heavy as the exhaustion suddenly hit me hard. I’d been scared of every noise that echoed through the house, and now all the sounds died away because they didn’t matter. I didn’t feel alone or unprotected.
I felt like nothing in the world could ever hurt me.
This man was bulletproof.
And he would protect me with his life, whether someone was after me or not.
My eyes were closed, but I could feel his gaze on my face. I could feel his piercing stare with those pretty blue eyes. I could feel his strong pulse under my fingertips, feel his hard dick against my clit.
I fell asleep almost instantly, feeling safe with a monster.
Bones carried all my luggage to the car and arranged my paintings in the back seat so they would all fit. He did all of this without me asking him to, being a gentleman when he was nothing of the sort.
He walked me to the car in the parking lot, dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing the night before. He didn’t seem tired even though he’d spent most of his evening in a freezing-cold truck. He was in his black hoodie and black jeans, the dark color contrasting against his fair skin. He was a much lighter color than I was, skin the color of milk, his eyes the color of glaciers, and his hair dirty-blond.
We didn’t have sex last night or this morning. He didn’t try anything, and I didn’t initiate it either. We’d had the best sex we’d ever had after I killed those men. Bones didn’t bother cleaning up the bodies because he cared more about having me. We did it nonstop in his bedroom, and only when the sun came up did we finally go to sleep.
But that was the last time.
Now there was this distance between us.
I was a free woman. How did I want to enjoy my freedom?
He leaned against the trunk of the car, his body making the car shift slightly under his weight. He stared at me with little expression, his emotions not readable in his eyes. He stared at me for a moment before he turned his gaze to the ground. “You can always call me. Doesn’t matter what time it is.”
“I know. What are you going to do?”
“Not sure yet. I might take a job.”
“Well, be safe if you do.”
The corner of his mouth rose in a smile, but it didn’t last long before it came down a second later. “Yeah…I will.”
“Well, goodbye.” I’d never said that word to him, but now I didn’t know if this would be the last time we spoke. I didn’t know what we were. I didn’t know what lay ahead for us. Even if he said he would spare my family, would we still have a relationship? I’d like to think we wouldn’t, but I was the one who called him last night.
He turned his gaze to me, the hurt in his eyes. He didn’t hide that expression from me this time. He either couldn’t control it, or he didn’t want to. He clenched his jaw for a moment before he straightened, removing his weight from the car. Without saying a word, he walked away. His powerful body shifted and moved as he walked, and he carried himself like a man who hadn’t been shot and stabbed so many times. Nothing could defeat him.
Not even me.
“These are so beautiful.” Mom unwrapped each one and hung them on the wall at the winery, placing them on the white background so the color could really stand out. The tables and chairs were in the center of the room, where customers gathered to enjoy their wine and cheese while they had a breathtaking view of the winery. “I love them all.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I hooked one onto the wall, feeling the back of it catch the string.
She bent down to open another and then carefully removed the brown paper that protected it against the elements. Instead of hanging it up, she held it in her hands for a long time and stared at it.
She stared at it for a long time.
I had ten different pieces that I’d been working for the past month, so I wasn’t sure which one she was looking at or why she liked it so much.
“Who is this?” Her smile was gone, and her bubbly attitude had disappeared. She was so happy just a moment ago, but now she was deathly serious.
“Who?” I asked.
She moved toward me so I could see the image. “This man.”
I stared at the painting, sick to my stomach when I realized I’d packed it by mistake. I meant to leave that at home in the other room, but I must have gotten it mixed up with a different image.
Mom kept staring at it, looking at the snowy background. The snow traveled all the way to the water and to the small dock that stretched across the flat lake. The trees surrounding the area were all dead, just twigs that reached up into the sky.
Bones stood with his back to the viewer, his muscled frame and immense body obvious in the black sweater and jeans he wore. Vapor escaped his mouth as he stared at the lake. He’d just finished dumping the man into the water, and now he admired the scenery before him, the solitude he thrived on. He was mysterious at the time, a man who terrified me but aroused me simultaneously. It was the first time I’d kissed him, that night in the snow.
And it was a kiss I’d never forget.
I shot him in the shoulder, but that didn’t slow him down.
Nothing could slow him down, not when I was the target he was trying to reach.
I tried to find an explanation, to think of something to explain the odd image. All of my other paintings were just landscapes in Milan. Only people I knew well had appearances in my pieces, people I could paint because I knew their fea
tures like the back of my hand.
It was the painting I hadn’t wanted Bones to see. I didn’t want him to understand how I saw him. On that night, he was a murderer and a monster. But instead of seeing the blood on his hands and the violence in his eyes, I saw him as misunderstood.
He was a man in pain.
A man who was lost.
I finally found my voice. “No one. I’d never painted a lake before, and I wanted to give it a try… I was never planning on selling it. I must have put it in the car by accident.”
Mom kept holding it and refused to let go. “Why wouldn’t you sell it? It’s your best work.” She finally pulled her gaze away and looked at me. She didn’t ask the question that was burning in her eyes, but the look on her face told me what she was thinking.
He wasn’t no one.
She moved to a free spot on the wall and hooked the string on the nail before she let it hang. “It’s different from all of your other pieces, much moodier…and emotional. I can see it in the colors. I can see it in the way this man is standing. I love all of your work, but this one is particularly beautiful.”
“Thanks…”
“Lake Garda, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“What should the price be?” she asked. “Most of your pieces are three thousand euros. This one should be at least four.” She grabbed the blank business card and wrote the price on the back with her pretty handwriting. Then she placed it next to the picture.
I should just get rid of it. I shouldn’t keep any memory of that man. He would become a memory I would try to forget. But the idea of someone putting it up in their house, staring at one of my most emotional memories, didn’t sit right with me. I wanted it to myself. I wanted to hang it in my bedroom. He had a painting to remember me.
I wanted one to remember him.
“It’s…it’s not for sale.” I took it off the wall and wrapped it in the paper again, making sure my father wouldn’t see it. My father was just as intuitive as my mother, and it was difficult to hide things from him. I opened the closet and placed it inside so no one would take it by accident. I shut the door again then faced my mother.
Her eyes were filled with emotion, filled with that perceptive look I’d been getting all my life.
She knew.
The following three days passed quickly.
It was nice to spend time with my family. It’d been a while since it was just the three of us. When Conway moved out, it was the three of us for a long time. When it was my turn to leave the nest, it was difficult for my parents to let me go.
Even though they put on a brave face.
Now we spent all our time together, working at the winery during the day and having long dinners in the evening. There weren’t many wine tastings going on in the winter, but people still stopped by, mainly locals looking for something to do.
My mother never mentioned the painting.
But I knew it was only a matter of time.
I didn’t contact Bones, and he didn’t contact me. He gave me the space I asked for, even though it killed him to do it. When he walked away from me, I knew it was difficult for him to turn his back. He probably stared at his phone every night wondering if I would call.
He probably thought about calling me but changed his mind before his finger could hit the send button.
On the fourth day, it rained, so my family and I stayed home. Father worked in his office on the third floor, and Mom and I made cookies in the kitchen. We used to do it when I was little, and since Lars wasn’t in the kitchen as much as he used to be, we didn’t have to fight him for the territory.
“How’s Lars doing?” I asked as I placed the dry ingredients in a bowl.
“Good.” Mom used the mixer to gently stir the sugar with the butter, getting it combined evenly so the cookies would be spectacular. Both of us hardly ate sweets, so when we made them, it was more for the busywork than the actual reward. “He’s been taking it easy. He relaxes a lot more than he used to, which makes your father and me happy. We’ve urged him to retire and just relax, but he insists on working until the day he dies.”
“Talk about commitment…”
Mom chuckled. “He just loves this job and this house. But we told him he’s welcome to live here even if he stops working. A retirement package for him.”
“And he still said no?” I asked incredulously.
She shrugged. “Italian men are very stubborn. You know that.”
Bones popped into my head, and I couldn’t agree more. He was more stubborn than I was…and that was quite an accomplishment. “All too well.”
We continued preparing the dough before we started to scoop them onto the pan. We divided them evenly before we set them in the oven.
“It’s been really nice having you around the house again.” Mom took off her oven mitts and set them on the counter. “Just like how it used to be before you left for school.” She grabbed an open bottle of wine from the fridge and poured two glasses.
“Do you guys ever drink water?”
She drank from her glass before she set it down. “Do you?”
I grinned. “Touché, Mama.” I took a long drink, feeling the smooth flavor all the way down.
She pulled out a fresh baguette and some cheese, and we stood at the kitchen counter as we snacked and drank wine. The cookies would only be ten minutes, so it didn’t seem like enough time to get comfortable at the dining table. “I haven’t seen your father drink water since I first met him. He sticks to scotch. Wine is water to him.”
“If I have more than two glasses of wine, I’m already tipsy. Another glass and I would be drunk. No idea how he does it.”
“He has a very high tolerance, I guess.”
“Or maybe he’s drunk all the time,” I said with a laugh.
“If that’s the case, I’m very impressed. And I wonder what he’s like sober.”
“Can’t even imagine.”
She finished her wine and then refilled her glass. “So…” When she paused after the word, I knew something was coming. She didn’t start sentences like that unless the subject matter was delicate.
She was going to ask about the man in the painting.
“Your father is really good friends with Pierre, the owner of La Chalet in Milan.”
Not at all what I was expecting. “Oh?” I grabbed another piece of bread and smeared the cheese across the surface.
“And he mentioned he saw you there the other night…with a very handsome man.”
Shit. Why did he have to take me to that fancy place in Milan? Dinner at some random café would have been perfectly fine. I should have known I would be recognized. Any place that served Barsetti wine should have been off-limits. Now I felt my mother stare at me hard, her blue eyes calculating.
She sipped her wine but didn’t say anything more, letting the silence suffocate the conversation.
I had to say something, but I didn’t know what. I was usually quick with rebuttals, but when it came to Bones, I didn’t have the same strength I used to. He made me more confused than I’d ever felt in my life.
“He also mentioned he was a big guy…very muscular.”
Like in the painting. Shit. Why did my mother have to be so damn smart?
“Sweetheart, you know I never pry into your personal life. At least, I try not to. But I’ve never needed to because we’ve always talked about these sorts of things. From your first crush to your first kiss…we’ve always had a pretty open relationship. And I love that about us. And now…I feel like you’re keeping me in the dark on purpose.”
Because I was. I was keeping everyone in the dark. He was my dirty secret. But I could never come clean to my mother, not when it was a conflict of interest. Bones was an enemy to our family, and if I mentioned anything to her, the war would begin. If I kept my mouth shut and worked with Bones a little longer, maybe I could end it for good. “I don’t want to talk about it.” I drank from my glass and saw the hurt look stretch across my
mother’s face. It made me feel like the worst daughter on the planet.
“Can I ask why?”
“I just…I don’t want to.” I couldn’t think of a better reason than the blunt truth.
“Because it seems like this is a pretty intense and deep relationship.”
My eyes flicked back to hers. “What makes you say that?” She didn’t even know it was Bones, so how would she know that?
“That painting says it all, sweetheart.”
It was just an image of him looking out into the water. It didn’t even show his face. How could she deduce that? “I don’t know what you mean…”
“I can feel so much emotion from that painting. That man is a major component in your life now. I’ve never seen you paint anyone but your family. But you took the time to paint him…because he means a lot to you.”
He didn’t mean anything to me. He was just a man who had turned my life upside down.
“Your father has been a lot better about you growing up and being a grown woman. I think the space and distance have helped him understand that you’re a woman who’s old enough to have those kinds of relationships. So, if you’re afraid of him—”
“I’m not. He told me if I ever wanted to introduce him to a man, he would like to meet him.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“Well, Father made it clear he only wanted to meet the man that would be my husband…”
“And?”
I stared down into my glass. “This man will never be my husband.” Bones wasn’t even my boyfriend. He was a man I’d become attached to for many horrible reasons. I used him to feel safe. I used him for good sex. Now he was such a big part of my life, it was hard to imagine not having him there. It was hard to sleep without his large body right next to me.
“Why are you so sure of that?”
“I just am.” I finished my wine and immediately grabbed the bottle to pour another glass.
She tilted her head slightly, trying to think of the right thing to say. “When I met your father, I didn’t think he’d ever be my husband either.”
She’d never told me about the beginning of their relationship, but now I knew he’d rescued her from Bones’s father. Bones claimed my father took my mother for his own revenge. I didn’t want to believe it because my father was such a good man, it was hard to imagine him doing anything other than worshiping the ground my mother walked on. “Then what did you think?”
