Page 74 of Because I Need You
There was a pregnant pause there, and I licked my lips, unsure of what to say. He went on before I could even form a thought.
“It turned out to be the wife of some guy.” He waved a hand. “The mom of one of my friends, actually.” He shook his head as if the whole thing annoyed him. “I fucked her, or she fucked me, rather, and I left. The next week, my father dropped me off there again. It became this weekly affair, where we’d fuck, and then she’d tell me things, and my father would pick me up, and demand to hear those things.” He glanced at me again, “I was a honey pot, essentially. A spy for my father, who used sex as a means to extract information from the wives of the men he wanted control over. The list was endless.”
I nodded my understanding but still didn’t speak. What could I possibly say to this? That I was sorry? That seemed like a slap in the face. I knew that was how I’d take it if someone apologized for some guy raping me. Thankfully, Giovanni continued to speak.
“I never had a girlfriend. I mean, I did, but that didn’t last very long.” He laughed again, unamused. “How could I keep a girlfriend if I was constantly fucking other women?”
I flinched, looking away this time. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I figured it was only fair to tell you my secrets in exchange for yours.” He shrugged a shoulder.
“Like a honey pot?” I felt my brows crease.
“I mean, if you want to give me your body and secrets, I’m not going to turn down the offer.” His lips lifted, but the amusement didn’t last long.
“I don’t.” I tore my gaze from his, shutting it down before I looked at him again. “I already told you. You have to pick, and based on this conversation, I’m assuming you picked secrets.”
“Hm.” He shut his eyes shifting his body lower so that his head was resting against the back of the couch. My eyes fell on the gray shirt, which was plastered against his muscled chest and arms. I wasn’t sure if to take this as a confirmation or what.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” He opened his eyes and pinned me with his gaze. My heart dipped. “I want to know everything about you.”
“Everything.” I let out a laugh, as unamused as his had been. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Where were you born?”
“Miami.”
“And then you moved back to Queens when you were in high school.”
“Someone’s been asking questions.” I shot him a pointed look. “If you have all the answers, why the hell are we having this conversation?”
“Would you rather we not talk?” His gaze traveled slowly down my face, down my chest. I began breathing a little heavier under his scrutiny. He met my gaze again. “Would you rather do something else with that mouth of yours?”
“You said you wanted secrets,” I whispered. He got up so quickly, I didn’t get a chance to move.
He set his hands on either side of me on the couch, his nose just inches from mine. “I said I wanted everything.”
“Everything is not on the table.” I licked my lips.
His eyes darkened as he watched me do it. Instead of asking something else, or saying something else, or even doing something else, he sighed heavily and straightened, turning to walk away. He looked at the lake one last time, pointing at the mug on the table with a finger without even looking in my direction.
“Use a fucking coaster.” With that, he left me there, heart in my throat, wondering what the fuck had just happened.
31
ISABEL
I packed up yet another box on autopilot. These were pillows and throws that I’d be donating. Petra and Joey were sitting outside on the porch, rocking in chairs and smoking a joint, listening to Bob Marley on a small boombox my father kept in his kitchen, as if this was just a casual afternoon. They’d taken care of calling a moving truck to handle the big items while the realtor showed the house virtually. She’d already gotten offers, and no one had even stepped foot inside of it. So, technically Petra and Joey had helped, some, but every time I put tape on one of the boxes, I glared in their direction. Neither of them noticed, or cared, or even offered to help. The least they could’ve done was offer me some of what they were smoking, but no, they didn’t share that either.
I went down to the small basement and looked around. There wasn’t much, just a television, a couch, and a small desk with minimal things on it, an old laptop and some small black notebooks. I’d been here countless times and never stepped foot near this desk. There was nothing interesting about it. Now, I sat on the chair and looked at it, really looked at it. He had a calendar that took up nearly the entire surface. On it, he had pictures of us together on the right-hand corner. One of me and him at a Cubs game, smiling at the camera in one of them as he took a selfie, and just him smiling as I kissed his cheek in the other. My dad, the man who was always smiling, always joking, always doing kind things for strangers, was a killer. I couldn’t seem to process how those two truths could make up the same man.
