39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

My cell phone rings, and I wonder if it's my father. I haven't talked to him since Monday—the first and only time. I haven't called him, but he hasn't called me either. And I think that tells me a lot. So much more than any of his words could.

I dry my hands on the towel beside the tub before grabbing the phone. When I grew bored with playing matching games about an hour ago, I figured a bath would do me good. I've taken so many baths, spend so much time in the hot tub, since being here, I'm surprised I haven't growl scales yet.

When I see it's Enzo calling, my stomach flutters, and I can't tell if it's from nerves or excitement.

I've found myself indifferent. Not to him, but to life in general. Something about this revelation that my father is an asshole who never loved me has me messed up. To where I don't care about anything. The anger I felt toward Enzo? It's gone. Yet, my heart is racing as I answer the call.

"Hello?"

"Could you come down to the study on the first floor?"

I scrunch my nose up at his request. Why does he want me in there? I've never seen him in that room before. I sometimes spend time in there, reading and relaxing, when I need a break from the hot tub. The smell of the books and cedar wood makes me feel like I'm not locked away like a prisoner.

"I'm in the bath."

"I'd really appreciate it if you could come down."

He sounds like he means that. There's a sincerity in his voice, and instead of making me happy, it makes me nervous.

"Is everything okay?"

"Just make sure you're dressed, please."

The call ends and I stare at the phone for a long time before realizing I should get out before he drags me out of here naked and parades me through the house again.

I dry off quickly and go to my room to get dressed. I throw on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, and let my hair down to look at least a little put together. He asked me to make sure I was dressed, which makes me think he has company. But who? Who the hell would he want me to meet?

I head downstairs and find the door to the study open. Enzo is sitting with a man who looks a lot like him, but maybe a few years younger. His face is a little softer, like maybe he's nicer too.

I knock on the door, and Enzo looks up, gesturing for me to come in with two fingers—that looks oddly erotic and shouldn't. It's a normal gesture. But I guess my pussy didn't get that memo.

The other man smiles at me as I walk in. A smile that makes it seem like he's truly happy to see me, and it's weird.

"So, this is her," the guy says.

Enzo stands, moving to my side. His large hand takes up residence on my lower back, and there it is. That feeling. Those feelings Enzo elicits from me for no reason at all.

"Jordan, this is my brother, Marco," he says, sounding annoyed.

He stands and takes my hand, kissing the back.

Enzo glares at him. "Enough, Marco."

He winks at me. I don't know what to say about any of that, so I say nothing.

"So, how is life with my brother?" he asks.

"We're not doing this," Enzo chimes in and turns to me. "You can go."

I rear my head back. "You called me down here, and tell me to leave seconds later? You made me get out of the bathtub, Enzo."

"He asked to meet you. He's met you. You can go."

I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest and staring at him. From the corner of my eye, I see Marco smiling as if he's holding back a laugh.

"I got dressed for this."

"And?" Enzo retorts.

"And—Why are you so rude?"

"Rude?" he snaps. "I'm the rude one?"

"I could go on for an hour listing the rude things you do and say on a daily basis and wouldn't get halfway through them all."

Marco chuckles, pulling Enzo's attention away from me. He glares at his brother, and it almost makes me laugh.

"Trouble in paradise, brother?" Marco questions with a smirk.

Enzo growls, looking back at me. "Fine. You want to stay? Then sit."

I hold his gaze and drop into the empty chair for no reason other than knowing it annoys him. Do I want to stay here? No, not really. But I don't want him to think he can boss me around and expect me to do as he says, especially when they're ridiculous. He demands me to come down here for less than a minute? Made me get out of the bath and dressed for less than a minute? I think not.

Also, it feels good to feel something, even if it is only annoyance. I embrace it, hoping it'll stay for a while because it's better than feeling empty.

"Would you like a drink, gorgeous?"

"Don't call her that," Enzo barks.

Marco rolls his eyes and raises a brow at me.

"I'd love a drink," I say with a bright smile.

Marco nods and gets up, going to the small bar. He returns with a glass full of something dark.

"She doesn't drink that," Enzo says.

I take the glass and take a sip while staring right at him. It's disgusting. But I swallow it down and smile, giving Enzo a big fuck you.

"Looks like you don't know your wife," Marco says, clearly trying to rile Enzo up. I like him for that alone.

"He doesn't," I add. Enzo glares at me again, like I'm completely ruining his life. Good.

I think I may pay for that one, though.

"How much longer will you be here, Marco? Is there anything else you need?" Enzo asks.

"Just want to visit my brother, Piccolino," he practically coos.

I perk up. "Is that Italian?"

"It is," he answers.

"What does it mean?"

I've always been intrigued by the Italian language. My father speaks a little, but my grandparents spoke fluently. I always wanted to learn, but never took the time to do so. The only thing I did outside of the required classes for school was when I tried to get my massage license. Thought it would be a great idea to become independent and make my own money, but then I decided I didn't want to spend my time putting my hands all over men who would walk away with boners.

"Verbatim? Little one. It's the word our family uses for the baby."

"The baby?" I question, turning to Enzo. "You're the baby?"

Marco barks out a laugh. "He does look old, doesn't he? I tell him all the time, but he never listens."

"I'm younger by four years. It isn't that much." The way he growls out the words between his teeth tells me how much he hates that Marco and I are getting along. Doesn't he realize it only makes me want to be nicer to Marco?

"How old are you?" I question carefully.

Marco shakes his head, leaning back in his chair. He hides his smile with his glass of alcohol, which is lighter than the one I'm drinking.

"Thirty-nine."

About the same age as my father. He's only forty-three.

I shake my head. "It's not that he looks old. I just thought you were younger," I tell Marco.

He smiles and looks at Enzo. "I like her."

I smile brighter and try not to laugh at the frown on Enzo's face.

He called me down here to meet his brother. Shouldn't he be happy we're getting along?

"How many other siblings do you have?" I ask.

"One other brother," Marco answers. "Elio. He's the oldest."

"And your parents?" I ask.

Marco glances at Enzo nervously, clears his throat and says, "Our mother died about twenty years ago and our father is ill."

Not sure what that was about, but okay. Maybe they don't get along with their parents?

"I'm sorry," I say, looking to Enzo who isn't looking at me. His gaze is on the floor. I haven't heard him mention anything about his father, or even talk about going to see him. Does he not care? Or is he just trying to hide it from me? I take another sip of the awful alcohol and place it on the table beside an empty glass. "Well, I'm going to get back to, uh…" I smile. "I'm just going to go. It was nice meeting you, Marco." He smiles, and I turn and leave.

Something in the air changed in there when I asked about their parents, and it's not a conversation I'm ready to have yet.

But it makes me wonder if Enzo understands what it's like to have a shitty father, and maybe it's why he's so understanding about mine being an ass.