Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

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The next day, I'm cleaning the kitchen after breakfast when there's a knock at the door.

I open it to find Hope holding two large cloth grocery bags. "Hi, I'm here to teach you to cook. I was talking with Elizabeth, and she mentioned you take lunch to Matteo every day. Javier comes home for lunch. I figured we could make something to feed them."

"Oh, yeah, okay." I totally planned to come up with an excuse to avoid her. Only she's so happy. I step back to allow her into the condo. "Thank you. I didn't expect you to take time out of your day."

"I don't mind at all. Although I did have to do some begging for Javier to let me come over. He was worried about me going into the grocery store to shop. I had to put an order in. He didn't want me wandering around the store by myself." Her giggle is adorable.

"It's wrong to love how possessive he is. Blah, blah, blah, toxic masculinity. Whatever, I guess I'm a toxic woman because I'm just as possessive over him as he is about me. I can't stand the sight of him even smiling at other women—so there you go."

Glad I can be honest in one thing, I admit. "I hated the idea of Matteo out with Melissa. All week long, I was worried he'd fall in love with her or something."

"Elizabeth." Her chuckle is knowing. "She's as ruthless as her sons when it comes to getting what she wants. I'm positive the date she set up for Matteo with Melissa was totally to get you two together." She begins removing the items from the grocery bags.

"Really? I did wonder why she did something that made Matteo so mad."

Layla squeals from the activity center that she's bouncing in. "Hello, cutie pie. I left my kiddos with the nanny. It's nice to unplug from being a mom for a little while. I adore my kids, but sometimes it's nice to be me—not mom. Just for a few hours."

I nod in understanding. "I think we all need that sometimes. As soon as I had Layla, people at work only talked to me about her—it's like I didn't exist."

Hope takes out a large pan and sets it on the stove. "Same. I gave in to Javier on the nanny for help. At the same time, it's been nice to get out of the house and get my nails done or hair done and not worry about rushing back to meet their schedule. Except for having to pump, of course."

I'm surprised by the amount of seasonings she's taking out of one of the bags. I'm about to mention one of the cabinets is full of the same seasonings when she opens the cabinet and begins throwing them away.

"These have been in here since before we moved out. Seasonings take your cooking from okay to awesome. Most are good for at least six months to a year. People are going to bitch they're better for longer than that—I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, anything longer than a year, toss it."

I don't dare argue and study the spices, half of them I've never heard of let alone cooked with.

"Today, we're going to make enchiladas. There's a long way of boiling the chilis to rehydrate them and blending them. Then there's the spices method and tomato sauce. These things are going to be staples you always keep in the pantry so you can easily throw all kinds of meals together." Her hand is over half the items she has on the counter.

Over the next two hours, Hope is the sweetest teacher ever. She's patient and thorough. We make chicken and ground beef enchiladas. I learn how to chop, julienne, and slice. I'm also shown how to use all the tools in the cupboards that overwhelmed me before. I also learn which spices do what and go together and which don't.

I discovered how easy it is to make tortillas, and flour goes everywhere—including on Layla.

It's the way I always imagined having a sister would be. I'm grateful I didn't get a chance to turn her down.

"These are so freaking good." I moan as I take a bite of one. "But I do think the ones with the rehydrated chilis are better."

She shrugs. "Me too. Except sometimes it's not always something you have time for, or you forget to buy them. This is another way of having what you want using what you have. It's how they talk about the whole formula versus breastfeeding—fed is best, it's not breast is best."

I nod, surprised by her vehemence.

"Sorry, I just talked to a friend I made during Lamaze class. The poor thing is having the hardest time breastfeeding. People are making her feel awful about giving up and using formula, including her shitty husband."

"Poor woman. I never realized how hard breastfeeding was until I had Layla. Everyone makes it seem like it's this natural, magical thing that just happens. If I hadn't been in the hospital with an infection and had the lactation specialist come in every day for a week, I wouldn't have been able to do it." I cringe at the memory of feeling like a failure.

"Exactly. My mom had a bunch of kids, and I never saw her struggle with breastfeeding. Only because she learned before I was old enough to see it. And no one wants to talk about struggling because then you're made to feel like you're the problem and a defective woman. It's bullshit."

Hope is holding Layla. Layla's eyes are big and her mouth is open wide as she stares up at Hope.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Am I getting too cranky for you? I don't mean it." She looks up to me. "It's funny how sensitive babies are to the adults around them. I'm not upset with you. No, I'm not." Hope kisses Layla over her face and into her neck.

Layla laughs loudly.

An alarm goes off on her phone. "Okay, I need to get going. Javier will be home soon for lunch."

We split the enchiladas we've made. So she can take some home to Javier.

"Let's do this again next week. This was fun." Hope says as she gives me a hug goodbye.

"I'd like that. Thank you so much." And I really mean it.

Amy

"This is the first appointment. It's simply to meet and assess—for both of you. You don't have to come back, and you can leave at any time." Matteo reassures me for the third time today.

I do that exhale laugh thing I thought was all his. I'm so glad he ignored me when I told him I could come on my own. He arranged for Elizabeth to take care of Layla at the condo. Since this is during her longest nap of the day, I'm hoping she will sleep through the time I'm gone.

A door opens, and a woman fills the doorway. She's small, with graying hair and large blue eyes that take over her face.

"Hillary Swift." She holds out her hand.

I take it for a brief handshake. "Amy Goff. Amy, please."

She nods as she sits down in a smaller chair that fits her perfectly and gestures to an oversized chair in front of her own. "Tell me, Amy. Are you here because you want to be or because Matteo pressured you?"

"Wow, going straight for the insults." I thought there would be a little more of a progression.

Her smile is brief. "It isn't an insult." She studies me. "Before we begin, I want to verify you are coming to me based on your desire to do the work. It is a great deal of work, considering what Matteo told me. It will simply save us time."

"I'm here because I want to be. I didn't want to come at first. Until Matteo helped me understand therapy is like going to any normal doctor. There are some people who are lucky and always healthy enough they don't go to the doctor often."

I sigh. "Some people have a major accident like what Danny did to me. Sometimes, it's like my childhood dealing with my mom and dad, and it will take a long time to fix. It can hurt, but it's important and will help in the end."

"Good." She nods. "I'm glad you understand it's going to hurt. Not just the EMDR with Danny. The roughest EMDR will be dealing with your childhood. We are going to have to dig up the foundation you're standing on and tear it out piece by piece. That foundation was built by abuse and neglect. It enabled Danny to lead you to believe you deserved what he did to you—when you sure as fuck didn't. You left one cycle of abuse to go into another. The work to figure out what to lay down as your new foundation can also be difficult if you aren't here for you. That's why I asked if you're here for you or Matteo."

Closing my eyes against the pain that she promises is ahead of me, I imagine getting up and walking out. Matteo said I could. He would accept it. He wouldn't like it, but he wouldn't argue with me.

"Are you ready to begin?"

Exhaling slowly, I nod.

Matteo

I'd gotten the warning Rafe was coming to join me for lunch at noon. His secretary called to confirm my lunch time with Cleo this morning. Cleo put the woman on hold and called me, asking what I wanted her to tell the woman. I told her to confirm the time.

I'm surprised he waited until today. It's now Friday—almost a week since I brought Amy to the house for brunch.

Hope showed up Monday for a first lesson to teach Amy how to cook. I'm grateful as hell for Hope. Amy has been smiling and talking about it all week. She even got the courage to cook a few times. It wasn't bad. One of the meals wasn't great—she left out salt. But I didn't dare admit it. The other things she cooked were good, though. I love how her confidence is growing every day.

I'm not worried about Rafe's visit. Once he understands Amy and Layla are the only things in this world that will make me happy, he'll lay down the concerned big brother mantle.

Once we settle this, I won't have to worry about him giving Amy a hard time. I don't want her upset, especially after everything has been going so well over the last week. It felt like Amy was growing more comfortable in her skin. She's laughed and teased me often over the last week. Last night, she let me help her in the kitchen. We had fun to the point I couldn't have cared what the food tasted like.

The appointment with Hillary was the only cloud in the sunshine of this last week. She came right into my arms out of Hillary's office. I held her for a while before I felt good enough to drive us home.

She hadn't been ready to talk about it. I assured her she never had to be. What happened in therapy was always between her and Hillary. I never wanted her to feel as if she needed to talk to me about it because she didn't.

Over the last week, I have found myself leaving work earlier and earlier. I'm leaving today at three again. With Layla going to bed at seven, I wanted more time with her, and I don't feel guilty in the slightest about it.

Rafe nods at me in greeting as he sets down a bag from one of my favorite Italian restaurants. I've got two favorites for lunch. If he got me a sub sandwich, he's spoiling me. If he got me the chopped salad, he's being Dad Rafe.

"Thanks, I'm starving." I take the bag and set it on the table in front of the couch, where I usually have lunch with Amy.

Two chopped salads are inside, with the same no onions marked on each box. I roll my eyes as I hand him one and motion to the couch as I sit down on one side.

He takes the box and sits down. Putting down the box without opening it, he turns his attention to me. "I'm concerned."

I exhale a laugh. "I was surprised it took you until now to make an appearance. Or is it because you're rescinding your open invitation to brunch on Sunday?"

"I would never do that. You are always welcome. So are Amy and Layla. If they are family to you, then they're family to us. I'm simply concerned you've?—"

"I'm the one who taught Layla to call me ‘dada.' She is my daughter. As soon as Amy is ready, she will be my wife. I'm aware I need to get rid of her current husband, and I will. If you've done all your digging, you saw she was abused by the fucker."

Rafe sighs and nods.

"I'm not exactly happy that security company of yours handed over her file so easily," I mutter.

"They didn't want to. And only did after I told them if they didn't, I'd find another security company that would find out everything I wanted to know." He defends them. "Remember, they've been my go-to for the last six years."

"Whatever, it's fine. I have a lawyer working on it. Amy signed off on the petition for divorce. Everything should be good to go to protect Amy and Layla within about two weeks. By that time, it will be the ninety days since she established residency here in Dallas necessary to file for a divorce in this county. Since the lawyer thinks it's best to keep the number of special allowances to a minimum, he'll be served divorce papers two days after the day—as well as a demand he terminates custodial rights. I'll give him a week and demand a meeting for his signature on both. If need be, I'll have a cashier's check waiting. It's nice when a judge up for re-election and needs a large donation is also a former victim of domestic violence. No better win-win than that. No need to wait sixty days for it to be finalized by the judge. The judge is also willing to waive the thirty days after the divorce is final before we can get married."

He tilts his head to study me. "I never thought you'd be one to pay off a judge."

"I never thought I would be either. Until the moment Amy was a sobbing wreck in my arms—not from the fear I would hit her—because she was relieved that I wouldn't . When it comes to severing the last tie to that time and keeping Amy and Layla safe, there isn't much I wouldn't do."

Wincing, he nods. "You're certain Amy is with you for the right reasons?"

I send an eyebrow up at him. "I wouldn't care if she was with me for the wrong reasons. Once the divorce is finalized and she's ready, Amy will be my wife, and Layla will be my daughter. As far as I'm concerned, they are already. A piece of paper doesn't mean a thing when it comes to them."

"Okay, okay, I get it. All I want is to ensure you've thought things through. I care about you and what might come after. Please, simply give some thought to a prenup."

Shaking my head, "I'm not interested in one. Besides, I'm sure you and Mom will sic lawyers on her the moment I screw up, and she kicks me out."

He exhales a laugh.

"You good now? Got your big brother's due diligence out of the way? Can we eat, please?"

Rolling his eyes, he opens his own box. "When did you become such a know-it-all jackass?"

"Come on, I'm no Javier with a law degree. I'm worse, a doctor. You just missed out on it because I barely came back for the last twenty years. It's only been two-minute phone calls for me to diagnose and tell you what to do." I fork some romaine lettuce with some mozzarella and salami in my mouth. Damn, that's good. I look up to find Rafe staring into his salad. "What's wrong?"

Finally, his eyes meet mine. "I'm sorry for letting that be the extent of our relationship. Mom went out to see you. I didn't even think of it. I should?—"

"Rafe, you called me once a week to check on me during those first years of college when I needed it, and you were busy as hell while doing it. Yeah, sometimes we only talked for five minutes. There were far more times when we talked for hours. Then I thought I was supposed to be a man and didn't need you. That is on me. I could have picked up the phone." I refuse to let him blame himself.

"Yeah, but..." His jaw is hard.

"No. Don't do that. I get it's taken some time to repair your relationship with Mom, but I had her. If I needed someone to talk to, she was the one I called. She answered every time. We can't undo what's happened. We can simply do better now."

He nods. "Fine. You're right. When the hell did you become so…smart?"

Laughing, I shrug. "It was all that time in college and med school. Is it okay if I use the jet tomorrow to take Amy to Denver? She's an artist. And I want to show her as much art as I can. I'm also looking at a three-day trip in a few weeks to Chicago. For her to agree to it, I'll have to call it a belated birthday. I'm considering two weeks in Europe to see art there for our honeymoon. Mom recommended someone to help me plan everything, and we're still working out the best way to see the most art."

"I love the ask, then the tell. There's no need to ask. I told you when you got here. Check with the office to confirm no one in the company is using it. If not, the jet has your last name on it. You have every right to use it. But you're the one paying for the fuel, and it isn't pocket change."

I nod at his warning. Talking with the coordinator at the hangar where the jet is parked yesterday, he gave me some figures. As far as I'm concerned, it's worth it to make Amy happy.

Amy

"Why are we up early on a Saturday, Matteo?" I yawn as I head straight for my Moka pot for caffeine.

His chuckle is annoying before coffee. "Only you would find nine in the morning early."

I give him the stink eye.

"I'm sorry. It is earlier than you're used to on a Saturday. However, I think you'll forgive me when you find out what the surprise is. The small issue is you're going to want to change. As we're leaving the condo."

It's a dreary day today. Exactly the kind of day to be lazy and hide in the warmth of central heat. "Do I have to?"

"You're going to make me tell you the surprise before we leave, aren't you?"

The caffeine hasn't hit my veins yet because the Moka pot hasn't released its life-saving brew. So, I'm not sure how it feels like I'm winning already. Back to the counter, I lean against it and cross my arms. Blearily, I stare down Matteo. He's looking, per usual, gorgeous in black slacks and a cashmere sweater—this one thick and in navy.

"I mean, Layla isn't even up yet. There's something out there about sleeping when she sleeps. I think I earned finding out what this surprise is."

An eyebrow goes up. He prowls toward me. Those bees are awake and buzzing at the look in his eyes. Heat hits me everywhere, and my lungs are tight, making it hard to breathe deep. The bees are pissed with the need for air. I finally figured out it was never a temperature I was running those first few days—it was all Matteo.

Oh my, they're turning gold. His hands come down on either side of me, caging me in. I don't feel trapped—I feel protected with his body all around. His heat warming me from the inside out. A smile is playing on his beautiful lips. Will I finally find out what those lips feel like on mine?

"You are feeling better. This is a different Amy, mouthy in the morning. I like it. Although I think I'll ensure I have your coffee waiting before I wake you next time." His voice is low and washes over my skin, turning it hot and tight in anticipation of his touch.

I hate that while he might be close, it's not close enough—since no part of him is touching me. As much as I hate it, it's probably the only reason I can form words. "It would go a long way to me not feeling stabby."

An exhale of air, almost a laugh. "Oh no, not stabby. Considering we're in the kitchen near knives, I'll tell you the surprise to save myself from stitches. The jet is getting gassed up as we speak. We're taking a day trip to Denver to see the art museum there. It's not the National Gallery of Art or even the Art Institute of Chicago. However, they have a lot more impressive art than the museum in Houston or here in Dallas. Once they close, we'll grab an early dinner?—"

I close my eyes against the tears threatening to spill over. But I'm too late.

His lips are near my ear. Hot air washes over me, causing a shiver I can't hide. "Why are you crying?"

"Because you keep making me." I try to defend myself. My neck is weak, and my head falls to his chest.

Sighing, his arms go around me and hold me loosely. "You deserve every good thing in this life. Eventually, you won't cry when something good happens."

"Promise?" I mumble. I'm annoyed with myself for the tears. How is he going to want to kiss me if I'm crying? I might be in his arms, except it's not the way I was hoping.

"I promise. Now, your Moka pot is filling and I do believe I hear Layla. You get some coffee. I'll get Layla." He lets me go and steps back.

"Okay, I'll get dressed after I have coffee."

"Dress warm. It will barely kiss forty degrees. I'll be layering Layla." Is said over his shoulder.