15. Elle

15

ELLE

I’ve never been so excited to change out of my scrubs. Nursing is rewarding, but the hours are often long and unsociable, especially when you’re stuck on night shifts like I have been for most of September. While my body can climatize fairly quickly to a nocturnal schedule, the shifts are slow and everyone I know is always asleep, which means trying to make plans is a nightmare.

But for the next two weeks, I’ve been put on the day shift, which means I get to finish work when the sun is setting instead of rising.

However, after the day I’ve had, I’m actually considering quitting nursing altogether and getting a nice cozy little job in a cubicle where I can guarantee I won’t be peed or puked on, and my lunch will consist of more than just a granola bar that I wolf down as I run between the ER and ICU.

Rooting through my locker, I pull out my deodorant and some sweet-smelling body spray that I was influenced to buy by some shop assistant who looked barely out of middle school, in the hopes of masking the slightly foul smell that is clinging to my skin.

I got so excited at the prospect of finishing work at a reasonable hour that I scheduled dinner plans with Lucia tonight. Though, as I give my hair a quick sniff and grimace at the smell, I’m already regretting my decision not to suggest a takeaway and movie night in my cousin’s impressive home theater.

I stink of vomit and other bodily fluids that I’d rather not think about, but I don’t have time to shower before I’m meant to be meeting Lucia.

“That’ll have to do.” I run a brush through my hair before tying it back in a ponytail.

Throwing on a pair of low waist jeans and a cute navy cardigan, I gather the rest of my things and head out of the locker room, tossing my scrubs in the laundry bin as I go.

Lucia messaged me this morning to tell me that she managed to get us a table at Antonio ’s, which makes the best authentic carbonara dish that has my stomach growling just thinking about it.

It’s not often I miss living in Italy, but after a big bowl of pasta and some good wine, I find myself missing my Nonna’s cooking. It’s been too long since I’ve been back to visit her. Life in New York never slows down, and I need to be more conscious of the fact that she’s growing older too.

As always, Antonio ’s is packed, and, just to get to the host station, I have to push my way through a line of people hoping to get a table.

“I have a reservation under the name Conti,” I say a little breathlessly as I fight to untangle my scarf from my ponytail.

Fall is officially underway, and my cheeks already feel chapped from the walk over from the hospital .

Maybe it’s not just the food that I miss about Italy but the hot weather too.

“Ah, yes, your guest is already here.”

I frown, glancing at the time on my phone.

Lucia said she booked the table for eight, and it’s barely five past.

“Really?” My cousin is many things, but punctual is not one of them.

“She arrived about ten minutes ago.”

“Sorry, it’s just she’s normally the one running late.”

The ma?tre d’ looks like he couldn’t be any less interested, so I shut my mouth and offer him a polite smile, indicating that I’m ready to be shown through to my table.

I find Lucia sitting in one of the private booths at the back of the packed restaurant, a martini already in her hand as she looks at the menu.

“I swear, since you’ve had Vivi, you’ve suddenly developed the ability to stick to a schedule.” I laugh as I slide into the booth opposite my cousin. “I was certain I would beat you here despite my shift running over.”

“Kids will do that to you.” She chuckles, setting down her drink. “Besides, I have to be back by ten to relieve Mikhail of his duties because he’s meeting Anton and Danil at Espionage later tonight.”

“Remember when we used to be the ones going out at ten? Now look at us, having dinner and drinks and going to bed at a reasonable hour like civilized adults.”

I can’t deny the fact that I’m pleased with the idea of getting home by ten, though it’s not because I have any intention of getting an early night.

“Ugh, I know. Motherhood has meant my spontaneity has gone right out the window along with my tolerance for alcohol.” Lucia shakes her head. “But it means I’m a cheap date.”

“You are anything but cheap.” I chuckle.

“No, I guess not. Anyway, how was work? I’m glad you’re on day shifts for a while. It means I can actually see you more than once a month.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” I sigh, reaching for my menu.

“Don’t be, you’re working hard.”

Our waiter appears with another round of martinis, and I eagerly drink half of mine in one gulp.

“Another one of these, and I’ll soon forget about the fact that there’s vomit in my hair.”

“Ew!” Lucia winces. “Though saying that, there’s probably some in mine.”

Lucia brings me up to date on all of Vivi’s antics while we peruse the menu, even though we both always order the carbonara.

I was worried that her only reason for having dinner with me tonight was so that she could interrogate me further about my mystery man. But so far, she’s done nothing but go through her camera roll, showing me dozens of cute videos of Vivi and her cousins at a spontaneous playdate that she had the other morning at Zara and Dimitri’s place.

I’m so happy that Lucia has finally found people that genuinely care about her. For so long, she wasted her time and energy on fake friends that only cared about her money and status and what she could offer them.

I hated seeing her generosity be taken advantage of like that, and it ultimately made her miserable.

But I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy too. Losing my parents and brother at such a young age and then being raised solely by my grandmother for over a decade, it has made me crave a family unit like the Koslovs have.

Not that I would ever admit that to Lucia. I don’t want to give her another reason to worry about me.

Though it seems I wasn’t off about the secret ploy to interrogate me as the moment our food arrives, Lucia wastes no time in turning the conversation around to my mystery man.

“So, I haven’t heard anything from you about your little… friend .” She narrows her eyes at me.

“Couldn’t even let me take one bite of my pasta before bringing this up?” I set down my fork.

She scoffs. “I’m surprised that you thought I wasn’t going to bring it up at all. I don’t like how blasé you’re being about all of this. This man is stalking you.”

He’s doing a lot more than that.

My cheeks burn as I try not to think of what happened last night.

I had hoped that in staying up, I would finally catch him in the act. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would turn into him giving me the best orgasms of my life.

I hope he visits again tonight, not just because I enjoyed the way he made my body come alive in a way no man ever has, but because I liked knowing he was there.

I’ve spent too many nights in an empty bed, and it was nice to fall asleep knowing that I wasn’t alone.

Though, I am curious if things between us will finally progress further.

From the noises he made as he devoured my pussy, it was clear he was enjoying himself just as much as I was. At one point, I thought he would give in to his own needs and fuck me, and I can’t deny the thought has my blood heating .

If he can make me scream with just his tongue, I can only imagine what he can do with his cock.

The thought of waking up to finding him peeling off my clothes and climbing on top of me has my pulse racing.

That’s definitely not the reaction I should be having when thinking of my stalker.

“I’ve got everything under control.” I take a sip of my drink, if only to slightly hide my guilty expression.

“Has he been back?”

I twirl some spaghetti around my fork, hoping that my silence will cause her to grow bored of the subject. But it seems my silence only adds fuel to the fire that she’s slowly been tending to since I first told her about the kidnapping.

“I think you should talk to someone. It’s obvious that this entire situation has caused some sort of trauma-induced mental breakdown?—”

“Is this why you asked me to dinner? To interrogate me?”

“The fact that you’re getting so defensive only confirms my assumptions.” Lucia picks up her own fork and takes a bite of her food.

“I’m not being defensive.”

“You’re not being smart.”

I toss my fork down onto my plate and go to grab my purse.

“You’re seriously going to leave?”

“I’ve had a long day, Lucia, and I don’t have the energy to fight you on this.”

“There’s nothing to fight about! A man is stalking you, and you’re?—”

“I’m what? Please, tell me what I’m doing, Lucia.”

“You’re encouraging it. ”

“Unbelievable. You of all people shouldn’t be judging me right now.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t exactly have a squeaky-clean past. I never once judged you for sleeping around. Or what about when you decided to trick Mikhail out of marrying you? I sat and listened to all of it, Lucia, offering you nothing but kind words and support because that’s what we do. Yet, the one time I actually need you to do the same, I get this?”

“You’re right.” She sighs, reaching across the table to take my hand.

I go to pull away, but she tightens her grip.

“I have been harsh and a little judgmental. But it’s only because I’m worried about you. All of this behavior is so…out of character.”

“It still doesn’t give you the right to judge me.”

Lucia’s expression softens, and she nods.

“I’m sorry. Please…don’t go. Let’s finish our dinner.”

Part of me wants to make a point by storming out of the restaurant, but I know that will only make things worse.

“This is my life, and I know what I’m doing.” I pick my fork back up. “Now, can we please change the subject?”

She sighs but nods, picking her own fork up and tucking into her pasta.

“Did I tell you about the curse words that Danil has taught the twins?”

Once dinner is over and Lucia kindly picks up the tab, her way of apologizing for earlier, we both head outside into the crisp autumn night.

Lucia buttons up her coat. “Come to dinner on Friday night. I’m making Nonna’s lasagna recipe, your favorite.”

I know she’s only inviting me because she feels guilty, but I don’t want it to be another excuse for her to interrogate me about my mystery man. Mainly because I don’t want to keep lying to her if she’s being this judgmental about what little I’ve told her. I can only imagine what she’d say if she knew the whole truth.

“I will, on one condition.”

“I won’t make you sit next to Vivi if that’s what you’re worried about. I know how much you don’t like to share your lasagna.” Lucia chuckles.

“No, it’s not that.” I adjust my purse on my shoulder. “I want you to promise that you won’t mention him again.”

“Elle…”

“I’m serious, Lucia, I don’t want to keep having this conversation every time I see you.”

“Fine.”

“I want you to promise.”

Lucia hesitates, and I can see it in her eyes, how much she doesn’t want to let this go. But after our close call during dinner, she decides not to fight me on this.

“I promise.”

After I say goodbye to Lucia, I make my way home on foot.

The idea of ordering an uber makes me uneasy, so I convince myself that the fresh air and exercise will do me good.

Most people would be worried about walking home alone at night, and I used to be one of them.

But not anymore.

I know he ’s out there, watching me.

I bury my nose in my scarf, trying to shield myself from the cold, as I quicken my pace. I’m desperate to get home, to see if he will want to pick up where we left off last night?—

I stop dead in my tracks.

I let a complete stranger, who is yet to tell me his name or show me his face, sneak into my bedroom and get me off, not just with his fingers but with his tongue.

And I want him to do it again.

If that’s not a cry for help, I don’t know what is.

Maybe Lucia is right after all…

I make a mental note to email my therapist as soon as I get home. I haven’t spoken to her since I graduated nursing school and my life got so busy that I gave up therapy, but she always used to make time to see me whenever I needed.

I’ve spent countless hours sitting in her office, talking through the trauma of losing my parents and brother with her. Which was difficult, considering I remember nothing from the night of the fire.

Losing them was hard enough, but not remembering the last words I spoke to my brother before we went to bed, or the story that my mother would have read to me that night, hurts even more.

I spent so long being angry at myself for not being able to remember, even though Dr. Mills explained that it's a completely normal response to a traumatic event. It’s my brain's way of protecting me from the pain, of stopping me from reliving that night over and over.

But I’m yet to see the benefit.

Not remembering only makes me feel worse. It makes it feel like none of it was real, like I imagined the whole thing.

So often I’ve wished that I would wake up one morning and those memories would have miraculously resurfaced. That eventually my brain would deem me strong enough to cope with them that they would be dug out of the tiny pocket in my mind where they’re currently being stored.

But that day is yet to come.

Maybe my lack of appropriate response to my stalker is another way of my brain protecting me .

Instead of feeling fear, my mind is twisting that emotion into something that resembles…lust?

I’m not too sure what I’m feeling, but Lucia is right. It’s not a normal response, and I’m worried that whatever emotions my brain is clearly trying to repress are going to suddenly bubble over somewhere down the line, and I’ll end up in a psych ward.

It’s time to give Dr. Mills a call before things get too far out of hand.