15. Zola

Chapter 15

Zola

I stared blankly at the door for a good few minutes after he left, then I rushed to the toilet and was sick as a dog. Alcohol and I were not good bedfellows. I cleaned my teeth and got into my father’s bed. Pulling the covers over my head, I shut my eyes and was asleep in minutes.

I slept well … more than I had in a while.

When I woke up the next morning, it was with a slight headache and a heavy grogginess that I richly deserved. I felt too disgusted to go back to sleep so I stumbled to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. A little while later my hair was washed, my body clean, and my head somewhat cleared.

The events of the previous day and evening had already begun to come back to me. I felt a strange sense of guilt as I thought about Dante. I recognized that my father’s death was ultimately not his fault and I should stop trying to blame or hate him, but if I did, then how on earth would I stop my body from responding sexually to him? Because my body had not got the memo that I was grieving for my father and it was noticing stuff about him. The way his hot eyes moved over my body, the way his sensual lips twisted into a mocking smile, the strong column of his throat, his manly wrist, his deeply tanned skin against my own …

Don’t go there, Zola! For the love of God don’t go there.

Putting him firmly out of my mind, I changed into one of my father’s oversized T-shirts. There was a time I’d made a habit of wearing his shirts, but not since I moved out. As I went down to the kitchen, I recalled how he would sometimes feign annoyance, especially if I wore one of his favorite ones, but never once did he ever forbid me.

The empty lemon-scented refrigerator reminded me the house was a food desert. Dante said he would take care of it, but it was only nine o’clock so it was probably too early to expect groceries. I returned to my father’s room to check on my leftover pizza, but when I took in the two congealed hardened slices, I instantly lost my appetite.

A message pinged on my phone. It was from Dante.

Groceries are outside the front door. Don’t hesitate to contact my secretary or me if you need anything at all.

I reread his message and wondered how long he aimed to keep this up. I needed to speak to him. I wasn’t comfortable about the responsibility he was forcing upon himself in order to ensure my welfare. I headed over to the front door and through the peephole, saw three sturdy bags stuffed with food and vegetables.