“Mrs, Russo, you are the one who has no idea what's going on.” I'm far more angry than I should be about this, but it's a welcome distraction from terror. “I'll be happy to explain it to you at lunch.”
I slam the phone down on the counter. I'm angry now. Angry and terrified. All I want to do is scream and then hide under a rock and die.
I crumple to the floor, rocking back and forth in tears. How can I expect Dante to protect me from John Norwood? Even though Dante's rich, and his mother is obviously someone to be reckoned with, John Norwood brought his company to its knees in a matter of hours. He could have seriously hurt my baby. I'm angry and frustrated and I don't know what to do.
Tears fall on the floor, but I just scrub them away with bleach. I wish I could bleach everything and just start fresh. But my life is never that easy.
A knock on the door surprises me. The windows are dark and twinkle with the lights of the city. I've been scrubbing for hours and lost time completely.
I stand and go to the door. I can see Dante through the peephole and I instantly am flooded with guilt. I forgot about dinner.
Dante smiles as I open the door, but it quickly fades as he sees the destruction I've wrecked on my apartment. It reeks of bleach and everything is tossed and scattered in my desperate attempt to erase any essence of Mr. Norwood.
“What happened?” Dante asks, looking around the room. I realize I've gone a little insane.
“I saw a rat,” I lie lamely. It's the best excuse I can come up with. I don't want Dante to have one of Norwood's accidents. I couldn't handle it right now. “I hate rats.”
Dante chuckles, apparently finding my neurosis endearing. “Why didn't you just call an exterminator instead of dousing your building in bleach?”
“I take care of things myself,” I tell him. I wince a little. That's what got me the bruises in the first place. I feel the universe trying to show my a lesson, but I push it away. “Let me go get dressed and we can go. It'll just be a minute.”
I hurry to the bathroom and pull out a freshly washed black dress. I catch my reflection in the mirror. I should put on makeup, but the bruises already ache and I don't want anything near my stitches. I pull my hair up into a tight bun and just put on enough eye makeup to make me look human.
I hear him lean up against the wall outside the bathroom door. “I have good news. The lawsuits are being dropped and the article for the Times isn't going to hit the papers,” he says. There's palpable relief in his voice.
I freeze and my breath catches.
“You okay?” Dante asks, peeking around the door. His blue eyes are full of concern I don't deserve.
“Just caught a bruise,” I lie. I smile, but inside I'm drowning. Mr. Norwood's threats are real. He wasn't bluffing. It wasn't just random chance that those things happened to Dante. Mr. Norwood caused them. I want to run and hide, but instead I just put on my work face and step out of the bathroom. “I'm ready.”
The car ride to the restaurant is quiet. We sit in the backseat of a limo, our knees touching and not much else. I am lost in my own thoughts. I look out the window. The sky is clear with the lights of the buildings like tiny daggers digging into the sky.
Stepping out of the car at the restaurant makes me gasp. The cold burns in my lungs. I hate the cold so much.
The lobby is quiet, filled with warmth and soft tinkling music that is supposed to be soothing. If anything it irritates me further. My fingers tingle from the warmth after just the short walk outside.
A woman gasps. Heads turn and look at me as we walk toward the hotel restaurant. For the first time in years, I'm self-conscious of my appearance. I'm naked in front of their eyes and it terrifies me.
“What's wrong?” Dante asks, nearly running into me as I stop dead in my tracks.
“Everyone's looking at me...” I whisper, glancing around and the judging eyes.
Dante tips my chin up with his hand. “Everyone is always looking at you,” he says. “You're too beautiful not to look at.”
I pull my head from his grasp and shake my head. “They're not looking at me. They're looking at my bruises.” I feel ugly. Broken.
I don't want to be treated like I'm made of glass, but at the moment I feel like I might be. And Dante is looking at me like I have a giant crack running down my center that might make me shatter at any moment.
My shoulders sag. I won't be good company tonight. Not after the past two days.
“I can't do this tonight, Dante,” I say, defeated. “I'm sorry. I'm just going to go home and go to bed.”
“Are you sure?” Dante asks. From across the lobby I see a woman whispering to her friend and looking at me. I can't decide if I want to burst into tears or go beat the shit out of them.
“Yes. You go have a nice dinner with your family,” I whisper, looking at the patterned marble floor. “I just need a good night's sleep.”
“I'll come with you,” he says.