Demand (Careless Whispers #2)(35)

“Never let it be said that I stood between a man and his football,” I proclaim, “but your sister might be another story.”

He grumbles something Italian that tells me I’ve hit a sore spot, and I laugh, stepping around him with a fond memory of my father and his pals sitting around the TV, yelling at football, carrying me to the front of the store. I find Marabella setting a collection of bags next to another collection of bags.

“What the heck is all of this?” I ask, noting several garment bags on top of the counter, as well. “Please tell me this isn’t all for me? It’s one party. I need one dress.”

Marabella holds up her hands. “I didn’t do it. It was Kayden.” She offers me a black shopping bag with silk handles. “This came by way of a special, separate delivery, which seems to justify special attention.”

“You don’t know what it is?” I ask, accepting the bag, tons of black and white tissue paper sticking out from the top.

“No idea at all,” she confirms. “But there’s a card poking out of the top.”

Locating it, I remove it from the paper, and silently read the handwritten words Open this package alone printed on the front of it. As silly as it might be, what affects me is not the idea of a private gift, it’s the fact that it’s Kayden’s script on the note.

“Something good?” Marabella asks.

“I don’t know yet,” I say, stuffing the envelope back inside the bag. “I need to open it once I’m upstairs.”

Her eyes light. “Something good for sure. I’m sure you’re eager to get to your tower and explore all your new things. I think if we both load up we can get it all in one trip. Once you go through it all, you can let me know if you need anything else.”

“Hair color,” I say. “I have roots.”

She gives me a keen eye. “Oh yes. I see that now. What color is it naturally?”

“I have no idea,” I reply, Giada’s communication with Gallo dictating my noncommittal answer. “But the roots don’t lie. They need to be covered.”

“I’ll get you some once we get you upstairs,” she promises, draping one of the garment bags over her arm.

“Thank you, Marabella,” I say, reaching for some of the bags, when I suddenly remember my journal on the coffee table in the other room, and drop the bags, my panic instant. “I need to grab something from the living room.” As I hurry away I hear her call out, “I’ll head on to the tower.”

I cut left and quickly pass under the archway to the living area. A soccer game, Italian “football,” is playing on the TV. I round the couch to find Adriel occupying my prior position, my gaze going to the coffee table where my journal should rest but does not, setting my heart thundering in my chest.

“Do you want to watch the games with us?” Giada asks from behind the kitchen island.

“I need to unwind for tonight and figure out what I’m wearing,” I reply, still focused on Adriel, who arches a brow my direction.

“Something I can do for you?”

“Did you see the journal I left on the table?”

Irritation flints over his expression. “Unless it has to do with football right now, I not only have zero idea what you are talking about, I don’t care.”

“Oh, good grief, Adriel,” Giada says, moving toward us. “You men and your football. You get so rude. It has to be here.” She glances at her brother. “Get up.”

He gives her a heavy-lidded stare, and she squats by the couch, looking around his feet, then stands and grimaces. “I don’t see it, but it has to be here. I’ll keep looking for it.”

I want to ask Adriel to stand, but he’s leaned forward, watching the game. “Thanks,” I say, motioning toward the door. “Marabella is waiting to help me carry my delivery items upstairs.” I turn and hurry away, running through the things I have inside that might be bad if they were discovered by any of the Hunters, who know I managed to get on Niccolo’s radar in that alleyway, but not why.

I’ve just arrived at the front of the store to feel guilty at the discovery that Marabella managed to carry all of the packages, when I hear Adriel say, “Ella.”

I turn to find him close, too close, towering over me, my journal in his hand. “Don’t leave things like this lying around,” he says, offering it to me.

“Thank you,” I say, accepting it, only to find myself fixed in his hard, deep green stare, a lock of his curly black hair teasing his forehead.

“Let Enzo be a lesson,” he stuns me by saying. “Mistakes have consequences.” He turns and walks away, exiting the store into the main castle, as if he can no longer stomach the game that he saw as pleasure minutes before. And for the second time in twenty-four hours, I’m not sure if he’s warned me or threatened me. Kayden isn’t my enemy, nor am I his, but Adriel . . . I just don’t know.

I wait a good two minutes before I exit the store, hitting the button to shut the door with my elbow, and my gaze travels down the hallway to the room where Enzo died. For several seconds, I relive the moment when Nathan declared Enzo gone. And yet, we’ve eaten pizza, told jokes, and I’m about to try on fancy dresses. Like he never existed. Like he didn’t just die. My chest tightens and I think of Kayden, wondering how many times thoughts of Enzo have gutted him today. Suddenly, I really need to talk to him, and not giving myself time to change my mind, I unzip my purse and grab my phone, quickly punching in his number.