Denial (Careless Whispers #1)(81)

A few minutes later, Kayden and I exit the coffee shop into a chilly day, our arms linked, me in my trench coat with a scarf, him in his fitted black leather jacket with a scarf as well.

“The envelope you gave that man had a ton of cash in it, didn’t it?” I ask as we pass a horse and carriage.

“Convenience has a price. That meeting otherwise could have taken hours, and the good news, as I explained inside, is that one of those forms extended your stay in Italy for a year. You just have to agree not to work.”

I stop and look at him. “You didn’t tell me I can’t work. I can’t just stay here and do nothing.”

“You don’t need to work. I have more money than I know what to do with.”

“You do. Not me.”

He reaches in his pocket and holds up a credit card. “Now you do, too. This has your new name on it, and it’s impossible to max it out.”

“I’m not taking that.”

“Yes. You are.” He shoves it in my coat pocket. “Whatever you want or need is yours.”

“Kayden—”

He kisses me. “I’m taking care of you, whether you like it or not.” He links our arms together and launches us into a stroll again.

“Then you have to let me help you with something you do to make money. Research, maybe? Or whatever I can do. Please, Kayden. I need to have a purpose. And not only do I not want to live off you, I don’t want you to feel I am, either.”

“I don’t, and I don’t want you to feel that way.”

“Then let me help you in some way.”

“I don’t want you involved in The Underground.”

I step in front of him, forcing him to halt. “You are The Underground. There is no way I can be in your life and not have it be in my life. And besides, how dangerous can research be?”

He studies me, his expression an impassive mask. “This really matters to you.”

Like he does, and I wonder if he knows that, or if I should tell him. I want to tell him. Instead I say, “Very much so.”

He kisses my forehead. “We’ll figure something out.”

He tries to move me and put us in motion, but I plant my hands on his chest, heat radiating up my arms, his credit card burning a hole in my pocket. “Just to be clear. That means we’ll figure something out.”

He laughs. “That is what I said. Now.” He turns me to face our left and the Spanish Steps that seem to climb a mile high.

“Wow. They’re magnificent.”

“Like you,” he murmurs near my ear, and it is becoming clear he has as much charm as sex appeal. “During the warmer season they have flowers everywhere,” he adds. “Do you want to walk up them?”

I face him. “That would be fun. Probably exhausting, but fun.”

He closes my hand around his. “Better now than when we have shopping bags.”

We spend a good hour milling around the steps before starting our door-to-door shopping expedition, and I soon learn the man is truly determined to spend his money on me.

We end up with so many bags we have to drop some off at the car. “You know,” I say as we exit a little pizza joint where we’ve just had marvelous pizza, my hand stuffed in his pocket, a confession on my lips I’ve had on my mind for hours, “when I realized I knew about Niccolo, my first thought was to run.”

“And now?”

“I don’t want to run.”

He turns me to face him. “Running isn’t the answer anyway. I’ve told you that.”

“The idea of anyone else getting hurt because of me guts me, Kayden.”

“You know me well enough to know that I’ve taken precautions. You need to stay in one place, and that place is here with me. Every time you move around is a chance to be seen by the wrong people.”

“What about when they look here?”

“There is no red-haired Ella to be found here. Besides, I have a man inside Niccolo’s operation. I’m going to find out why he’s after you. If you were a carrier, I might be able to pay for your freedom and give my guarantee of your silence as the Hawk for The Underground.”

“I don’t even know what to say to that. What about your man’s safety?”

“He’s a mole in Niccolo’s operation, not a Hunter, and he doesn’t even know it’s me paying him. We’re okay there.”

I slide my arms under his leather jacket and tilt my chin up to whisper, “Thank you.”

He leans in and kisses me. “Thank me when we get back to the castle. And be creative about it. That’s an order.”

I laugh and assure him, “I’m more creative than you might think.”

“I can’t wait to find out,” he replies, draping his arm around my neck as we fall into step together, and I am thinking about how he says “the castle,” rarely calling it “home.”

I crave home. He has to as well, and some part of me thinks it’s not the walls that make that word meaningful. It’s people, and maybe we can be “home” to each other. For some reason, that stirs a few flickering images of me with my friend Sara and a knot forms in my chest.

“I’m concerned about my friend Sara, Kayden. My gut feeling is that she would file a missing persons report. What if she finds out my existence was wiped out and she starts digging?”