Page 37 of The Obsession
I rehearse something in my head as I head towards the entrance.“Hey, I was in the neighbourhood.”But that sounds stupid. Too convenient. Too obvious. Pathetic. I try again.“You seemed off yesterday, just wanted to check in.”But that feels like prying. And the one thing I don’t want to do is make her feel exposed.
I exhale and drag a hand over my face. For fuck’s sake, I should just turn around and go home, but what if something happens to her?
A chill skates down my spine, and it’s enough to keep my feet moving.
When I push through the front door, I decide to go with the truth, well, part of it. I’ll start by apologising for mybehaviour yesterday. Even if she doesn’t want to hear or accept it, at least I’ll get to see if she’s okay, and for now, that will be enough.
It’ll have to be. It’s not like I can throw her over my shoulder and take her with me—as much as I’d like to.
That thought hits hard. Do I actually want to take her home? My stomach twists when I realise the answer is yes.
I’ve been so busy telling myself it’s her safety I’m worried about, but it’s more than that. I like her … no, I really like her. How the fuck did I end up here?
She’s a fucking stunner, so damn beautiful it hurts to look at her at times, but her sugary sweet persona has never been my type. Jesus, I’d eat that woman alive, and she’s already so fragile and beaten down.
Lucia said yesterday that scaring her into opening up to me isn’t the way to go, which was something I needed to hear. I’m a bulldozer by nature. I have to earn her trust, and hopefully then she’ll allow me to help because I can’t ignore what I’ve seen, no matter how much she might want me to.
She’s trapped, just like my mother was, I’m sure of it.
I pause just inside the doorway and let my eyes move around the room. I recognise a few of the staff, but Emily isn’t anywhere in sight.
A waitress walks over. She’s pretty, but something about her feels off. Her hair and eyes are a deep brown, and her smile doesn’t brighten her face the way Emily’s does.
“Welcome to La Riviera,” she says. “Table for one? Or are you meeting someone?”
“I’m …” Fuck. I reach up and rub the back of my neck while I scramble for anything other than the truth. This is exactly why I prefer to keep to myself and stay the fuck out of other people’s business. My eyes do another sweep of the room, but she’s definitely not out here. Maybe she’s in the kitchen. “Can I talk to the chef?” I find myself asking.
“Massimo?”
I knew his name started with an M. I should really put that in my phone so I don’t keep forgetting.
“Yeah,” I say, giving a quick nod and shoving my hands into my pockets. “Tell him it’s Dominic. He knows who I am.”
She disappears and returns a minute later. “Come,” she says, gesturing with her hand. “Massimo said he’ll see you in the kitchen. He’s in the middle of something.”
The polite thing to do would be to walk out and stop taking up this man’s time. He’s busy, and I know it, but my manners are hanging by a thread, and my concern is tugging at what little is left.
I follow her through the door and wait until she slips back into the dining room before I say anything.
Massimo is chopping something at an alarming pace, and for a second, all I can do is watch the blur of his hands. His knife skills are next level. He glances up at me for barely a heartbeat before looking back down.
He snaps an order at one of his kitchen hands in Italian, then finally acknowledges me. “What can I do for you, Dominic?”
“I’m looking for Emily.”
“She called in sick.”
“Does she do that often?”
“No.”
“Do you think she’s sick?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
I turn to leave, already bracing myself for what comes next, when he calls my name. “Dominic.” I stop, but I don’t turn around.
