Back to business, then. I nod, masking my disappointment. “Wait here while I secure the property. Then I’ll leave you to get settled and fetch us supplies. Keep the door locked while I’m gone and don’t open any curtains.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Allegra heaves her duffel bag onto the floorboards. “I practically grew up in these houses, doc. I know the drill.”
That’s true, though it’s never really hit me before what that must have been like. Being shipped off to random safe houses at the slightest threat, far away from her only family; whiling away her adolescence in places like this, bored and lonely. It’s not like her brother is the type to video chat.
No wonder Allegra looked mad enough to spit when Santo marched her down the mansion steps. This must be the last place in the world she wants to be.
The last place, with the last person. Guilt tastes sour on my tongue. Does she know this was my idea?
No, she’d have chewed me out for it already.
“Wait here, then.” My body tenses as I slide past in the cramped hallway, all my senses on high alert like they always are around her. And I can’t take back the conversation that brought her here—nor would I want to, not now that she’s safe.
But I can at least do my job. Allegra De Rossi will stay safe—I swear it.
Three
Allegra
Present day
Not to brag, but I am a boss ass bitch when it comes to safe house entertainment. Being locked inside with no daylight, no fresh air, and no change in company is no joke, and it takes strategy not to go insane.
Santo taught me that. Whenever I called him crying as a teenager, begging to come home, he told me in that cold, calm voice that I’m too smart to crumble to pieces. That the only way to overcome adversity is tothink.
You can tell that Raul, on the other hand, hasn’t had to hide out for long stretches before, because he’s getting twitchy. Watching the clock each day like an amateur. He hasn’t learned yet that counting each minute only makes it worse; that the only thing to do is surrender to the hazy soup of time. To stop doing and start being, as those zen enthusiasts say.
God, this sucks.
Under the tyranny of the safe house, I stop being the antsy, productive, driven Allegra that literally only Santo knows and loves. Instead, I become this: a woman in sweatpants and a tank top with two-day hair, laying on her belly on the living room floor, listening to a podcast about the Cuban Missile Crisis and doing a jigsaw puzzle. Could be worse, I suppose.
The floor creaks overhead as Raul powers through his daily workout. If I pause my podcast, I’ll hear the faintwhooshof his breath with each push up.
I crank the volume instead, a raspy voice chatting about Kennedy’s secret sex tunnels. No need to torture myself.
Because the doctor has found every excuse in the book not to spend time with me since we arrived. Over the last week, he’s been more like an estranged roommate than someone I’ve known for my whole life, leaving the room after a polite exchange whenever I enter, and timing his kitchen visits for when I’m not there.
He must hate this too, if he’s going to such great lengths to avoid me.
My chest pinches with hurt at the thought. I ignore it, slotting a puzzle piece into place with a sigh.
What did I ever do to him?
Okay, so I know what I did, but is a crush such a crime? I was eighteen and too young for the doctor—I know that now, years later. But I didn’t throw myself at him or tackle him to the ground. All I did was corner him in Santo’s study one night once everyone else had left, and gaze up into the doctor’s eyes at the fireside… and beg for a goodnight kiss.
From the way he reared back, you’d think I asked him to bend me over the table in front of Santo.
Humiliation burns in my throat at the memory. Raul’s horrified expression; my plummeting stomach. The way he’s avoided me for years since. The ache in my heart that’s never quite gone away.
Whatever.
Thirteen days when the world stood still…The cheesy opening lines of a new episode fill the living room, and I pause my phone then flop onto my back. There are plenty of options for entertainment here, and they all kind of suck, but that doesn’t matter. The trick is to keep moving. Keep swimming in the safe house current, like Santo taught me.
Twenty minutes later, I’m pressing back into down dog pose on my yoga mat when there’s a hoarse noise in the doorway behind me.
“Hey.” I blow escaped strands of hair from my flushed face, fully expecting Raul to flee with barely a word. That’s been our pattern so far, and I can see his legs between my knees. Behind him, the kitchen is in shadow. “I made extra risotto last night. There are leftovers in the refrigerator if you want them.”
My hamstrings are tight, and I bend and straighten each leg one by one, ass pointed at the ceiling. Raul’s voice is rough when he says, “Thank you.”