Raul’s mouth tugs up at the corner. “I know.”
“And Christmas is more than two weeks away,” I say, though I don’t know why I’m stalling.
The doctor shakes his head and holds out the bag. “Take it, Allegra. I thought it might help you pass the time.”
I’m not the one scratching at the walls with each passing day like a feral cat, but sure. My chair scrapes back and I stroll across the tiles, putting an extra sway in my hips.
Raul gazes down at me intently as I pluck the brown paper grocery bag from his hands. A puff of laughter escapes me when I peek inside.
“You put on lipstick,” Raul murmurs as I jostle the bag, surveying the glittery contents.
“And you bought me holiday decorations.” Why does my stomach hurt? My throat is tight when I swallow, and I give him a wobbly smile. “Thank you. I love the holidays.”
It’s the one time of year when Santo slows down for a moment; when he puts family first.
Or it was, anyway.
“I thought tomorrow morning, if the risk assessment is good, we could go pick out a tree.”
I feign a gasp. “And break safe house protocol? My, my, doctor. You really are bored.” And I’m teasing him, but the thought of fresh air and some actual daylight on my skin is almost too blissful to bear. My whole body is screaming out for some good ol’ vitamin D.
“I already ran it by Santo.”
Figures. But a tree?
It’s no family Christmas, but maybe this safe house will be less tragic with some holiday cheer. “Thank you,” I say again, and my eyes are misty as I stare into the bag.
I don’t realize how close we’re standing until Raul touches my shoulder. It’s a whisper of a touch, barely there at all, but I feel it like he grabbed hold and squeezed. My whole body warms up, my breaths suddenly shaky, and I sway toward him on the kitchen tiles.
What was the plan again? Oh yeah. I was gonna torment the doctor.
Instead, Raul lays a fingertip on me and I’m done for. Flustered and pink. And it’s always been like this between us—the doctor has always been cool and reserved, completely unaffected by my presence, while I melt into a quivering puddle under the force of his bespectacled gaze.
It’s so not fair, and it’s humiliating, too. The paper bag crinkles in my grip, and I take a big step back.
“Thank you for these,” I tell Raul’s shoes. “I’ll decorate tomorrow once we have the tree.”
And I don’t invite him to join me, even though he bought the supplies. I don’t say another word, waiting with baited breath until the doctor is finally gone.
Then I sag where I stand, the grocery bag drooping in my arms.
So much for my schemes. I need to regroup.
Four
Raul
Guilt is lodged in my gut, sickly and hard. It’s been there since the first day at the safe house, but it gets worse with each passing hour as Allegra retreats inside herself—and I get wound tighter and tighter with wanting her.
When I convinced Santo to send her away, I told myself I was doing the right thing… but what if I was wrong? What if there’s no real threat, and I’m just making her unhappy?
It wouldn’t be so bad if she were here with Nico or Diego, playing poker or arm wrestling, passing the time with the men she truly calls friends. Instead, Allegra stiffens when I get near; she falls quiet when I enter a room. Even after my gift earlier, she was stilted.
I hate this.
“No developments,” Santo drawls in my ear, the phone clutched tight in my hand. “We’re exploring new avenues, tracing the source of the hit, but these things take time. And I have many enemies.”
If he’s getting tired of me calling for daily updates, the mob boss is showing unusual restraint. Guess he wants to hear about his baby sister.