Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
My throat grows scratchy when I lift the multiple-page document off the counter. Three bundles of cash are stacked underneath it. Each bundle is clipped and labeled.
Ten thousand.
Ten thousand.
Ten thousand.
He paid me thirty thousand dollars, as he said he would.
I should be relieved, or at the very least grateful, but instead, I feel hollow. It’s like the good parts of me have been scooped out and replaced with greed.
This isn’t who I want to become. I don’t want Dante’s money. I never have. I want something I refuse to name since it will ruin everything.
Despite my unease, I memorize the schedule. The hours Dante needs me to work won’t affect me when I find a new job. He only needs me during the day, which leaves my nights free to work.
Who needs sleep?
Although tempted to test Edoardo’s offer of biweekly video chats, I leave the money where I found it. I’m desperate to see Gabriele again, but what kind of mother will I be if I compromise my morals to do that? My son deserves better, and it seems Dante has come to understand the same.
I spent the entire day pretending I didn’t miss him, and now I get to spend the night pretending I’m not hurt that I got exactly what was coming to me.
Chapter 22
Lucia
Aweek passes so fast that I barely remember what day it is, let alone how many days I have left to earn the funds I need to deposit into Edoardo’s account next week. I’m wading through water so high it’ll swallow me whole if I stop to breathe.
Every morning I wake up with the same resolve: Find a job, then use it to claw my way out of this mess. But every night I go to bed exhausted by the same disappointments.
The job hunt is going horrendously. I’m running out of places to look and excuses to convince myself that I’ll find a solution before everything falls apart.
I’m grasping at straws, and even they continually slip through my fingers.
An easy solution would be to accept the money Dante is offering for watching Camille. I need the funds, God knows I do, but taking it is admitting defeat. It screams that I can’t stand on my own two feet and that I’m once again dependent on a man.
Yet, at the same time, part of me thinks the opposite.
I’ve worked with Camille every day this week, and even though I’ve loved every second of our time together, the truth can’t be ignored. I’d be earning real money if Dante hadn’t acquired all the strip clubs in the country like the massive expense was a minor inconvenience to force me to be his child’s nanny.
Dante is also adamant that the money is mine. Every evening, he leaves the three neatly stacked bundles on my bed as if I hadn’t returned them to him each morning.
His actions are confusing. The money screams, You can fight me all you want, but I’m not letting you drown, but his professional stance the past week says the opposite.
Watching Camille greet him each evening with explosive, unfiltered joy is the highlight of my day. Her happiness clears away some of the pain in my chest, but it also makes me a little envious. She gets to run into the safety of Dante’s arms, and I’m shunted to the sidelines like I’ll always have to pay for the privilege to be part of the team.
Though I’ve felt like an outsider on occasion the past week, the sexual chemistry between Dante and me is still palpable. I can’t look directly at him without losing my balance. I’m just no longer the only one throwing up barriers. Dante is holding back too. His actions aren’t cruel. More restrained, like he’s leashed himself so he won’t accidentally cross a line he drew in the sand.
Sometimes I wonder if he stopped trying because he achieved his goal. He wanted me to be Camille’s nanny. He was honest about that from the start. He got what he wanted, so maybe he doesn’t feel the need to chase anymore.
Maybe he doesn’t need me anymore.
We’ve talked a handful of times over the past week. Although he’s a natural flirt, our conversations are more an employee–employer dynamic than two people experiencing a mutual attraction so intense it burns.
I should be happy. This is what I wanted. No attachments means it’s easier to move on, but for some unknown reason, I feel miserable even contemplating that.
It could be because this month will be the first time I’ve missed the payment date Edoardo agreed to for me to have contact with Gabriele, but that’s taking the easy way out.
I’ve earned over thirty thousand dollars in less than two weeks previously.
I simply need to remember my place.
It isn’t at the table with men like Dante and Edoardo.