Over the past week,Vanessa and I have settled into an uncomfortable routine. She’s gone before I wake in the morning, Doug and I enjoy our walks through town around sunrise, and we stay out of each other’s way during the day for the most part. I’ve learned she opens the shop late on Wednesday mornings so she can attend early morning yoga with Rory, and she sleeps like the literal dead, so I’m not shocked she slept through a masked intruder invading her home.
Today, she made herself scarce while Breaker and I argued back and forth about delivery routes and bank accounts as discreetly as possible. Several times today I’ve left the apartment to field phone calls from Matteo as he relayed information on how our plan is unfolding. The men have managed to successfully win Luca’s trust, gathering information on his next delivery disruption and planning their own way to botch it without losing my product or blowing their cover. I don’t want to endanger their lives any more than necessary. After all, the men Matteo chose are my family, my responsibility, men who rely onme to make decisions they can trust. But this is the nature of the beast in this life. Nothing in Fortuna Nera is truly safe.
It’s nearly nine at night before I have a chance to calm my nervous system. For the first time since I opened my eyes this morning, I actually feel the smallest amount of peace. Vanessa sits on the couch across the room, typing away on her laptop with her legs tucked under her butt. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, but every few seconds she steals glances at me when she thinks I’m not looking.
After the sixth time, I meet her eyes, and she gasps, her cheeks flushing as she looks away quickly. I suppress my laughter and focus my attention back on my computer, responding to several more emails. She continues peeking over the edge of her screen at me, and I break the silence.
“What are you doing, Vanessa?”
“Quarterly taxes, you?” She looks over at me curiously.
“Planning an assassination.” I don’t bother looking up, knowing I’m not joking. She can interpret it in any way she chooses.
She’s quiet for several long moments, mulling over the validity of my statement before deciding to press for more information.
“What is it you do exactly?” She asks with trepidation.
“Mind my own business. Ever heard of it?” I quipped.
Her expression turns sour, and she sticks her tongue out at me. Scoffing at her behavior, I can’t help the question that arises, even though I know the answer already from my extensive research about her.
“Really? How old are you?”
“25. Well…almost,” she replies instantly just as I take a sip of my coffee. I choke. Hearing the truth for the first time out loud somehow feels more jarring than I expected. Twenty fucking four years old.
“You alright over there?” She asks, raising a brow. I brush her off, regaining my composure quickly with a nod. “Why? How old are you?
“40. Today.” I respond without looking away from my laptop screen. I don’t know what possibly possessed me to tell her it was my birthday. Maybe some sick part of me actually loves to be tortured.
The room goes silent. My fingers hover over the keys as I chance a look over at her face. She’s staring at me, a creepy serial killer smile painted across her face.
“Yes?” I ask.
“Today is your birthday?” She prods, and regret swirls deep in my gut. I never should’ve let that piece of information slip.
“Don’t.” I snap, but she’s practically bouncing in her seat.
“Come onnnnnn!” She barely contains her excitement, chewing on the edge of her lip repeatedly like she’s going to literally combust if I don’t cave to her enthusiasm.
“I haven’t celebrated my birthday in decades, Vanessa.” Something like sadness fills her eyes, and I feel even worse. I want her pity even less than I want her festivity.
“That’s just depressing as hell, Sebastian.” Her brows pinch together in that annoying way they do when she looks at something she finds sad. I hate that I've become so observant of her that I can recognize these expressions.
“Such is life, I suppose.” I reply, continuing to work without looking at the sympathy on her face. Something throbs in my chest, a heavy weight settling against my ribs. I don’t want to think about the idea that I may have missed out on anything by not celebrating my birth. I do not dwell on things like this, it’s a waste of my valuable time.
“Would you…I know you don’t want to celebrate. Will you stop me from celebrating?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper as she peers over at me.
My fingers hover over the keys on my laptop. I can’t remember the last time someone offered to do something to celebrate me. Matteo tries to take me out to the clubs every year, but I’m not young anymore. I’m far past the age of gallivanting until the sun rises the next day. Shit, I don’t think I ever really had a phase like that. I was too busy learning from my father, doing my best to commit the lessons he was teaching me to memory for as long as I could before he died.
“What are you going to do? It’s not like there’s much of a nightlife here in Grovewood,” I eye her suspiciously, wondering what she’s playing at here.
“I don’t know what you mean. The froyo place is open until 10:30 pm, Seb. What more can you really ask for?” She smirks, and I can’t help but laugh.
Seb.Only my friends call me that. It’s strange how Vanessa has begun to feel more and more like a friend each day, despite my better judgement. I don’t want to enjoy her company. I don’t want her presence in my apartment to make me feel somehow…lighter. But I do, and it does. Maybe I’m just feeling lonely for the first time in my life. A midlife crisis of sorts.
“Don’t ignore my question. What are you going to do?” Closing the screen of my computer, my work abandoned for the distraction Vanessa brings.
“Will you let me make you a cake?” She asks hopefully, her caramel eyes wide as she looks deep into mine.