280- Shadows of Control

280- Shadows of Control
POV Raica:

"Hi, Bella, I can’t believe we finally got to meet." Pietro walks in talking, sits in the chair across from me, and signals to the waiter that he wants the same as me. "With milk, please." The guy on the other side of the counter confirms with a thumbs up. "You look exhausted, diva. How long has it been since you left that hospital?"
I take a sip of the hot drink before answering.
"Fifteen days… I’m exhausted." I relax into the seat, watching Gael sit at the counter and order a coffee. "Nicholas will be discharged tomorrow."
"Do you plan to keep living in the penthouse?" The waiter approaches and serves the curious one’s coffee with milk.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. I don’t think I’ve ever set so many goals. The first one I plan to achieve soon is buying my own apartment with the money I received from the life insurance. Even after donating to the NGO, there’s enough left for a good down payment. This is a start, an invaluable dream I will make real.

I want my house, my life, regardless of what happens between Nicholas and me. I demanded, imposed, pushed hard; he needs to break free from his past, from these chains, from this psychological trap that always condemns him. I’m afraid of falling into this emotional martyrdom with him, afraid of losing the battle and seeing the ticking bomb explode like I saw at the academy.

The second one sits in the chair across from me, looking at me intently.

"I don’t know"—I don’t open up about my goals—"I haven’t decided yet."
"The engagement’s over?" He points with his chin at my ring finger. "Where’s the ridiculously expensive ring?"
"I’m re-evaluating some things," I deflect and take a sip of the lukewarm coffee. Shit! "Another one, please," I ask the guy at the counter, who signals for a minute.

Pietro frowns.
"Bella, it’s been fifteen days since you’ve seen the light of day. You’re taking care of this boy without giving yourself a chance to recover, and you’re telling me you’re re-evaluating some things?"
"Pietro, I called you here to talk about the championship, can we?"
He widens his eyes at my sharp tone.
"Sorry, I was intrusive."
"Yes, you were."
"But it’s because I love you and I’m worried." He squeezes my hand lying on the table.
"I’m fine, that’s why I called you here."
"Okay, what’s the plan?"

One of the nights Isabella and I spent at the hospital—she by her husband, who was discharged two days ago, and me by Nick, who unfortunately needed more care—I told her about the championship and the difficulty of getting sponsorship. My friend, obviously, found a way to help, making a very direct request to her husband, who is also my boss.

"WUC is the brand that’s going to sponsor the two-time champions of the international salsa championship."
"Seriously?" My partner slaps his hand over his mouth and widens his eyes. "My God, that’s a hell of a sponsorship."
"Yes, it is." There was another possibility; I know if I mentioned it to Nick he wouldn’t refuse the sponsorship. However, our relationship has no definition—not after the demands I made. Mixing the professional with the emotional is not a good path. "We have six months until the championship, enough time for rehearsals, social media promotions, and all that." I raise my hand and Pietro high-fives it. "This trophy is Brazil’s."

I leave the diner sure that new, happy times will guide my days. On my way to Nicholas’s room, I send a message to Isabella.

Me: Girl, I’m still waiting for the brigadeiros Aunt Ana made for me, and you kidnapped the box with the excuse you’d deliver it.

Friend: Today without fail I’ll ask the driver to drop it off there, my hubby needs post-op pampering lol.

Me: Hmm! How cute, but I know behind that pampering there’s pure naughtiness lololol.

Friend: Just a little. Now tell me how’s my brother-in-law?

Me: Fine, so far so good, let’s see later.

I notice Gael’s shadow catch up to mine. How annoying. I stop, wait for Gael to come up beside me, wink at him, then move on.
"It’s creepy, this thing of walking behind me like a shadow. This way’s much better."
The big guy doesn’t lose his wardrobe-sized stance, but this time he cracks a contained smile. I go back to my phone.

Friend: Take care of him, girl, Nicholas just needs care, time, and love.

Me: I will…

I tuck my phone into my back jeans pocket.
How strange!

"Nicholas!" I call, maybe he went to the bathroom. "Nicholas!" I knock twice on the door, twice more, and the sense of caution makes me turn the handle. Huh? Empty, silent space. "Gael." With long strides I’m in the hallway. The man is startled, probably my face doesn’t hide my worry.
"Yes, miss."
"Did your boss say he was leaving? I don’t know, because he disappeared from the room."
"No." The security guard storms into the room and checks the closet. "No clothes here."

Okay. My heart races.
My mind spins all kinds of shit. There’s the possibility of… a backlash from the Trolls’ arrest. It’s obvious the neo-Nazi group isn’t just the four who got arrested but a mob camouflaged in society, and Rebecca will fight them every day.

I can’t forget Brizz’s death. Even though his family didn’t decree vengeance against Nicholas—because we found out the heir, for all the crap he’d been pulling, had already been cut off by his parents—that was the main reason the bastard was thirsty for power and money. He wanted to be richer than his own family, prove he had the strength to build his own empire.

If it’s not any of those options—God forbid—then I can only conclude Nicholas chose to live immersed in his past and reject my invitation to a new life. He’s gone.

I grab my phone and call. Once.
Twice. Three times.
On the fourth ring he answers.
"Bella…"
I touch my chest and feel the relief of hearing his voice, of knowing he’s alive. I started to fear death.
"What’s going on?" I ask.
His breathing crashes against the phone, heavy, trembling.
"Is someone with you in the room?"
"Yes, Gael."

In three steps the security guard checks his phone and heads toward the door, nodding before sealing it.
"Wow, always in control."
"I like control."

I walk straight toward his bed, caressing the sheets, unable to control the desire to lie there. Smelling his scent is like having him close.
"Just tell me, what’s the plan? You know you can’t run away from the hospital like a reckless teenager."