Once Burned (Morelli Family 3)

At one point I hear her sniffling, and I steal a subtle look at her. My stomach sinks at the realization that she’s wiping away tears, turning her head to watch out the window so I won’t see.

By the time we pull up to the parking lot of our new apartment, I’m convinced she’s going to hate it. Ordinarily a person would have something to show for five years of crucial work for Mateo Morelli, but me, I only have Elise. I don’t know precisely what he told her about the deal we struck—only that she initially said thanks, but no thanks, and then changed her mind after Mia outed Mateo’s dark side. I don’t know what she expects. We haven’t talked about it at all. Honestly, it’s seemed like she’s wanted to completely avoid the reality as her sentence came to an end.

Elise looks around the parking area, at the waist-high wrought iron fence surrounding the miniscule courtyard. Red brick columns off to the left house the cluster of mailboxes, but I don’t imagine we’ll be getting much mail, so I don’t bother to show her which one’s ours.

Ours.

That’s going to be weird for a while.

I open the door, letting her step inside first. Worn indoor outdoor carpet covers the ground in the hall, and Elise glances down at it, around at the dirty taupe walls. She is thus far unimpressed, and I can’t say I blame her. She’s used to Mateo’s gleaming mansion, and I bring her to this.

“The inside’s nicer,” I offer.

It’s sort of true. I made sure the apartment was virtually spotless. I can’t do anything about the size of it, or the enormous silver pipe exposed in the kitchen, but at least I could make sure it was clean.

Our apartment is the last one at the end of the hall, right here on the bottom floor. I like that it feels more cloistered off by itself, but I don’t know if she will.

Pushing the key into the lock, I glance at the cracked 104 painted on the brown door.

The first thing you can see as I push it open is the ugly seafoam green bathroom. It’s cramped and has shitty water pressure. I close the door behind us, sliding the lock on the knob, the deadbolt, and the chain lock for good measure. Elise watches in a kind of fascinated horror as I secure all of them.

“Is this a safe neighborhood?” she asks.

“Yeah, it’ll be okay,” I tell her.

It’s safe enough, but we probably have different safety standards, so I don’t bother expanding on that.

The “hall” is all but nonexistent. The living room is two steps away, furnished with a secondhand black leather couch and a small, old television on a stand with wheels. Off to the right is our very small kitchen, with a tiny stretch of counter and dark, depressing wood paneling. There’s just enough room for one person to move around between the counter and the side where the stove and refrigerator stand, and just beyond that is the tiniest laundry nook in the world. It’s dark and there’s only a pull-string light, so I decide not to show it to her right now.

Next to the kitchen there is a narrow hall, leading to the single white door—our bedroom. I head down that hall, and she follows behind slowly.

“I put your boxes over here,” I tell her, pointing to them stacked in the corner. “There’s no dresser or anything yet, but there’s a closet and I grabbed some hangers, so you can hang up your clothes tomorrow if you want.”

She nods absently, but her gaze is on the bed. It’s a queen-sized bed with plain white sheets and the ugliest green and white floral blanket imaginable. It’s not even an actual bedspread, just a damn blanket.

“Um, I’ll get new stuff eventually,” I point out, since she’s probably unimpressed. “I mean, this is all new, but… Once I get—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupts. “Before I moved into the mansion, I slept on a twin with one of those short throws that doesn’t cover your whole body. Not super warm in the winter.”

Luckily it’s summer right now, which is why I didn’t bother with a whole bedding set. “I only signed a six-month lease for this place. I just need a little time to establish myself and get a little saved, then I’ll move us someplace nicer. This is very temporary.”

“It’s fine,” she assures me again, but she still doesn’t look at me.

“Obviously I’ll sleep on the couch,” I tell her.

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. For the first time since we left the mansion, she nearly smiles. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is your apartment.”

“It’s your apartment, too. And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’ll be extremely uncomfortable if I’m sleeping in this bed and you’re stuck on the couch,” she states. “It’s fine. There’s enough room for both of us.”