Ruthless Heart

It’s a charming bistro on a street corner in Paris, the kind of place with a red awning and plenty of outdoor seating. There are cars on the street and a couple walking down the sidewalk, their bodies close together and their hands touching. In love.

I stand back, surprised by the picture taking shape in front of me. I don’t know where it came from, maybe my conversation with Nero the other night about living a different life. It isn’t just a ‘what if?’ to me, but a comfort, too. I must have daydreamed about Paris a thousand times those first years we were stuck in Witness Protection. I’d close my eyes at night and try to imagine myself a thousand miles away from the small, cheap apartment, and my parents’ fighting, and all the half-truths I had to tell to make it through the day unnoticed. I’d fantasize about Nero showing up on my doorstep, whisking us off, having the life I always dreamed of.

But soon enough, I knew I had to let the dream die. Nobody was going to whisk me anywhere. And thinking about those ‘what-ifs’ caused me more pain than comfort.

But now…?

Now, I feel my imagination return, losing myself in my work as I lay down the first base colors, building the details and light in the scene.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been working when I pause to sip some water. I hear a sound behind me. It’s small, just the brushing of fabric that comes from someone putting their hands in their pockets maybe. Or shrugging off a jacket.

It’s not meant to get my attention.

But I turn anyway and find Nero standing just inside the open door. He’s watching me, leaning against the doorframe, taking in the sight of my painting.

“Hi,” I blurt, off-guard. “I didn’t hear you get in. How long have you been there?”

“Not long,” he says. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

I blush, suddenly self-conscious of the mess I’ve made in his home. “Sorry, I probably should have asked before taking over the room,” I say, starting to clean up. “But I just got all this stuff, and couldn’t wait to get started.”

“It’s fine,” he says. His eyes go to the painting again, and he looks as if he’s about to say something more. Then he stops.

“I got word about the real estate zoning meeting today,” he says again, his tone shifting. “It’s been set for next week. We’re running out of time to get McKenna on board.”

I gulp. Running out of time for his deal… and my future safety.

“Is there another event we can go to?” I ask. “Something that would give us a chance to get close to McKenna, play the game a little.”

“Maybe. I’m checking his schedule. But for now…” Nero pauses, and clears his throat. “Would you have dinner with me?”

I stop dead in shock at the question.

“I…” I blink, thrown. Is he asking me out on a date? He hasn’t voluntarily spent time alone with me since I was brought here. And he definitely hasn’t asked. He’s summoned, or dragged, or ordered me. Never an invitation.

I search his expression, but it’s unreadable.

“I… OK,” I finally reply. “Just as long as it’s not my last meal!”

Nero doesn’t blink at my quip. “Be ready to leave in an hour. I have business to attend to, but I’ll meet you there.”

He leaves, and a moment later, I hear the main door shut behind him. I turn back to the canvas, still reeling. But whatever work was in progress, there’s no way I can focus now, not with a potential date looming in just an hour.

Is this for real?

I quickly clean my brushes and wash up, before heading to my room and turning my focus to something entirely different: what to wear.

I don’t know where we’re going, and when it comes to Nero, nothing is off the table. I think about our old pizza spot. I reach for a casual pair of jeans, then pause. What if we end up at a fancy restaurant or something?

And why do I care so much?

I tell myself, this isn’t anticipation, but wariness. Who knows what Nero has in store?

Going with my gut, I rifle through my closet until I come across the one thing every woman should own, a little black dress. It’s simple but sexy, and it could technically fit in almost anywhere.

Yes, this is the best option.

That decision made, I should be able to get ready quickly, but I find myself lingering over simple things, like how to wear my hair and which pair of heels look best. It’s all because I’m nervous, not that I would ever admit that to Nero. I don’t like this feeling of uncertainty that I have about what’s really happening between us. I can think of the sexual encounters as a game, an erotic thrill, but there’s no denying that the dynamic between us is changing.