Oscar also didn’t ask why my ID didn’t match the name I wrote on the rental application. During the bus ride to New York, I made the decision to flip my first name and maiden name around, shortening my last name to use as a first name. I was no longer Gianna Valentini Walker. From this point forward, all who met me would know me as Val Gianna. I needed to erase my past life, overcome my fears, and move forward.
As I blew on a spoonful of soup to cool it down, I recalled the conversation with Oscar after the rental agreement was signed.
“I’m happy to have you here, Val,” he had said earnestly. “Teddy said you’re going through a rough time, but he didn’t say exactly what was going on. No need to tell me—it’s not my business to know. But I want to assure you, my apartment is right down the hall if you need anything. I’m number seven.”
Oscar, with his kind eyes and hair that was just beginning to gray at the temples, seemed nice enough. His words had given me comfort, but not enough to calm my frayed nerves. That would take time to fix but I couldn’t begin to do that by staying holed up in the apartment all day. I had to stay productive or risk shutting down for good.
I rinsed my bowl and placed it in the dishwasher. I wiped down the counters with the lemon scented anti-bacterial spray that the previous tenant had left behind. When I began to scrub a few spilled droplets of soup from the stovetop, I froze as a sudden realization washed over me.
I didn’t have to clean.
I could leave the mess for days if I wanted to. I wouldn’t of course, but the simple fact was—I had options now. I no longer had someone looking over my shoulder, judging whether I had missed a speck of dust on the mantel or a crumb on the floor. And I had nobody to yell at me about leaving the damn toothpaste out on the counter either.
I smiled to myself as I abandoned the sponge and went in search of my sneakers. Feeling more confident about my venture out, I laced up my shoes and headed for the door.
10
No one looked your way in New York City, even if you were doing something crazy. They just kept their heads down and kept walking. Knowing that people didn’t stare too long, or not at all, helped reduce the feeling of paranoia. The small grocery store was conveniently only a block away. I knew I had to figure out the subway system so I could venture out further, but today was not that day. It was all about taking baby steps. Once I was more comfortable being out in public, I’d think about doing more.
As I walked down the aisles perusing the organic cheeses and free-range poultry, I forced myself to feel normal. I wanted to feel like I belonged here—to embrace the trendy foods and eclectic styles. Unfortunately, all those things were usually well outside my budget. The ninety-nine-cent box of spaghetti and generic jar of sauce would have to do.
On my way out, I grabbed a free newspaper. I didn’t have a laptop to browse job listings, nor did I know how to get to the public library. I hoped to get there eventually, but the vastness of the city was too overwhelming to even think about it.
Traveling on foot meant I could only buy as much as I could carry, so I had asked the cashier to pack everything into two bags. However, I was beginning to second guess the bag of clementine oranges I had tossed in at the last minute. The bags were heavy and I worried about the strength of the cheap plastic handles under the straining weight. Surprisingly, they held out okay—until I reached the front door of my building that is. Just as I opened the door to step inside, one of the handles ripped.
And of course it had to be the bag with the jarred sauce in it.
“Damn it!”
Glass shattered and red tomato sauce splattered all over the floor, covering my jeans and sneakers. The bag of oranges busted open as well, following the path my Granny Smith apples were taking down the hallway. Stunned, I could only watch as the fruit I’d purchased rolled. I wanted to cry. My funds were limited until I found a job and I couldn’t afford this kind of waste.
Forcing back tears that would get me nowhere, I got down on my hands and knees and began to collect the scattered fruit.
“Need some help?” asked a male voice. It seemed to come out of nowhere and I startled. I thought I’d been alone in the dimly lit hallway.
“No, thanks. I’ve got it.” I didn’t even look up. Instead, I continued to collect my groceries and fretted over how I was going to clean up the sauce on the carpeted floor. Oscar was not going to be happy about this.
There goes my security deposit.
I paused when a set of running shoes blocked my path and an orange was placed in front of my face. I glanced up, annoyed the man was still there after I told him I had things handled. When my eyes met his, I felt all the air leave my lungs.
“You sure you don’t need help?” The man asked again and gestured to the mess in the hallway. I couldn’t speak, nor I could I take my eyes off his face. Every detail was the same as I remembered—only better. I knew the man standing before me. It seemed like our chance meeting was so long ago, but I’d never forget those kind, hazel eyes—eyes I found comfort in remembering although I never understood why.
He was my stranger.
Quickly, I stood and tried to act nonchalant. The reality was, I wanted to run as fast as I could and never look back. The chances of seeing a familiar face in a city with a population exceeding eight million had to be slim to none. I couldn’t afford to be recognized. But then again, maybe he wouldn’t remember me. I forced myself to take a few calming breaths.
“It’s okay. I—” I began.
“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”
My stomach sank.
“No, I don’t think so,” I said hurriedly and tried to move past him.
“That’s it!” He snapped his fingers. “Your hair is different but I’d never forget that face. You’re the runaway bride.”
I closed my eyes and cursed my shitty luck. There was no use denying it now. Slowly, I turned. Focused eyes roamed over me from head to toe. I crossed my arms self-consciously.
“That’s right. I sort of remember you now. Funny running into you here,” I said with a weak smile.
“Yeah, it sure is. Since you only ‘sort of’ remember me, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Derek. Derek Mills. Pleased to meet you—again,” he joked and held out his hand for me to shake.
Panic washed over me as I tried to recall the conversation details from all those years ago. Had I told him my name? I didn’t think I did.
“I’m Val. Val Gianna,” I said quickly, trying to portray a confidence I didn’t truly feel. I knew using a fake name was necessary in order to stay hidden from Ethan, but actually speaking it out loud felt foreign on my tongue as I accepted his handshake. When my palm met his, my stomach lurched with anxious butterflies that had nothing to do worth worry over my true name being exposed. What I felt now was exactly how I felt during our first meeting. It was that mysterious something I couldn’t quite place—that inexplicable spark.
His fingers danced over mine and a peculiar, questioning look flashed across his face before he seemed to reluctantly pull away.
“Well, um…Val. I have just the thing to clean up the sauce from the carpet before Oscar sees it. He’s a good guy but this is sure to get rise out of him. Wait right here for a minute.”
As I watched him hurry away, attempts at ignoring all six feet of that rugged gorgeousness was futile. His grin had been wide with an excess of both cuteness and suggestiveness when he shook my hand. The combination caused a jolt of electricity to zap me, igniting what could only be described as fire all over my body. I absently rubbed the hand he’d momentarily held and shook off the unwarranted feelings.
When he returned, he was holding two bottles, a bunch of rags, and a plastic garbage bag. To my surprise, he got down on his hands and knees near the stain. He wiped up the excess sauce and tossed the soiled rags into a trash bag. Taking one of the bottles, he then dumped a pungent smelling liquid over the carpet.
“Oh, that stinks! What is that?” I asked, crinkling up
my nose.
“Hydrogen peroxide. It cuts through the oils. Don’t worry. It won’t smell for long. I’ll spray it down with an Ivory soap concentrate and all will be good. You’ll see.”
I just nodded and furrowed my brows. It was strange watching him scrub the carpet. Being married to Ethan, a man who never cleaned anything, made me forget that men were actually capable of doing household chores. A part of me wanted to take the rags from Derek and clean it myself—but not because I felt it was my duty as a woman. I was done being a man’s doormat. I wanted to take over the task because it was my mess and I should be the one to clean it.
However, stopping him might entail inadvertently touching him. And after the tingling I felt from brief skin to skin contact we had a few moments earlier, that was dangerous.
After he finished, he threw the remaining rags into the trash bag and stood. Miraculously, the carpet looked cleaner than it had before the sauce spill.
“Wow! That sure is a magical home remedy you’ve got there! Here,” I said, extending my hand to take the bag. “Let me take those rags and get them washed for you. It’s the least I can do.”
When I took the bag, our hands briefly touched. The moment of contact was like elastic stretching taut with unspoken words. Energy snapped in the air like it had on the night of our first meeting. And just like a rubber band, it snapped back as if the moment hadn’t happened at all.
“Thanks. Ah…Lisa will appreciate that,” he said awkwardly. Whatever this was, it was clear that he felt it too. It took me a second or two to process what he’d said.
“Lisa?”
“One of the ladies who works for me at The Mill.”
My ears perked up and I pushed away the strange feelings. I needed to focus. The Mill sounded like it might be a restaurant or local bar. I had experience waitressing, even though it had been a while, and bartending was like riding a bike—one never forgot. Maybe they were hiring.
“I just got here a few weeks ago. I haven’t heard of The Mill. Is it nearby?”
“Yeah, it’s attached to the building. Lisa takes care of washing the used sweat towels.”
I frowned.
“Now I’m confused. Sweat towels? I think my assumption about The Mill was incorrect. I thought it was a restaurant or a bar,” I admitted. Derek laughed.
“No, not at all. Do you remember me telling you about the gym I was going to open?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“That’s The Mill. I own the one on property as well as a few more in other areas of the city. I give discounts to tenants in this building. I live here too so it’s my way of getting in good with the neighbors,” he teased with a wink. “If you and your husband are interested in joining, I can hook you up.”
“Oh, no. There’s no husband,” I said in a rush. When he raised his eyebrows in question, I explained. “We’re divorced.”
The lie caused a pang of guilt to stab at me. But then again, what was a piece of paper? To me, Ethan and I were divorced in every sense of the word. There was no need to go into all the sordid details.
“Well, just you then,” he offered with an easy smile. He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets causing the dark blue denim to stretch across his legs.
I stared back at him, unsure how to respond. I couldn’t figure him out. He was just as kind and charming as I remembered, but there was something else too. I had found him attractive when we first met and time had been good to him—very good. He was distracting to say the least and I didn’t mean that in a simple sense. His tall, broad build would make most women drool. He wore his sandy brown hair cropped short in the back with longer, tight waves left on top to frame his tanned forehead. He had an easy aura about him that made me feel at ease. However, I still needed to be cautious.
“Thanks for the offer but I’m going to have to pass,” I told him. His smile loosened, but he nodded.
I stepped away, meaning to retreat back to the confines of my apartment, yet I found myself hesitating. I didn’t want to walk to my door with him watching. I didn’t really know him and I didn’t want him to see which apartment was mine. I had a poor track record when it came to sizing up a person’s character and I couldn’t trust my judgment about anyone anymore.
“Are you sure?” he pressed. “It’s a great way to get to know people. It’s a small building, but most of us know each other because of the gym.”
I was at a crossroad, conflicted over whether or not I should be getting to know anyone right now. A part of me wanted the security of friends. If anything bad were to ever happen, I was truly alone here. Another part of me was terrified. Allowing people to get too close to me meant the web of lies surrounding my identity could be jeopardized.
“Yeah? Well, I suppose I can think about it.” I shrugged my shoulders in a noncommittal way.
“Well, if you want to come by,” he began and took a step closer to me. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small card. “Here’s a coupon for a free month just to try it out. If you decide to join after that, you’ll get the neighbor discount.”
I took the card and forced a smile. Without another word, he turned and walked out the front doors of the building. I stood staring after him for a short moment before carting my groceries and the bag of soiled rags back to my apartment. Once inside, I closed the door, leaned against the back, and closed my eyes.
Every instinct I possessed was being questioned by conflicting synapses of my brain. I should have denied who I was—pretended I didn’t recognize him and said he had the wrong girl. Then there was this other part of me—a very small part—that was genuinely curious about the stranger with the hazel eyes who had haunted my consciousness for years. That small part of me overruled any rational judgement I may have had.
11
I spent the next few days exploring the three blocks around my apartment and getting a subway card. I found places to hide if need be, a twenty-four-hour diner that had a payphone, and a woman’s shelter that was three minutes away on foot. I also occupied myself with trying to find a job. The problem was, I needed a job off the books and it was slim pickings. I could walk dogs, clean houses, bartend, or waitress—as long as I didn’t have to hand over a social security number that Ethan would be able to trace back to me.
Until I found one, keeping myself busy had been a challenge. I hadn’t been sleeping well and spent more time than not jumping at my own shadow during the day. Every little noise in the quiet apartment made my nerves stand on end. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t help it. It was the reason I found myself at the hardware store I’d stumbled across the day before.
My lock on the door to my apartment was a single lock that could easily be card swiped. Updating the security to my residence was a must if I had any hope of getting a peaceful night sleep. However, as I stared at the stores racking filled with nuts, bolts, tools, and wooden boards, I realized I had no idea what I would need. I knew I wanted to add a deadbolt. After the way Ethan beat down the door at the hotel, I wanted to create a barricade using a couple of boards with hinges that I could raise and lower as needed. There would be nobody breaking down my door again.
After selecting what I thought I’d need, I lugged the supplies back to my apartment. Oscar was leaving the building just as I was coming in.
“Whoa, little lady!” my landlord said in surprise. “Let me give you a hand with that.”
Relieved to be free of some of the heavy burden, I passed off two four feet long wooden planks.
“Thanks.”
“Does something need fixing? If so, you should have told me.”
“Oh, it’s fine. I just want to put an extra lock on the door,” I explained. He looked at me skeptically. His brown eyes shifted to all the things I purchased but he didn’t comment. Instead, he carried the wood to my door and left me to it. Thirty minutes later, as I was struggling to screw the hinge for one of the planks into the wall, Oscar returned carrying a drill, a small metal case, and a baseball bat.
/>
“What’s this?” I asked.
“You’ll have an easier go of it with a drill rather than that rinky-dink screwdriver you’ve got there. There’s different sized drill bits in the case.”
“Oh, wow! This is great Oscar. Thanks! I’ll be sure to get it back to you later on today.”
“Keep it. This is an older drill of mine. I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”
“And the bat? What’s that for?”
A hard look flashed hot across his face, then he smiled knowingly.
“It’s just in case you ever need to protect yourself. I mean, sure. You can take those fancy self-defense classes they offer at The Mill, but sometimes it’s best to handle things the old-fashioned way,” he told me with a wink.
When he walked away, I stared slack jawed until he rounded the corner and was out of site. For the first time, I began to wonder how much Teddy told Oscar. I didn’t know if I should be worried or relieved that I had someone here in my corner.
I glanced down at the wooden bat he’d left for me. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, I’d keep the bat right next to my bed. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought about it before. However, it was his mention of self-defense classes that sparked my interest and I wondered if I should wander over to the gym. I looked at the mess of tools and gadgets surrounding me. I was halfway done with adding extra security to my door. When I was finished, I decided I’d go check out the gym. Learning self-defense was never a bad idea.
And maybe—just maybe—I’d catch a glimpse of Derek Mills while I was there.
12
I pushed through the turn-style doors to The Mill. Bright florescent lighting gleamed on expensive workout equipment and the smell of sweat and rubber permeated the air. Sneakers pounding on treadmills, the thumping of a racket ball, and the motivational shouts from a spotter for a nearby weightlifter all created a sort of high-octane energy throughout the building.
Leave Me Breathless: The Black Rose Collection Page 36