Page 36 of The Forever One
Motherfucker.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
RIVER
Nightmares still haunt my sleep most nights, but it’s apparently my new norm and I’m dealing with it. It’s my karma for the wrongs I’ve done, and I refuse to complain. I could have lost my family, I could have died, I could have been forced to endure what Lina did, so I’m choosing to be grateful for the good instead of focusing on the shit.
Marco has suggested I talk to Lina’s new therapist, and I’ve considered it, well aware I’m being stubborn by refusing, but I don’t think I’m ready to truly dissect everything like that with a stranger. I’d rather talk to my husband, to be honest.
We’re still on high alert, with Nathaniel and Elizabeth basically ghosts in the wind, and Ugo fuck knows where—not even Stefano, the super ninja, or J’s Reapers have found any of them yet, despite the brief glimpses of Nathaniel and Elizabeth on CCTV around New York. They’ve been seen simply shopping, or buying a coffee, but never for long enough to catch up to them, quickly disappearing, as if they were just an illusion, without a trace. Marco is certain they’re getting some outside help from the Greeks somehow, because there is no way they’d be able to avoid him like this otherwise.
He’s trying his best to remain positive and not let his anger show too much around others, but I know he feels it. Finding and dismembering Ugo is at the top of his priority list. What happened with Lina plays on his mind more than he lets on, and I get it. It features in my nightmares often. So Marco’s anger is all focused on that task for right now, which, for him, is as healthy as it’s ever going to be.
As for me, I’ve been throwing myself into my work too. Only my work is the less-plotting-murdery kind. Sheryl has been amazing with the general office paperwork, Lily has been fantastic with the guys and girls I have working out of the club, and Mimi has been a rock for the dancers and staff inside the club. It’s a well-oiled machine and I couldn’t be prouder of how these women have pulled together to help me.
I may have only been physically out of the country for a few days, but my head has been fucked for weeks. It’s all a process though. I’m not expecting miracles and am well aware that time is the only thing that can heal any of the wounds we’ve all gained from what happened. Although, I’m also aware that some things will never be truly healed, and some of the scenes I’ve witnessed are permanently burned into my mind.
It’s been a month since our Fourth of July celebrations, and just a couple of weeks longer since all the revelations and shit. At least the slash on my face has cleared up faster than I thought it would. I mean, it’s still there, but it’s a Hell of a lot easier to conceal now.
Signing off an order for the downstairs bar is the last thing on my list of things to do today and I sit back in my soft swivel chair once it’s done, breathing in the lavender scent of my burning incense. A lot of people think lavender is just for relaxing or aiding sleep, but it’s actually really good for chasing the blues away and lifting spirits, getting rid of negative energies. Which is exactly what I need before I see Polly. She’s always been a solid rock for me, in her own unusual way, and I don’t want seeing her today after so long to be all about my problems and miseries.
“Mimi has just radioed up. Polly has arrived and she’s downstairs in the corner booth by the stage.” Sheryl’s sing-song voice comes through the intercom, and I smile. I really need to figure out a way to thank these women for what they’ve done and continue to do for me.
“Thanks, Sheryl. Now get your ass out of here. It’s late and you’ve been here with me all day.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I got a fuck buddy just waiting for my call. Over and out.” She laughs, a loud and dirty kind of laugh that is impossible to not enjoy.
I stand after putting my paperwork into the right folders and grab my small over-the-shoulder bag as I pull my phone out. There are a couple messages from Marco waiting.
Husband:
I miss your face. This meeting is dull.
Husband:
Send nudes. *Winky face emoji*
I shake my head with a smile. My husband, the romantic. So I do exactly what he asked, sending him a picture of the nude lipstick from my bag before locking my office up and heading downstairs.
“Hey, Mimi. How are things doing down here tonight?”
She’s at the bottom of the stairs, her favorite place to stand as it has the best view of the club, and she gives me a brief nod in greeting, continuing to survey her surroundings. And this is why she’s an amazing head of security. I never get any of the weird feelings I used to get with Frank.
Ugh, just the thought of him sends a very non-exciting shiver down my spine.
“Good crowd in tonight, Boss. The extra people your husband sent are a little grumpier than I like for my staff here, but they’re not affecting the atmosphere, so I won’t complain.”
The loud, thumping music rings out around the space but it’s not enough to hinder a conversation, thankfully. If it was, I’d be permanently shouting in Mimi’s ear when down here, seeing as the dim red hues of the lighting make it difficult to see super clearly.
“I’ll have a word.” I give her a wink and pat her shoulder reassuringly. She smiles as I walk away to find Polly.
Glamorous as ever, Polly is sipping from a martini glass, her hair up in a classic French twist, and her houndstooth skirt-suit neatly pressed. She’s paired it with gold accessories, a chain belt, earrings, and even the handbag sitting next to her.
Her blue eyes light up when she sees me approach and she stands, opening her arms wide to pull me in for a hug. She’s not usually a hugger, more of a European double-kiss on the cheeks kind of woman, but I go with it.
I am a hugger.
“My darling girl. How the Hell have you been?”