Enzo's Pov.
When we finally get to the penthouse, she was still completely asleep. Her deep breathing finally gives me the room I need to carefully maneuver her out of the car. Perry says his quick goodbyes and I could only manage a nod in response, my focus entirely on not jostling her awake as I carry her inside.
I set her down on the large bed in the guest room, pulling the comforter over her. She just mumbles something and curls into the pillow, still dead to the world. I stand there for a second, watching her, before deciding to leave her there and make something for myself to eat while she sleeps.
After I take a quick shower and changed into casual, comfortable clothes, my phone beeped loudly from the nightstand. A text message from Robbin. My grip automatically tightens around the device. I know I can't put it off any longer. I finally decided to face it and tap her name to call.
She answers on the third ring. Her voice is cold and clipped. "What? Your wife isn't there with you now, is she?"
"Robbin, please... I—" I start, trying to find the right words to explain, to apologize.
A loud, dramatic squeal from down the hall cut me off. Shit.
"What the hell was that?" Robbin asks, her voice sharp and suspicious over the phone.
"I'll call you back in a bit, I promise. Something just came up," I say quickly.
She ends the call before I can get out another word. I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, a wave of frustration washing over me. I rush out of my room and head straight for Eliza's.
As expected, she is awake. She is seated bolt upright on the bed, her hair a mess. When she sees me in the doorway, she shut her eyes tight and let out a long, hard groan before falling back onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. "So it wasn't even a nightmare," she mutters to herself. "Why me? What did I do to deserve this?"
I didn't even know what to ask her first. I just take a step further into the room, trying my best to seem friendly. I need her to be comfortable enough to eventually accept my proposal about the open marriage. "I umm.." I begin, my voice sounding awkward.
"Water." She suddenly heaves the word out, sitting up again abruptly. "I want water."
"What?" I raised a brow, thrown by the sudden demand.
"You heard me," she says, waving a hand dismissively in the air. "Get a maid to bring it or something. Just warm water. She could add a tinge of lemon, you know? Actually, how about she brings both? A glass of warm water and a glass with lemon. I can't decide."
You have got to be kidding me. "There are no live-in maids in this house," I tell her, keeping my tone even.
She gasps, her eyes widening in mock horror. "Oh my... are you poor?"
"Of course not," I snap, feeling my patience starting to wear dangerously thin. I feel like she is testing me on purpose. "The staff only cleans, and they drop by on weekends. That's the schedule."
"You can't afford to have them here on weekdays?" she presses, her head tilting.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" The question was out before I can stop it.
"I'm dehydrated and my new husband can't even afford someone to get my water! Everything is wrong with me!" she sighs dramatically, then rubbed her forehead like she was the one under immense strain. She finally glances back at me, her expression expectant. "What are you waiting for? Go on. Get the water already."
"I umm.."
"You know what," she says, sitting up abruptly. "I change my mind. I'd rather shower instead. I can still feel the grime from that garden on my skin." She swings her legs over the side of the bed. "And I know you don't have any proper female essentials here, so just go get them. I'll send you a list from my dermatologist. Don't worry, it's not too long. Just the basics for my skin and hair type."
"Actually," I start. I don't know what comes over me, but I don't think my next words through before they are out of my mouth. "My girlfriend usually stays over. She has some stuff in the bathroom you could probably use."
She shuts her eyes tightly, as if physically pained by this information. "Wait... don't tell me..." She stands up slowly, and her face gradually switches to an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust. "She sleeps in this room?"
"Well, sometimes, if I..." I trail off, realizing how bad this sounds.
"Oh my.." She gasps, then lets out a dramatic, fake sniffle. "You should be ashamed of yourself, Stefano!"
"It's Lorenzo," I correct her, my voice tight.
"Whatever," she snaps, walking towards me until she's just a few inches away. "How dare you bring your wife to the room of your mistress?! What is wrong with you? Is this some kind of sick power play?"
I suddenly feel hot around my neck. My tongue feels too heavy to form a decent, coherent statement. "She's not my mistress," I manage to get out. "I've been dating her for a while, and I planned to get married to her. But my father obviously didn't want that. This situation wasn't my choice."
"Let me guess," she says, putting on a tiny, mocking voice. "She's so perfect and sweet, and she makes you really, really happy, and you just don't know how you'll live without her."
"Hey, hey—" I try to interrupt, my patience fraying.
"Save it," she cuts me off, her voice losing its mocking tone and turning flat and cold. "I've dealt with enough pigs for one day. I'll handle my own toiletries. I don't want anything from you or your girlfriend."
With that, she leaves, deliberately nudging me with her shoulder as she passes. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the room. What the hell was that?