Enzo's Pov
"How is he?" I ask over the phone, clearing my throat as Perry let out a long, weary sigh on the other end.
"Not getting any better, Enzo. He's still in a coma. The press came by the hospital today, tried to ambush his mother with questions. I didn't let them get near her."
"Why?" I ask, running a hand down my face. "If we keep this quiet, Perry, people will only suspect there's something bigger going on. Silence looks like guilt."
"We're not keeping quiet, Enzo," he says, his voice firm. He stays silent for a second, choosing his words. "I'm trying to control the narrative. The mother is still a wreck, completely emotional. You can't expect her to stand in front of cameras and rationally explain why her son had a sudden cardiac arrest during his first game after signing with us. The press wants to know why he's the fifth player in a row this year to have a major health incident, and they're furious you won't grant a single press conference."
"You know I can't do that," my voice is tight as I sit on the edge of my bed, unbuttoning the top button of my pajamas. The room feels too warm. "It's not our fault. The league has tested the players' refreshments, they've reviewed our training regimens. They've seen it all. I just don't get why this is happening to my team."
"I get it, I do. So let me handle it the way we discussed. We'll use your marriage as a smokescreen, just as we've planned."
"Right," I nod, even though he can't see me. I agree to the concept, however distasteful it feels. What better way to cover up the company's current crisis than to announce a sudden, private wedding? It's a classic distraction play.
"I've already emailed a few trusted magazines. Expect these next few weeks to be packed with photo shoots to officially announce it. Speaking of, how's it going with Eliza?"
I stare out the open bedroom door. She's still downstairs, skimming through television channels while finishing up her elaborate night skincare routine after our pasta dinner. I can't find the right words to explain it, but the day hasn't been entirely good or entirely bad either. I try to compare it to my first days with Robbin, but it's a useless comparison. Eliza is a completely different kind of woman.
"She's umm... cool, I guess. We just met today. I think it'll take some time to know each other better," I say, giving him the most neutral answer possible.
"You've told her about the open marriage arrangement?"
"No," I answer quickly. "I don't think that's the best option right now. Not for her, and not for me either, especially with the current crisis at Skyhigh. It would just complicate everything."
The line stays silent for a while, the quiet feeling heavy.
"Perry?" I prompt.
"What spell did she use on you in one day?" He's clearly trying to contain a laugh.
"What? She didn't do anything. I'm just considering what's best for me right now, and adding more drama isn't it. I'll find another way to make it work with Robbin."
"Yeah, right," he scoffs, his tone dripping with disbelief, like I'm obviously bluffing.
"Perry, seriously," I groan, falling back to lie flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Okay, fine. I almost forgot to tell you. Your sister-in-law is offering to help with the current media issue at the agency."
"Sister-in-law?" I ask, confused for a second.
"Eden Hawthorne."
My brows furrow instantly. "What do you mean? Help how?"
"She sent over her credentials. Apparently, she also studied journalism along with her sister but hasn't been practicing it professionally for a while. She runs a successful blog page under an anonymous username, though. It has a 500k+ following, which shows she knows the ropes around media and propaganda. She's offering her services to be part of our temporary media team."
I'm already trying to wrap my head around having one Hawthorne sister in my life. This marriage was supposed to put me in the upper hand; I needed a smokescreen, and it had to be a Hawthorne to fulfill some old promise my mother made to their family.
In exchange, I've opened my agency to future collaborations and allowed their father to be a minor shareholder. They've probably seen this ongoing player crisis as a crack in my armor, a vulnerability they can milk for more influence. But why is it Eden offering help and not Eliza? Eliza's the one who actually practices journalism.
"Tell her no," I decide finally, the words coming out firmer than I intended.
"I thought as much. We do not need any extra, unpredictable people on the team right now."
"Exactly," I agree.
"Lorenzo?" Eliza's voice calls from the hallway, followed by a soft yawn.
"I have to go. Goodnight, Perry," I end the call abruptly and turn to see Eliza standing in the doorway, holding a large, fluffy pillow.
She rubs her eyes sleepily and walks into the room, shutting the door behind her. Her hair is tucked into a pastel pink bonnet, and she's wearing a matching silk robe over what looks like delicate lingerie. She's beautiful, there's no doubt about it, but I didn't expect her to be this eager. She's been treating me like an annoying side piece and a general disturbance all day. This sudden seduction stunt is completely unexpected and, frankly, unwanted.
She walks to the other side of the king-sized bed and drops her pillow. I watch, bewildered, as she opens a small, travel-sized kit and pulls out a tiny bottle of mist, which she proceeds to spray lightly on her side of the bedsheets. Is she sanitizing my bed?
"What are you doing?" I question, sitting up to look at her fully.
"Getting ready for bed," she answers, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"No, no... you can't sleep here," I say, my voice tense.
"Why?" she asks, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
"I don't... I don't sleep with people in here," I manage to get out, the words feeling clumsy.
"Oh.." she stops adjusting the sheets and stares at me dead in the eye, a look of dawning understanding on her face. "Are you gay, Lorenzo?"
I spring up from the bed. "Are you f-cking kidding me right now?"
She sits on the edge of the bed, folding her arms over her chest. "I'm just putting two and two together. You're a bit uptight... I was wondering. And Robbin isn't the most traditional name for a girl. It's quite rare, you have to admit."
"I'm not gay. Robbin is a girl, and you cannot sleep here tonight." I run my hands through my hair, heaving a breath as the room suddenly feels stifling. I can't share this space. I can't even experiment with the idea. "Robbin doesn't even sleep here when she's over, Elizabeth. No one does."
"If you didn't want people in your room, then you should have made the bed in the guest room more comfortable, Lorenzo. It's as hard as a rock. I cannot sleep there, and I'm not sleeping in any other room that's been left unattended and unaired for days. It's dusty."
"I just can't..." I repeat, the old, familiar anxiety starting to tighten my chest.
"It's just me, Enzo." Her tone is calmer now, and surprisingly soothing. "You're not here with 'people.' It's just me."
I let out a deep breath, my arguments failing me. She's right. It's just her. One person. How hard can that possibly be?
"Fine," I agree, rolling my eyes as I reluctantly settle back on my side of the bed.
"Perfect," she giggles, adjusting the pillows behind her and finally laying down.
We both lay on our backs for a long moment, the silence stretching between us until she clears her throat.
"Do you have a white noise machine? It really helps me fall asleep."
"No," I say shortly.
A deep, sharp sigh follows from her side of the bed. "Okay... that's great, actually. Not everyone needs it, I guess."
"It's just usually quiet here, so there's never been a need for it," I explain, feeling oddly compelled to justify the silence.
She turns to her side, facing me, her head propped on her hand. "Can you tell me a story, then?"
"Go to bed, Eliza," I say, reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp. I lay on my stomach, burying my face in the pillow to block her out.
"You should say goodnight, Enzo."
"Is that really necessary?"
"You don't want me to die in my sleep, do you?" she asks, her voice taking on a dramatic, wounded tone. "Oh, wait, right..." She lets out a fake sniffle. "You'll probably want that... since you have a girlfriend, you'd want me dead so you could—"
"Goodnight, Eliza," I cut her off.
"That sounded really harsh. You really do want me dead, don't you?" She's full-on pouting now. I can't believe she's trying to cry about this.
I let out a silent scream into the fabric of my pillow. I force myself to soften my tone. "Goodnight, Eliza."
She giggled again, the tears instantly gone. "Goodnight, Enzo."
After a few minutes, I finally hear the rhythm of her soft, even breathing. I feel my own eyelids grow heavy, and I slowly drift off as well.
Then it happens again.
I suddenly feel like there's a concrete slab weighing down my lungs, making it impossible to breathe. In the darkness behind my eyelids, I hear a sharp, terrified scream and the sound of desperate wailing. It feels far away, but the panic is right here, suffocating me.
I feel arms grab me, cold and strong, pulling me further down into the abyss. Shit. Not again. I struggle against their hold, battling for air, for freedom, when I hear a familiar, high-pitched squeal. The sound cuts through the nightmare, causing my eyes to flicker open, dragging me back to the present.
"Hello?" It's Eliza. She's panting, and I can hear the tears in her voice. She's holding my phone. "Yes, hello?"
[911, what's your emergency?] a tinny voice asks from the receiver.
What's going on?
"There's a guy. Oh, shit," she slaps her own forehead, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "My husband... my husband is having a panic attack or something, I don't know, but he can't breathe,"