My name is Eveline. Eveline Tate.
I am the daughter of Lucas and Rebecca Tate. Yup, THE Lucas and Becca Tate. Don't ask me why, but I grew up knowing that they are someone important. Uncle Mike is still working for dad, as his bodyguard. I used to...
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My hands are sweated and my throat gets dry while watching Enzo pulling away from me leaving my dad's office.
He runs off without spearing me a look and leaving me drawn in confusion. I don't know if he really has said he loves me, or it's just my mind playing me tricks.
"Go upstairs and pack, pumpkin," I hear my father saying pulling me out of my tensed moment and wrapping his arms around me from the back, planting a kiss on my head. "We leave in the evening."
Still trapped in my thoughts and frozen at Enzo's departure till God knows when I untangle dad's arms from around my waist and run out, in search of my purse that I've dropped on the living room sofa earlier.
I struggle to find my phone, which seems to be nowhere in the damn small purse I usually wear, and I know, I know I've put it in there.
I sob and groan in frustration, searching through all the corners of the purse for the fucking phone, but I don't seem to be capable to find it.
"Fuck!" I shout, turning my purse upside down and throwing on the floor everything I have inside, hearing the phone's sound hitting the hardwood of the floor.
I grab it, leaving everything behind, running upstairs to my room and dialing Enzo's number, again and again. It rings but he doesn't pick up.
"Please pick up... please pick it up," I keep mumbling, sitting on my bed and flexing my legs with the knees to my chin.
I can't stop these sobs choking me and for the tenth time, I dial, and I'm taken to the voice mail.
I know he has said he loves me. I've heard it loud and clear although it has been just a whisper and I've just stood there like an idiot, watching him rushing out of the house, saying nothing. Nothing!
I toss the phone somewhere on the bed and lay on my right side, with my body curled in a ball, freeing my tears to fall until there are no more tears to shed.
A small knock at my door makes me jerk and wipe my tears, hiding my face between the bedsheets.
I hear light footsteps coming closer to me after the door opens slowly.
"I'm okay," I mumble to whoever is in my room, not giving a rat's ass to know and hoping I'll be left alone.
"Pumpkin, come here," my dad says, sitting on the bed, pulling me by my arms, and leaning my limp body against his chest.
I cuddled there, like in those times when I was small and would hurt my knee or scratch my elbows while playing.
His strong, bitter wood perfume invades my nostrils, and I inhale it deeply.
I've always liked my dad's perfume. It gives him the aura of a tough, manly figure and reminds me of... Enzo right now.
I don't know what it's with this bitter wood or tobacco scent and mafia men, but I've always liked it.
