The Prince of Chicago

Chapter 12

Isabelle

Over the next few weeks, it was business as usual. We worked every day except for Sunday, but even on Sundays, I found myself working, as Angelo was too. Plus, there wasn’t much else to do. I began to borrow books from Angelo as well. I had re-read Cat’s Cradle and Beloved over the first week, but then Angelo started recommending books for me. Some I’d already read, but a few I hadn’t. It definitely continued widening my glimpse into who the real Angelo DeLaurentis was. His takes on a lot of the classics spoke to his worldview, and it was teaching me things about him I’d never expect him to share on his own.

Books were also something we bonded over, though. It was, after all, my purusing his library that got him to first show that little c***k of warmth. I’d read something he picked out for me over the span of a few days, and we’d discuss it at mealtimes. Even Rose had been surprised when he began taking lunch out in the kitchen with me to continue our little book club, instead of his normal working lunch in his office.

“He must really enjoy your chats to be putting down his work for you,” she’d say with a knowing smile. I’d just shrug.

Two weeks after I’d arrived, I had just finished The Great Gatsby, another of Angelo’s selections. He knew I had already read it, but he wanted me to re-read it so we could discuss together. Never tiring of Fitzgerald’s flowery language, I agreed. It was a rainy Sunday afternoon when I finally finished, and he emerged from his office and into the living space, which I was now allowed to inhabit during the day.

“I just finished,” I called to him from the couch.

“Alright, so here’s my pressing question for you,” he said as he made his way over to the couch from behind the stairs. “What does the green light symbolize?” He was referring to the light at the end of Daisy’s dock, which the reader sees throughout the plot and is left with in the final scene of the novel.

“I know there are a lot of interpretations,” I replied as he sat on the couch a few feet from me. “But for me, it symbolizes the pursuit of dreams.” Angelo c****d his brow at me, as if to ask me to explain further, so I did. “Well, you see so many characters throughout the book reaching for their own dreams, good or bad, and they’re all tied back to that green light. It’s the relentless chase of happiness and fulfillment in a world obsessed with status and money, and it’s always just out of reach.” He paused for a moment, looking away from me and off to the distance, pensive and considering my take on what was probably the most potent symbol in the novel.

“I’ve always seen it as hope,” he finally said, turning his eyes back to mine. It was a rare moment in which I could see his guard down. I raised my brows in surprise. I’d expected him to say wealth, or maybe the fleeting nature of life, but hope? No.

“I didn’t expect that take from you,” I said back, hearing the surprise in my own voice.

“Really? I think it’s obvious,” he said. His voice jumped in octave a little bit, and I could see an innocent passion dance in his expression; a love for literature. “Everything Gatsby does is an attempt to win over Daisy. And despite everything that’s happened in his life, he never lets that flame of hope extinguish, just like the light at the end of the dock. It’s ever-present throughout the story; it never goes out. He’s always holding out that hope, even in his final scene.”

“I’ve never thought of it from that lens,” I said, looking down at the floor and reevaluating what I had just read. I turned my head to the side to see Aneglo’s face, which had a half smirk, half smile on it.

“Keeping the hope alive that things will work out with someone you love, through adversity, even if it takes years, that’s a noble thing,” he said, softer than the tone he usually spoke in. I let out a quiet, breathy scoff, and my lips turned up into a half smile too.

“We all are just beating on, boats against the current,” I said back. Myself particularly, I thought.

“Borne back ceaselessly into the past,” he replied, quoting the final line of the book.

* * *

When the four-week anniversary of my arrival began approaching, I started to get restless. I hadn’t been outside, save the small private patio space off the living room, in a month. I needed to get out somewhere, anywhere other than the apartment, or I thought I may explode.

Time spent with Angelo had been going exactly according to plan. He was definitely warming up to me, and we’d developed a good rapport. He was witty, flirty, and altogether much less unpleasant than those first few days. I knew if I could keep things moving in the right direction I could slowly but surely get what I wanted: out. I could taste it. But in the meantime, I had to think of something else to placate my need for a change of scenery.

The idea came to me one morning while I was getting dressed for work. I knew if I took a trip out with Angelo and didn’t try to run, it would go a long way in him seeing me as trustworthy. After that first day, when it was discovered I had very few appropriate work clothes, a few new items showed up in my closet. I didn’t ask about them, or mention it to anyone, I just started wearing them. Over the course of the following weeks, more things began to show up, including non-business clothes, until the huge closet was practically full.

Since the steady stream of new items seemed to have no end, and I was beginning to run out of room up there, I decided that it may be a good roundabout way to earn myself a little field trip. If I was locked in a penthouse for the foreseeable future, it seemed silly to have all those clothes, so maybe making that point to Angelo would get him to agree to a trip out without being too pushy or asking directly, which could raise suspicion that I may try to run. Later that day while working, I got my chance.

“Hey by the way, you can tell Rose I’m good on clothes,” I said after we had been chatting over a sea of manilla folders and envelopes in the file room.

“Those haven’t been coming from Rose,” he had said back, not looking up from what he was reading. I was surprised to hear that.

“Well, then tell your personal shopper, or whoever,” I said back with a laugh, half joking.

“Why, you don’t like them?” he looked up at me, and I could see something like disappointment cross his eyes for a second.

“No, the opposite actually,” I said back quickly. It was true, I really did love almost everything that had been put up there. “But the closet is nearly full, and it’s kind of silly to have that many clothes when the only place I ever am is here.”

“I see,” he responded coolly. Uh oh, had I played this wrong? I decided to try a different approach. I waited a moment to gather my thoughts, then went for it.

“I’m sorry, have I upset you?” It was a question that came from a genuine place. I hadn’t anticipated his chilled reaction to my comment, but I also didn’t want to drop it without trying one more time to accomplish my mission.

“No,” he said back evenly, continuing to focus on the folder.

“Ok,” I said quietly, returning to mine as well. We shared another beat of silence before I felt the prickling sensation of eyes on me. I looked up to see his baby blues trained on me. I tilted my head to the side, almost as a question.

“I’ve been getting those clothes for you,” he said, keeping his face even. I hated how hard he was to read, but the revelation surprised me. I hadn’t expected him to be the one shopping for me.

“Oh! Well, thank you. I didn’t know it was you, I assumed Rose,” I said back. I decided to lay on the gratitude a little more, hoping to pull us out of the icy tone he had set. “Really, I do appreciate it. Most of it is nicer stuff than I’ve ever owned.” I threw in a genuine smile.

“You’re welcome,” he said back, eyes still fixated on mine. I could feel my instinct to shrink back from his gaze sinking in, but I pushed it down and held his eyes in mine. After another second of silence, I decided it was now or never.

“Speaking of all those clothes and nowhere to go, do you think it would be possible to get out of the penthouse for a couple hours sometime soon?” I was worried about bringing it up directly, but I had to shoot my shot. He kept his eyes on mine, face unchanging, but took a while before he spoke. I could tell his wheels were turning, thinking about my request and all of its possible outcomes.

“Don’t like the penthouse?” was all he said back. Why could this man never just answer a question?!

“Angelo, I’ve been here for a month now,” I said, making sure to round the edges of my voice to sound sweet rather than desperate, which was how I felt. “It'd be really nice to have a change of scenery for a bit. Just a few hours, even.” He pursed his lips and his face fell back onto the folder he had been reading. After a few moments of nothing, I assumed he was just going to ignore my request, so I went back to my work too, letting out a quiet sigh.

Another couple minutes passed before I decided I was done waiting for an answer. I closed the folders I had been working through and began re-filing them, making my move to exit the room. Right before I passed the door frame back into my office, the sound of his voice stopped me.

“I’ve been meaning to take you to the warehouse, I have some inventory I’d like your help with. We’ll go tomorrow,” he said. I spun around to face him, but his head never lifted from the file he was pouring over. I let a large smile spread across my face regardless. Finally! A change of pace. And a great way to continue building that vital trust I needed to get out of here.

“Aye, aye, captain,” I said, letting my smile seep into my words. I skipped out of the room.