My Favorite Mistake

Chapter 3 Episode 3

guess we’re both unlucky in love. He had other things to do, too.” She won’t say what, and I wonder if he bothered to tell her. You would think she has the perfect relationship with Kristoff from how she talks, but the truth is clear, no matter how she tries to spin it to others. It must be the world she grew up in that leaves her wanting to keep things to herself, to put on a brave face and toss her hair over her shoulder like nothing matters. The Torrios deal in secrets, and a powerful man like her father can’t afford to let his true feelings show. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Our driver, Romero, turns onto the road that holds the front gate of the Torrio compound and my stomach flutters. Callum Torrio is both dangerous and alluring. A man like him has not gathered as many enemies as he has by sticking to the right side of the law. I know the type of man he is, and so does my father. Which is why he lectures me about how dangerous it is to still be friends with Tatum. The guard at the gate of the Torrio compound waves us forward as we approach. We continue through the gate and up the long, wide, winding driveway that cuts through the heart of the enormous property. There’s enough land that even Callum’s trusted bodyguards live in small homes positioned near the twenty-foot-high stone wall which encloses the compound. Tatum gulps down the rest of the champagne in her glass and looks at me with glazed eyes. “What were we talking about again?” She taps her chin with a manicured finger. “Ahh, right. Luke the asshole.” I roll my eyes at her not-so-clever nickname. “He’s not an asshole, Tatum.” If I tell myself that enough, maybe I’ll believe it as well. “But he is, and you know it. I know it. His mom probably knows it. You can hate me, though I know it’s not possible, but it’s your graduation day. A once in a lifetime event. He knew how much it meant, and he couldn’t bother to even go to dinner with you when your father made it a point to invite him.” That bothers me more than I care to admit, but all I can do is come up with another excuse. “It’s not his fault he had to cover a shift.” Her snort fills the cab. “Right. I forgot about his career at his uncle’s gym.” Romero pulls around the enormous circular courtyard in front of the sprawling brick mansion. “The gym he’s going to take over,” I remind her as gently as I can. “It’s a serious investment. If he wants to act the part, he needs to make responsible choices; otherwise, what’s the point of taking over?” “I’m just telling you… you deserve better. He could’ve got the time off. He didn’t even try, and that means he doesn’t care.” She burps, then groans. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like seeing you hurt, and that’s all he does.” “I’m not hurt.” At least, not really. Not like I should be. Would be if I cared enough about him to let him hurt me. Romero parks the car, climbs out, and opens the car door for us like we’re royalty. I’ll never get used to the star treatment I receive when Tatum and I are together. Climbing out of the car, I grab my overnight bag from the seat and give a wobbly Tatum some room to exit. “Do you need assistance?” Romero questions, his dark gaze taking in Tatum’s swaying body. She’s tipsy but not unable to stand. Tatum’s glossed pink lips purse, and her green eyes narrow on Romero. “Excuse you, sir.” She jabs one manicured finger into his suit jacket. “My father pays you to take care of me, not judge me, and you’re looking at me very judgmentally right now. Yeah, I had a few drinks. I think I deserve it. I graduated from college today. What did you do?” Romero rolls his eyes, and I’m so amused by their relationship I can’t help but smile. They’re like gasoline and fire. One match strike away from causing a cosmic explosion. She pushes his buttons, and he pushes right back. Of all the men I’ve seen her interact with, Romero is the only one who refuses to handle her with kid gloves. “Get her to bed before she makes a bigger ass of herself,” he orders without looking away from her. I snake an arm through hers, tugging her toward the front door. “You’re incredibly rude, and I’m going to tell my father to fire you,” Tatum yells over her shoulder. “That would be f*****g great. In fact, do it. I’ve been meaning to take a vacation. I could use a day or two away from your stuck-up ass.” “You… you’re a f*****g asshole!” Tatum struggles in my grip, and I pull her closer, tightening my hold. She’s ready to throw down, but it’s not going to happen. Not tonight. I give her a little jerk. “Stop. He’s goading you, and all you’re doing is proving his point.” It’s not like we’re children. We’re allowed to go out and drink, but I don’t want to make a scene, and her determination to kick Romero’s ass will definitely make a scene. The last thing either of us needs is Callum coming out to scold us. That is, if he’s even here. “Why does he have to be such a jerk?” She tries to whisper, but her volume control is drunk too. “I don’t know. But you don’t make it better. You push back just as hard. If that’s how you flirt, I don’t want to see what it looks like when you fall in love.” “That was not flirting.” She uses her finger to unlock the door, which she pushes open as soon as it beeps, the lock disengaging. We step into the house and a wave of calm washes over me. Unlike the nights when I’d return home to my father, no overbearing parent is waiting at the door, peppering me with questions. No suffocating anger or fear. Just quietness. Peace. “I should’ve eaten something,” Tatum pouts while I walk with an arm around her waist. As we approach the kitchen, she leans on me harder. “My stomach hurts.” “Of course, it does. All you had to eat today was half a sandwich at lunch.” Once I get her upright against the counter, I grab a granola bar from the walk-in pantry and a couple of waters from the refrigerator. Hopefully, it will soak up some of the alcohol. Then we continue to her room. Not like I’ve never made the same mistake, but I’d never get this tipsy if I knew I was going home to my dad. Living with Lucas has eliminated the concern of being reminded by my detective father how easy it is for college girls to get taken advantage of. He’s seen a lot of things over the course of his career, but the overbearingness that comes with him is too much. Callum isn’t the same kind of parent, though. Even back in the day, before we could legally drink, he always had a mature attitude toward Tatum’s partying. “ It’s a waste of time to forbid you, so I’ll only ask that you make smart choices—and that you call me the instant things seem to go in the wrong direction.” Of all people, a notorious arms dealer like Callum Torrio knows about the dark side of life as much as any criminal detective would. It’s sort of fascinating how their approaches diverge. One fighting crime while the other causes it. Everything about Callum fascinates me. Since I was a teenager, he’s been pulling me deeper into his dark spider web. Tightening his web, seducing me, making me crave him without even realizing it. Our footsteps echo off the polished floor as we take the familiar route to Tatum’s room. Almost as if she can read my mind about her father, she answers my question without me even having to ask. “He’s working. Always working,” she whispers, “Said he had important stuff to do tonight. I doubt he’s even home yet.” He always does. After lunch, he told Tatum he’d be home late, so she’s probably right. I can’t imagine the amount of work that goes into running an operation like Torrio Explosives . The business is legit on the surface, but the family’s mob dealings are shrouded in so many layers of protection there’s nothing for law enforcement to do but stand back and let him get away with it. Which is infuriating to my father. Once we reach the bedroom, I help her into the attached bathroom and place her on the closed toilet lid so I can wash off her makeup. Her lids are half open, but she

smiles up at me, probably thankful she won’t wake up with a streak of mascara on her cheek. “I don’t deserve you, B.” “Don’t say that.” I pour some makeup remover on a cotton ball and swipe at her eye. “We deserve each other. That’s what friendship is, holding the other one’s hair back while they’re vomiting.” Her lips pull up into a sheepish smile. “No vomit tonight.” I smile back and finish cleaning the makeup off her face. Then I help her change into pajamas and get her into bed before changing into my sleep shirt. “It would be smart to eat something before you…” I pause with the granola bar in my hand and turn around to find her sleeping, her soft snores filling the room. I set the bar on the nightstand along with two Advil from the bathroom. Knowing I’d have to take care of her the way she’s taken care of me in the past kept me on the straight and narrow tonight. Unfortunately, it also meant having no excuse to obliterate my vague but persistent dissatisfaction with my boyfriend in the form of binge drinking. With her asleep, I use the restroom, wash my face, and brush out my long, brunette waves. The only form of light is the moonlight streaming through the windows, and I let out a long breath. I crave the dark, of not knowing what’s hiding in it. Tatum stirs when I climb in on the other side of the bed. “It’s just me,” I whisper. “I know. I’m not that drunk.” She rolls to her side, facing me, bunching a pillow under her head. “I’m sorry.” “For not being very drunk?” “For giving you s**t about Lucas. You’re right,” she admits with a sigh. “Kristoff isn’t much better. I don’t even think he likes me sometimes.” It’s rare for her to let down her guard, and the fact she just confessed that out loud tells me it’s been weighing on her for a while. “I’m sure he likes you,” I console, tucking hair behind her ear before patting her cheek. “What’s not to like about you?” “You know what I mean. He goes from hot to cold out of nowhere. Sometimes… it’s like he’s two different people.” She bites her lip, her smooth brow creasing. “One minute, he’s sweet and affectionate, then out of nowhere, he treats me like I’m an inconvenience. He can be really mean, and I don’t understand it.” Concern for her churns in my gut. “How long has this been going on?” Kristoff has always been very standoffish. Quiet, considerate, and almost perfect. But if he’s hurting her or treating her like s**t, something needs to be done. She looks away for a long moment before focusing her attention back on me. “Not long. I’m thinking he might have somebody else.” “Somebody else?” I’m almost flabbergasted. This is the first time I’ve ever heard her mention this. “I don’t think he’s stupid enough to throw away a diamond like you, and if he is, then maybe it’s for the better.” “I’m hoping the trip to France will make things better.” Her eyes slide shut as sleep threatens to take hold. “A whole month together.” “Everything is going to be okay,” I murmur, while wondering if spending a month so far away with a disinterested boyfriend is the best idea. I’d hate to see him abandon her in another country, and if he hurts her. Jesus. I can only imagine the wrath of her father and Romero. Now that I have that weighing on my mind, I know sleep will be impossible. That, and I’m still buzzing off the chaos of driving from one party to another, the socializing, and the fact I graduated from college. I did it . I smile at the thought, prouder than ever of myself. That’s as far as it goes, though. Part of me thought if I hit this goal, I’d be happier, fuller, but if anything, I feel emptier, sadder. I worked hard, got good grades, applied for internships, and went to all the interviews. My father practically glowed all day and couldn’t stop bragging at dinner about the job I’ll be starting in a week. “You’re very lucky to have found a job so soon.” The problem is, I don’t feel lucky. I feel trapped. Like my life is a train set on a track with only one direction to go. No future of venturing off the tracks. Otherwise, I’d risk derailment. It’s why I chose a career in economics. It’s safe. Safe job. Safe boyfriend. Safe. Safe. Safe. I’m in control of my life, but it’s all a well-constructed performance. I can only speed up or slow down. There’s no changing course and no turning around. Letting out a sigh, I reason with insanity. I’m only making myself miserable thinking about this. Tossing the covers back, I shove out of bed, moving slowly, so I don’t wake Tatum. Maybe some tea and a snack will quiet my brain. As soon as I step outside of Tatum’s room, my thoughts shift. I try not to think of Callum, where he is, or who he might be with. Whenever I think of him, it’s usually in fantasy, since he has no idea of the crush I’ve harbored for years. And he never will. Nothing will ever come from my illicit thoughts about my best friend’s much older, but incredibly sinful father. Like a slap to the face, my thoughts return to the reality of my life. Callum will never know my true feelings. I have Lucas and my safe job. I know I should be happy, but I’m not. Is it wrong to want happiness when it can be so fleeting? It can dissolve like cotton candy under a sprinkle of water. You would think I should know better than to seek it out. It makes more sense to study in a field that’s always going to be in demand and get a stable job with a good company—my father’s mantra for as long as I can remember. “Happiness comes after the basics are met and then some. It comes from security.” I can practically hear his deep, robust voice in my ear. I’ve got a boyfriend who has a job. A degree and a job of my own lined up, and yet I don’t want it. None of it. Don’t ask me what I actually want because I have no idea. There’s no concrete image in my mind. Whenever I imagine what my happiness would be, only one word comes to mind: passion . Living a life that leaves me eager to get out of bed in the morning. For new experiences, new places, and new people. But who knows? If I had that, I might crave a mundane life as an economist with a boyfriend who likes s*x a few times a week and a favorite Chinese takeout joint at the end of the block. Maybe some people aren’t wired for passion and excitement. They only think they are because it’s something they’ve never experienced. I wish I could believe that was the case for me. I can’t shake the sense of there being something bigger and better out there, yet it’s still out of reach. The kitchen is dark once I reach it, but the patio lights that shine through the sliding glass door leading outside cast enough of a glow that I’m able to navigate my way to the fridge. There isn’t any sign of Callum, and I almost frown at the thought. Get a grip . He doesn’t even know I exist beyond being Tatum’s best friend. Pulling the fridge door open, I find it stocked with an assortment of veggies and fruit. I forget the idea of tea when my eyes land on a pre-made yogurt smoothie, and while I’d rather have something gross and greasy to fit my mood, I grab a bottle before perching on a stool at the island in the center of the room. The house, if you could call it that, is beautifully decorated in grays and blues with dark wood accents. It’s sleek but homey. The kitchen houses high-end appliances, white marble countertops, and dark wood cabinets. It’s a far reach from the two-story cottage home my father owns. I twist the cap off the smoothie and down half of it. Mid-gulp, the contents get stuck in my throat when a woman’s voice meets my ears. Nope. That’s not a voice. It’s a moan. Actually, moans, to be accurate. Scanning the patio and pool beyond for a source of the noise, my first thought is maybe it’s Tatum, but that’s not possible. She’s dead to the world at this point. And these aren’t pain-filled or nauseated moans. They’re passion-filled. Hot. Movement draws my attention to one of the lounge chairs arranged at the edge of the pool. There are lights beneath the water, embedded in the concrete