Written in Ink

Thirty-nine | Alonzo

 I almost missed and/or skipped most of my meetings today— well I did miss one of them. Reagan fell asleep and every once and a while I'd look over at her. She looks so peaceful, so innocent, so pure. Too pure for this world. I'd be an idiot and a liar if I said I didn't love her.

That day my father brought her to the mansion, unconscious, I knew that she was going to be something to me. I didn't want to get attached in fear of being broken again. I isolated myself and tried to be mean to her but I couldn't. And when I did I felt a guilt that I haven't felt in so many years.

But now I am attached. I want nothing bad to happen to her. I wanted nothing more than to rip my father's head off for touching her in vain. She needed me at that time. Reagan needed someone to comfort her, even if she hates me.

I am an asshole. If she wasn't so obviously cute with her blushing, I'd think she hates me with the attitude she speaks towards me. I know I'm an dick towards her, but that is how I am sometimes. I'm trying not to be, for her.

As soon as Marco called me telling me she was in danger and defenseless, the reaction that flooded through my body was undeniable. I needed to protect her— I need to protect her. Without thinking I knew she was going to come to work with me today. I can't leave her alone, knowing the danger in the place she was forced to call home.

Everything was taken away from her for me. Her life was stripped from her because of me, so I can look good in this disgusting business that was written for me before I was even thought of. But then again, so was her's. I know how my mother got involved in this, because she actually fell for my father of a bastard— no, she fell for his lies. I will never lie to her. I want her to fall for me. It's selfish, but I want her to love me as much as I do her.

I don't have anything good in my life besides her.

On her end I am the worst thing in her life. Or so it would seem. I can't help but "hope" that she is falling for me, or interested in me. Cazzo. I sound like a teenager yearning for the beautiful girl that no one can get. No one can get her because she is too perfect for this world.

On our wedding day, during the breech, the Priest that I've known since I was little managed a bullet meant for me. I had to ignore it and plaster a sick grin on my face for everyone to see I wasn't affected, and that I fear nothing. While I was playing a role, Reagan— despite her own fear, she knelt down by his dieing side and prayed with him. She was there for him so he wasn't scared when he died.

Reagan always has some sarcastic comment to make that, in any situation, will lift my spirits. She is so goofy and nerdy about Marvel that she geeks out during the movies to explain everything I am confused about. How she somehow found an air pocket underneath the yacht and had to cling onto me because she got startled and could barely swim, all because she wanted a shell.

Said shell sits in front of me on my desk. I've looked at it everyday, unable to help myself but to think of her.

I don't deserve her, but I'm too selfish to let her go.

Just then my phone rings on my desk. I curse at it and quickly answer. "Che cosa?" I spit.

"Capo, ti sei perso un'altra riunione." Fransisca explains to me that I've missed another meeting.

"Pensi che non lo sappia?" I deadpan, annoyed that she thinks I don't know I've missed another meeting. "Inviare il pranzo in trenta minuti." I tell her to bring lunch up in thirty minutes. "E niente frutti di mare." I remind her to not bring any seafood.

"Si, signore." She says before I hang up the phone.

While I wait the half an hour, I focus as hard as I can on my laptop to reorder the meetings I missed and to tell Matteo to take care of some things for me. I finish it as quickly as I can so I can shut my laptop and walk over to Reagan.

"Amore..." I coo, sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking the hair out of her face.

"Mhm." She hums, absentmindedly turning around, facing me, and puts her head on my lap.

"Lunch will be here soon." I tell her. "Are you hungry?"

She nods her head, but remains mostly asleep. She rests there on my lower thigh while I stroke her hair until the door to my office is knocked on, signaling lunch is here. Ever so gently, I move her head off my leg and move to the door. I open it to see Fransisca holding a tray. I don't say anything, just take it and shut the door. I come back towards Reagan and place the tray on the coffee table.

She takes a large intake of breath, stretching out her arms. "That smells good." She says, opening her eyes, which focus onto mine for a split second before they turn to the plate on the table. "Lasagna." She groans happily as she sits up.

I chuckle at how she is in awe by the plate of Lasagna in front of her. Lasagna isn't typically a lunch meal, but I won't protest because I am a sucker for pasta, and apparently so is Reagan. "How did you sleep?" I ask her.

She nods her head to answer since she is in the middle of chewing. Once she swallows she opens her mouth. "Yeah, it's comfy."

I tilt my head. "'Comfy'?"

She giggles, nodding her head. "Yes. And so is your hoodie. It smells really good—" Her cheeks warm and her eyes widen. "I mean it's clean." She saves herself and takes a sip of water.

For some reason a giddy feeling in my heart flutters. It makes me feel good that she likes wearing my clothes. "I'm glad."

The rest of the day goes by slowly, especially slow when I am in meetings and away from Reagan. She rested while I was gone and would chat with me as I worked on little things in my office. She went on about how she loves thicker carpets, especially when it "changes color as you wipe your hand through it".

We are now headed back to the mansion, riding with Reagan sitting in the passenger seat beside me, playing on her phone. She appears to be reading something. "What are you reading?" I ask her.

"Just a book." She simply answers.

"What book?" I question.

"It's a Marvel fanfiction." She replies, continuing to scroll.

I'm confused. "What's 'fanfiction'?" I wonder.

She giggles and looks over to me. "It's where a fan of a fandom uses characters in their own story line." She explains. "Like in this one, there is a new HYDRA rat, like Bucky— remember Bucky?"

I nod my head.

"Yeah, like him, but it's a girl. She is pretty badass." Reagan states.

I nod my head in understanding. "Sounds interesting."

She smiles proudly before looking back down and engulfing herself into the book. The rest of the drive home is silent and peaceful. It's nice to sit in a comfortable silence with her. It's always comforting and relaxing. But I know as soon as I get back home, it won't be very welcoming and calm.

Maybe it'll be better to come home with Reagan rather than to. When I'd come home to her, I'd of course be happy, but I'd worry if anything happened to her. Coming home with her is so much nicer, I know what kind of day she had and I know she was safe and happy.

I wanted to leave earlier, but since I missed two meetings, I had to fix some things around the schedule. It isn't too late, only eight o'clock. We pull into the garage, quickly getting out of the car. I lead Reagan to the kitchen since I know she is hungry, and I already alerted the kitchen staff to have two plates for us.

"We have dinner in the kitchen." I told her.

She hums in response and follows me. When we walk through the door, Buchanon and Lorenzo are there waiting for us. Reagan greets them with a baby voice, giving them plenty of kisses and pets. They follow us into the kitchen where there are two plates sitting underneath steel domes. We both sit at the stools and I open each of the domes to reveal a bowl of potato gnocchi.

Reagan licks her lips and we both dig in.

Thoughts?