Waking up alone has never bothered me before. In fact, I rather like having the bed to myself and used to loathe the nights when Dexter stayed over. Waking up this morning felt different. When I opened my eyes and rolled over to pat the empty side of the bed, it was already cold. I’d almost believe last night never happened at all if it weren’t for the note on the nightstand, the slight ache between my legs, and his scent still on my pillow.
I sit back on the couch, trailing my fingers over his messy scrawl as memories of last night flash through my mind with such vivid detail that I fear they’ll haunt me forever.
Ruin me, indeed.
He gave me two more orgasms before we finally fell asleep in a sweaty, sated tangle of limbs in the early hours of the morning. One with me riding him, his hands and mouth all over my breasts. The third from him spooning me. It was sleepy, lazy, and so fucking good that I feel flushed just thinking about it.
My phone rings, and I stare at it for a moment then lean forward to finally answer it before it hits voicemail again. “Vera! Oh, my God. Spill. I’ve been trying to call you all morning.” Isla’s preppy, excited voice does nothing to move me out of my tired, post-orgasmic haze.
“Hey.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, I slept in.”
Which isn’t a lie. By the time I woke up to discover that Jared was gone, it was midmorning.
“Whatever. So? Tell me already! How was it?”
My sigh is so big that my whole body seems to heave with it. But I go ahead and tell her. Not every detail but enough.
“Oh. My. God.” She groans. “I’m not going to lie; I’m actually a little turned on right now. In the kitchen? Shit.” I sputter out a laugh, and she continues, “But wait, why do you sound like someone ran over your nonexistent dog? You’ve just had the greatest sex of your life.”
And that’s what I don’t understand myself. “I don’t know.”
Regret. I should regret it because I know he’s right. There’s no way I’ll have sex again in the next decade without comparing it to last night. But I can’t. It felt too good.
This might sound dumb, but doing that with him, during those mere hours … I felt free. Like I could step outside myself. Out of my life. Be somebody else for a little while.
“What do you mean you don’t know? Oh,” she says. “Do you like like him or something?”
Like him? “We’re not in high school anymore, Isla. And no, I don’t like like him.”
But I kind of do. Something about him calls to that small, restless part of me, and despite his bad-boy exterior, I know there’s more behind those emerald eyes than he allows the world to see. He’s intriguing and captivating, capable of drawing you in against your better judgment.
“Okay, if you say so. Anyway, Cleo totally got out of her mind drunk and went home with Cameron Devon.”
Oh, hell. “Again? Didn’t she sleep with him in our senior year?”
Isla hums. “Yup. He took her virginity, remember?”
My hand meets my forehead. “Oh, dear God. He did too! She said she’s always regretted that.”
“Uh-huh. Well, gotta go. Just wanted the deets. And hey, you should totally get in touch with him again if he was as good as you say. Especially seeing as Dexter took Lisa home.” She yawns. “You’re a free agent again, so go get ‘em, tiger.”
Laughing, I hang up the phone feeling slightly better. Isla mentioning Dexter leaving with Lisa doesn’t bother me. It also doesn’t surprise me. I knew it’d probably happen, and who knows how many times they’ve slept together behind my back anyway. A quiet snort escapes me because it was probably more times than he fucked me. Again, I thank God I made sure he wore a condom.
My thoughts move back to Jared, and Isla’s parting advice to call him has me chewing my bottom lip. But I know I can’t do that. He said one night, that he wasn’t looking for anything more. And even if he was, I can’t have him. Not only is he not my type, but he’s also not part of this fucked-up world I live in. There’d be no future there.
The thought has my heart sinking.
So, no, I won’t be calling him. If he’s ruined me after one night, I’d hate to see what he could do after two. And I know—even if he loves my boobs—he’s had a taste and is probably satisfied now anyway.
The following week brings the start of November. It also passes by at an unbearably slow pace, only to be made worse when my father calls on Thursday morning to ask—though it’s never a question—me to be at his place for dinner by seven p.m. Way to ruin my first day off for the week.
I order some groceries and spend the day trying to get lost in a book, but every time I read about a character with green eyes, a certain pair comes to mind. I get so flustered that I almost whip my vibrator out. But I’m too unsettled. Even for that.
Once it hits six o’clock, I get ready and make the half-hour drive from Rayleigh to my father’s castle-like home in Bonnets Bay. I’m not even exaggerating. Much.
The cream exterior and sweeping balconies on each of the eight bedrooms upstairs, the vines crawling across it all … It’s a fairy tale kind of home. But it’s allure is deceptive. And when I step inside, my feet landing on the same marble floor I used to slip and slide on in my socks, much to Gloria’s annoyance, I instantly wish I could turn around and walk back out to my car.
It’s cold. Too clean. Sterile. The picturesque staircases, expensive paintings, plants, and statues only make it worse. It’s more of a museum. And despite what my father says to me tonight, I know there’s no way I could’ve gone ahead and played house with Dexter. I may be stuck, and I know exactly what my future should be, but I think I’d rather face whatever repercussions come my way than continue to suffocate underneath somebody else’s wishes for me.
“Vera,” Paul, now nearing retirement, says as he stops by the entryway. He turns to look at me, wearing a smile on his face.
“Paul.” I nod stiffly. Gone is the girl who dreams, who dares to question her life. In her place is what I need to be to see this dinner through and appease my father.
“Your father is in the dining room already.” He holds his hand out and gestures for me to move ahead of him, so I do, leaving the doors wide open for him to close. My father has to pay him for something other than his hurtful jokes and opinions of his daughter, I suppose. Gloria was fired the minute I turned fourteen, and I’ve never heard from her since. Which says an awful lot of nothing good about how she felt about me.
My black knee-high boots click on the floor as I meander slowly down the hall. Taking a turn, I walk down another hall then after turning again, I finally reach the dining room. It’s no different from the rest of the rooms. Aside from the gigantic oak table fit for a family of twenty instead of a family of two that sits in the center.
My father’s head snaps up from the paper in his hand; he lowers it to the table and removes his glasses. His brown eyes rake over me from head to toe. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was wondering about my well-being. But no, probably just scrutinizing my fabulous taste in clothing. I opted for tight black jeans, a light blue vintage inspired blouse, and my black blazer, which instantly reminds me of the first time I laid eyes on Jared. I snuff out the memory and force my red lips into a smile. “You’re home early.”
He rises from the head of the table, and I take in his tall, large frame. Well over six feet tall and at almost fifty years old, Oliver Bramston’s looks could rival those of men half his age. Too bad he’s a raging asshole.
“Only a day.” He brings his hand to my chin when I stop in front of him, tilting my face to the right and then to the left. My brows furrow while I try to work out what the hell he’s doing.
“What are you doing?” I finally ask.
He stops, staring into my eyes for a heartbeat longer than I’d like. I try not to swallow, to cower at all, knowing he’ll see it. “Just trying to figure out if you’re actually my daughter or some other idiot woman who thinks it’s funny to waste people’s time.”
I rear back, my eyes widening. “Excuse me?”
He takes a seat, gesturing for me to do the same in the one next to him. I do, wondering what Dexter has told him. Jesus, I should pay someone to key his precious fucking car for this. Because somehow, I don’t think I’ll be able to walk out of here with the same intentions I just walked in with.
“You know very well what I’m talking about.” He folds his hands in front of him on the table, narrowing his eyes on mine. “You have everything a woman could want. Everything. But I’m not going to be around to take care of you forever, and Dexter? He’s willing to do that.”
I shake my head. “But I don’t love him. It wouldn’t last.”
He slams his fist onto the wood table, and I cringe inwardly, trying desperately to maintain my outwardly calm composure.
“Love is for fools, Vera. And you’re no fool. You’re a smart woman; you’ll figure out a damn way to make it last if you know what’s good for you.”
Good for me. Right. “He’s not it,” I whisper.
“What?” He raises his voice even more.
I clear my throat, averting my gaze to the table. “He’s not good for me. You’d know that if you paid any attention at all.” My lungs seize as I hold my breath in fear of what he’ll say next. And though I feel his gaze burning holes into the side of my face, he doesn’t respond. Dinner arrives a second later, thankfully giving me a few minutes of reprieve while my father eats. I move my steak and salad around my plate, my appetite long gone.
His cutlery drops to his plate a minute later, and I glance over at him. He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Are you going to eat or just stare at it?”
Gritting my teeth, I cut into my steak and take a small bite. He nods. “Now.” He drops the napkin beside his plate and picks up his glass of brandy. “You know what you need to do, don’t you?”
I lift another piece of steak to my mouth, staring at him with clear disbelief that tears apart my indifferent mask. He takes my non-answer his own way, of course. “You’ll make things right with Dexter immediately.”
The food gets jammed in my throat. I thump my chest and reach for my water, guzzling it down and trying to breathe.
“Don’t be dramatic.” I swear he rolls his eyes, but I’m too busy trying not to die to see if I’m correct. Finally, it goes down, and I wipe underneath my watering eyes.
“Seriously?” I almost screech the word at him.
“Watch your tone. And you know how serious I am.” He takes a sip from his glass.
He’s insane. “I’m not doing it. You can’t arrange things like that in this day and age.”
I reach for my purse and am about to scoot my chair back to stand when he says, “I’m not arranging a damn thing. You two did that all on your own.”
“You can’t honestly think you can decide who I date.”
“Oh, but I think I can.” My blood turns cold with his dry laugh. “You like those designer clothes you’re currently wearing? The access to large sums of my money any time you wish, hmmm?” He slams his now empty glass down on the table. “Of course, you do. Sit down and finish your dinner.”
Don’t. Just go. He wouldn’t do it.
But that naïve voice in my head has a way of blinding me to things I don’t want to see.
He would. He’d do it in a heartbeat. I should go anyway. I know I should. But that innate fear of the unknown, of what I’d do, has me sitting back down and picking at my food again.
Because I can’t do it on my own. Not yet.
I need my grandmother’s check.
Two months. Just two months and I’ll walk away.
But what I’ll do in the meantime, especially about Dexter, is anyone’s guess.