Chapter Fourteen
Emi
This past week has been a whirlwind of putting out fires and double-checking every detail to make sure tonight goes off without a hitch. The day of Relevé is always nerve-racking, but this year my nerves are more frayed than on opening night of Giselle for my debut as a principal dancer. Because at any moment, my father and Austin will be in the same room for the first time.
I never did get the chance to speak to my father about my decision to not go through with marrying Marco. When I got home from the lake last week, he’d been on some kind of emergency conference call with the Italian office all night. Then with the last-minute event planning, my hours at the studio, and him working late hours, I haven’t seen my dad at all.
Now I’m hoping like hell that I haven’t created the perfect recipe for disaster by not discussing this with him weeks ago when I realized that I wouldn’t be able to walk away from Austin. After experiencing what life is like with a man I care for—who I might even love—and who knows me better than I know myself, I could never accept anything less. Not only is it not fair to me, but ultimately, it’s not fair to Marco. We both deserve our fairy tales, ours just isn’t meant to be the same one.
I try to take a deep breath, but my chest feels too tight. I ignore it as I head to the kitchen to check in with the caterer and make sure the hors d’oeuvres are making it out to the guests for the start of the cocktail hour. Pushing through the swinging door, I find my father in his tuxedo standing at one of the stainless-steel counters…lifting a piece of bread dipped in oil to his mouth.
“Daddy!” I scold, snatching it out of his hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Pouting at me like a scolded toddler, he says, “It was only a little piece. Give your papà a break, eh? I am hungry, Emi.”
“You give me a break. You want to end up back in the hospital?” He gives me a look of chagrin, which takes the bite out of my tone. I know it’s hard on him to stick with such a strict diet. As dancers, it was something my mother and I accepted as part of life, but breaking a lifetime of eating what you want isn’t easy. Sighing, I reach over and grab a carrot from where the staff is prepping the salads and shove it at him. “Here, eat this until it’s time for dinner.”
His upper lip curls in disgust. “Cibo per conigli.” Rabbit food.
I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow—the kind he’s famous for. He rolls his eyes and takes a bite of the carrot, making me smile. “Grazie, Papà.” Lifting onto my toes, I kiss his cheek before finding the lead caterer. As I speak with Antonia, I keep one eye on my dad. If he’s craving bread this badly, I might need to check his pockets throughout the night. I’m kidding, of course. Mostly.
“Ahaaaa!” My dad’s sudden outburst nearly gave me a heart attack. “Emi, I have a surprise for you. It is almost here.”
“Oh no, Daddy, what did you do? You know I hate surprises.”
“Bah, do not worry, piccola principessa, you will love this one.” He kisses me on the forehead, and the little girl who still craves her father’s love and approval basks in the affection. “I cannot wait to see the look on your face.” All too pleased with himself, he chuckles on his way out of the kitchen, making me all the more nervous about what he has planned. If I make it through this night, it’ll be a miracle.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I cringe. Normally I’d have it tucked away in a clutch, but it’s my prime form of communicating with all the vendors and event staff. A quick glance down at the screen has me smiling in relief. It’s not anyone texting with a problem, it’s Austin checking up on me.
Hey, princess. You doing okay?
If by okay you mean stressed as hell, then yes. I’m super okay. Lol
I watch the ellipsis wave as I exit the kitchen.
Play with me.
I stop in my tracks, the waitstaff with their trays flowing past me like water around an immovable boulder.
Now?
I can make all that stress melt away. All I need is 10 minutes.
I drag my bottom lip between my teeth, tasting my cherry gloss and running through a checklist in my head of what needs to be done and when. The cocktail hour has started, the caterer is all set for now, and I won’t technically be needed anywhere until it’s time for dinner to do the formal welcome with my father.
I stare at my phone, my thumbs poised above my keyboard… To hell with it.
OK
That’s my good doll. Always ready for me when I want her.
Instantly, heat funnels between my legs. The use of that particular pet name affects me like nothing else. After we’d played together a few times, I grew bold enough to make a suggestion. I thought it would be exciting if sometimes my “attacker” was the same man, someone who’s obsessed with me and makes a game of toying with me whenever it suits him. Austin loved the idea and ran with it.
Sometimes I know when he’s coming and sometimes I’m surprised, but I always know when it’s him. He’s the one who calls me his doll. And it melts me like the sweetest of endearments.
Make your way over to the empty ballroom. Don’t make me wait. You won’t like the repercussions.
I don’t bother answering, especially not to say that I’d probably like the repercussions very much. I keep my enjoyment on the inside as much and for as long as I can to keep up the game. Sometimes I’m better at it than others, but then he just turns it around on me like he’s exposing my true depraved nature, which is precisely what he’s doing. And he loves every second of it, even as he’s feigning disgust or contempt. Our kink definitely isn’t for everyone, but lucky for us, we match up perfectly.
Keeping a brisk pace along the perimeters, I’m able to avoid anyone who would detain me for schmoozing and elbow-rubbing. I sneak out of the ballroom where the gala is being held and cross the opulent lobby to where the other one stands empty. Every year we rent out both rooms because my father wants our guests to be able to spill into the lobby after dinner and mingle without fear of dealing with drunks from a wedding reception or something equally distasteful. I’ve always thought it was ridiculous, but it didn’t stop me from falling in line with his wishes. A habit I’m going to break, and soon.
Passing the hallway for the restrooms, I wonder where he’ll be in the—
A large figure steps out from the shadows into my path. My hands instinctively come up to catch myself against his chest and I feel his callused hands encircle my arms. In my five-inch black Jimmy Choos, I’m tall enough to tip my head up and kiss the underside of his jaw as I love to do, but I refrain. All I do is hold still and wait, listening to my own racing heartbeat and shallow breaths.
“Raven,” he says, taking a step back and releasing me. My brows knit together with a frown. He’s never used my safe word before. I never imagined a situation where he’d be the one to use it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Not a damn thing,” he says, his voice roughened with the arousal darkening his green eyes. “I just need a minute to look at you.”
I blush, the corners of my mouth lifting in a shy smile. I must have tried on at least two dozen dresses. I finally settled on a black satin mermaid style that hugs my slight frame before hanging loose at the knees with a split up the center to mid-thigh, revealing my long legs with every step. The bodice is mostly separated into two triangles by the neckline that plunges halfway to my navel and is held up by thin spaghetti straps that cross over an open back to my waist. My stylist, Peter, worked magic with my hair—it’s pulled to one side with sleek waves falling in front of my left shoulder—and he kept my makeup simple but played up my eyes with a dramatic smoky effect.
My look is the perfect combination of “red carpet sexy and charity gala classy,” or so Peter told me. My only hope was that Austin would look at me exactly like this; like he can’t live another minute without making me his.
“Jesus Christ, Emi,” he says, stepping in close enough I can feel the heat from his body. One hand rests on my hip, and I naturally lean into the one that cups my cheek. “You take my breath away.”
“Same goes, cowboy. You look pretty fabulous in a monkey suit.” He does, too. The tuxedo fits his large frame perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and chest. His usually bed-messy hair is combed back and styled like a GQ cover model, and his strong jaw is perfectly smooth.
“Before we start, I just need one thing.” He uses his thumb to lift my chin, and he kisses me with an affectionate reverence. No tongue or nips of teeth, just a perfect melding of our lips as his warmth seeps into me, heating me with the barest touch. “There,” he says, pulling back, and I watch the transition from sweet lover to carnal stalker. “You ready?”
Already his voice has deepened, and fire sparks in my belly. “Ready,” I say breathlessly.
He nods once, signaling that the game is on, and I’m able to take a full breath for the first time all night. Exhaling, the rest of the world slips away as he becomes the new center of my universe, exactly how he wants it.