Prologue

Vienna

Ten Years Ago…

I’d waited my entire eighteen years on this planet for this night.

Cohen Bradley had been so patient with me, and now I was finally going to give him what he wanted.

What we both wanted.

I was going to stand before him in that glamorous, crimson red, off-the-shoulder gown I’d saved all senior year for, and let his eyes roam hungrily over my body the way they always had over the past four years of our relationship, primal and full of desire.

Only this time, I was going to let him remove that dress, shedding the skin of my innocence. And becoming Cohen’s in every way possible.

He’d said the words to me the other night, the words I’d longed to hear fall from his lips since the first time he’d told me he loved me three and a half years ago.

“I’m going to marry you, Vienna Janine Anderson,” he’d whispered so breathlessly, so sensually, that I’d hardly been able to catch my own breath at the sound of his promise.

Usually, I despised it when he used my middle name, and I think he did it mostly to irk me, but this time it sounded provocative, like he was taking me—all of me—as his own.

“Yeah?” had been all I could get out past the thickness of emotion in my throat.

We’d been in his bedroom—“studying,” if anyone asked—but even with his bedroom door propped open an inch or two the way his mother always insisted despite the fact that no one ever came downstairs to check on us, we were tangled up in his bed together, our math and history textbooks strewn across the bed covers. Cohen’s algebra book had fallen to the floor with a loud thump only moments before, and we’d both froze, then giggled like schoolkids when we remembered we were in the basement and no one would hear it.

“Yeah,” he’d confirmed, his face only inches from mine as he huddled over me in our cocoon of blankets. “I’m going to make you my wife. We’ll be the stuff people talk about fifty years from now. The high school sweethearts who made it. And made it out of here.”

That had always been Cohen’s plan, to graduate from Garrison High and leave everything about this sleepy town in his dust.

Everything except me.

We’d been fully clothed—which had nothing to do with Cohen’s amusing begging and pleading for “just a little more skin”, and everything to do with me slapping his hands away playfully—but I’d rocked my hips up against him, so overwhelmed by his promises and plans for us that I felt the electrifying need to feel him, every inch of him, to remind myself that he was real.

“And you’re going to be a famous photographer, while I’ll be a highly sought-after journalist…when I’m not on leave taking care of our brood of adorable children,” I’d chuckled wryly. “Six, at least, right?”

“Oh, at least.” He’d laughed right along with me, sliding his hand under the hem of my shirt. “No reason not to practice a little first before we get to that, though…”

It’d been hot and stuffy under the covers we had pulled up over our heads, and the heat of his fingertips on my skin, so soft and so fiery at the same time, had been quickly melting my resolve into a puddle. A stifled gasp erupted from me just as my eyes had begun to flutter and the jolt of it brought me back to my rational self. To the voice of reason I needed to hear.

“You know I can’t, Cohen.” It took everything I’d had to cup my hand over his and stop his roaming fingers from crawling higher up my ribcage.

Despite the sigh he let out, he never pushed me. Not that time, and not the countless other times he’d brought up the subject of going further than kissing and cuddling and making out like fools.

I wanted to give myself over to him. God, how I wanted to.

But even perfect, gorgeous, smart Cohen Bradley couldn’t break the iron-clad rules I’d made for myself. “When we’re married,” I’d whispered to him, his deep hazel eyes locked with mine as each breath he took caressed my face like tender, ghostly touches.

Cohen had pulled his hand from under my shirt and held me in place gently, lowering his body onto me again, and rocking against me. It wasn’t a crude, you’re-fucking-killing-me-here gesture, but a silent physical assurance that not only did he understand, but that he’d be there, waiting for me when I was ready, that he was there with me now in any and every way I could ever want him to be.

“When we’re married,” he’d whispered, kissing me softly. “And I’ll spend every godforsaken minute until then wanting you. And when I’ve finally had you, I’ll only want you more.”

I swear, I’d whimpered in desperate need for him after that. How did a woman, trapped under the weight of a man she adored, defend herself against an admission like that one?

Cohen Bradley had me. Owned me. And he knew it.

So did I.

Which is why I’d given myself permission to change my rules for him. To give in to the want I had for him since the day we met four years ago.

Tonight, I planned to love him in the only way we had yet to experience. He knew it, too, and he’d been shocked that I’d made that choice. He’d asked if I was sure—once, twice, and a third time for good measure—then nodded, kissing me with a passion and intensity not meant for clandestine meetings behind the stairs of our high school.

Prom night. It was cliché, but it was our night. With me being the valedictorian, and Cohen being praised—as he always was—for being the captain of the school’s hockey team, we knew we were in the running for Prom King and Queen already.

It was our night. Nothing could go wrong.

***

Thank God for waterproof mascara, I thought with a grin. I’d managed to get through my valedictorian speech without a hitch, promising the Class of 2007 that the world was ours for the taking and that life began now. That we were free to follow our dreams and find our own path to success.

The truth was, I could barely remember the words I’d rhymed off as I stood on that podium. I was so riddled with nervousness that my body was buzzing with anxiety. It had taken me four years of hard work and academic efforts to obtain my appointment of valedictorian, yet it didn’t seem to matter nearly as much to me now.

All I could think about was Cohen.

The way his hands would feel on the tender skin of my body. The sounds of his whispers and gasps and moans as he explored me completely and fully, unobstructed by the barriers of fabric.

My mind was conjuring up images that made my chest heave and my body ache. I couldn’t seem to stop it, like a vivid series of images on replay.

Even our eventual crowning of King and Queen did little to abate my preoccupation with the way Cohen’s suit seemed to shift and move so methodically, straining against his muscular arms as he held me to him on that stage for yearbook pictures.

Could everyone read it on my face? Did they know I was about to cross the line and make love to Cohen, and that there was no turning back?

Calm down. You’re psyching yourself out.

But even my silent pep talks were doing little to ease the tension I wore like a tight dress, making each movement and smile strained.

“You’re my queen, Vi. Crown or not.” Cohen’s whisper against my ear only made me weaker. All eyes were on us, and I felt as though I may as well be naked now. For someone who was usually so comfortable in social situations, I needed to get out of that auditorium and get Cohen alone…and fast.

I turned to him as the flashes of cameras were still going off from all directions of the crowd. “I can’t wait anymore,” I said, my voice barely above a breath.

For the first time that night, Cohen turned to face me, his mouth so close to mine that I could feel his breath on my lips.

And I could smell the sweet, tangy scent it held.

“Have you been drinking?” I asked. My voice had hitched a little.

Cohen rarely drank, and even though it was prom night, I hadn’t expected him to do it when he knew our plans for the evening.

“Only a drink or two. Nothing crazy, I promise.” His eyes were darkened, but I didn’t see any signs of inebriation in his gaze or his movements. “I wouldn’t do that to you. To us.”

I was surprised when he pecked my cheek, much to the delight of the crowd. Cohen had never been one for displays of public affection.

“Patience, my Queen.” He nuzzled against the side of my face before pulling away from me to flash another perfect smile at the cameras.

Patience. This was coming from the man who’d jokingly begged and pleaded for this night almost every day since we’d met.

But he was right. There were still hours of things to make it through—the dance, the fun selfies with friends, the laughs and jokes we would remember for a lifetime. Just because I’d finally made the decision to sleep with him, didn’t give me the right to take those other memories away from him.

“Go have fun,” I huffed quietly, giving him a small smirk. “My king.”

A wide grin spread across his face, and his hand slid from the small of my back to my hand, squeezing it gently. “A man could get used to that, you know.” He leaned in, lowering his voice again. “Meet me at the Mustang at midnight.”

I laughed. He’d only reminded me of that plan ten times over the past twenty-four hours. Like I might forget, or something. “Sounds like I’m going to lose a glass slipper and turn into a pumpkin or something.”

“You’re going to lose more than just your shoe, babe.” His joke bordered on crude, but his eyes were soft.

Unfortunately, I didn’t know he meant that I’d lose everything.

***

I’d never been much of a drinker, and partying had never been a highlight on my social schedule. Maintaining straight-A grades with the hopes of getting into Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism someday, and spending every other waking moment of my high school career with Cohen, had left me little time for hoards of friends or a full calendar of social functions. I’d kept my circle small, and because of that, I’d undoubtedly been labelled stuck-up, though I was popular enough amongst the other students, because I was nice, and didn’t step on toes to get where I wanted to go.

Other than Cohen, my other best friend was Garrett. Yeah, I was best friends with a guy. And that definitely kept the gossipmongers in the hallways talking. I’d heard the whispers and the speculations, but it never really bothered me all that much. I knew the truth, and so did Cohen—I’d never do anything to ruin what he and I had together, especially not with the guy I’d grown up across the road from. Garrett was like a brother to me, and I’d never seen him as anything else in my lifetime of knowing him.

We were close—as close as any best friends could be—and basically told each other everything. Garrett knew how hard I’d worked to maintain my grades, my dreams of being a journalist for the New York Times…

And about my plans to give myself to Cohen tonight after the prom festivities.

“You’re really going to do this?” he shouted to me over the blaring music. We stood by the punch bowl, but he was the only one drinking it. I was too scared that someone might have spiked it, and the last thing I needed was to end up puking on Cohen’s shoes as he tried to undress me.

“I told you,” I said, clinking my glass of water—from the fountain down the hall, which I’d retrieved myself, just to make sure—with his plastic cup, “It’s time. Cohen and I are on the same page, Garr. He said he—”

“I know, I know. That he wants to marry you.”

“You sound skeptical,” I replied, crinkling my forehead. I knew he’d never been a huge fan of Cohen, but he’d never really given me a reason to call him on it, either.

“And you sound enamoured.” He sighed, leaning in closer so he didn’t have to talk so loud. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get hurt. You said you weren’t going to—”

“I know what I said,” I snapped at him. “But there’s no use waiting for him when I feel about him the way I do. And he feels the same way.”

“I hope you’re right, Vi. I really do.” Garrett tossed back what was left in his cup, then glanced at his watch. “Better run, Cinderella. Your Mustang awaits.”

His words brought a mischievous grin to my face. “Cinderella got to be a princess, Garr. I’m a freaking queen, remember?” I pointed to the silver tiara on my head, then chuckled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You know where to find me,” I heard him say, but I was already pushing my way through the throngs of people to get to the exit doors. A few girls I recognized from a couple of my classes congratulated me on my crown, but all I could do was smile politely and keep moving.

I had somewhere to be, with someone I loved, and as much as I usually tried to keep up with social graces, I wasn’t thinking about anything else except my night with Cohen.

The night air was chillier than I expected, and goosebumps raised on my bare arms and shoulders. I had to pick up the long skirt of my gown as I made my way out to the gravel parking lot to try to avoid getting dust and dirt on it.

Like it matters when it’s going to be in a heap on the floor soon.

Hoots and hollers sounded all around the school property, and clusters of graduates in various states of drunkenness took up residence on truck tailgates and canvas lawn chairs, obviously getting the after-party started early.

Cohen’s Mustang, cherry red in color with the top down, was parked close to a copse of trees near the back of the lot, under the security light and away from most of the other vehicles. He always feared someone might park beside it and bang their doors off of it.

Even with the muffled sound of the music coming from inside the auditorium, I heard the voices before I actually saw his car. But it never once occurred to me that those voices were coming from in Cohen’s car.

Until I came around the side of someone’s parked Impala, and the Mustang came into full view.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Cohen?” The word passed my lips—at least, I thought it did—but it was so quiet that I wasn’t even sure I’d heard it, let alone him…

Or the girl straddled on top of him in the backseat.

“Cohen…” she was whimpering against the side of his face. “Come on, baby…”

An audible moan was his only response, and Cohen’s head leaned back on the headrest of the car, his eyes closed as she rocked against him.

“C-Cohen?” I choked out again, louder this time, but also closer to the verge of emotional upheaval.

The girl looked up then, but shock didn’t register on her face.

That was fine, there was enough shock written all over mine.

Jenny Arnett, a senior known for her knockout body just as much as her sexual extracurriculars. If the rumors were true, there was nothing she wouldn’t do, given the chance.

Including screwing my boyfriend.

“Shit, Vienna!” Jenny exclaimed, scrambling to climb off his lap.

But I’d already turned away. And I was running.

Away from her.

Away from himhim.

And away from every plan I’d ever made for myself. Because until that moment, every one of them had included Cohen Bradley.