My Name Is Pink: An Age Gap Dark Romance (Morally Questionable, #0.5)

by Veronica Lancet

  I spare a glance at the clock on the wall and sigh in relief. I still have time.

  After being hounded by Martin one too many times, I'd finally accepted his lunch invitation. From what I'd gathered from the mayor, Martin likes to host monthly Sunday lunches with different influential men.

  The only reason I'm looking forward to this event is because maybe Martin's connections might help me advance my own plans.

  As soon as I reach his house, I am greeted by a footman who leads me to the drawing room — very old-fashioned. Then again, Martin's entire persona is the epitome of old money, and his imposing mansion is just what you'd expect of him.

  "You are a little early, Mr. Hastings." The footman comments. "The other guests have not yet arrived, and Mr. Ashby is still busy. He has instructed me, however, to show you to the drawing room where his daughter will keep you company."

  I struggle to keep a straight face at his words, mostly because I can recognize this for the ploy it is. Martin's daughter must be what, twenty by now? It's not as if he hasn't tried to orchestrate an introduction before. It seems it's finally worked out for him.

  "Thank you." I reply with a tight smile.

  As we walk towards the room, a sweet piano melody resounds in the house. The footman shows me to the door and takes his leave.

  A little curious, yet mostly apprehensive, I push through the double doors and enter the room. Inundated by light, the room has ceiling-high windows that face the back of the house, the green lawn stretching into a forest in the distance. I follow the rays of the sun as they bathe a white piano that is situated in the middle of the room.

  A girl, no, a woman, is seated at the piano, eyes closed, her hands gliding over the keys and emitting the most melodious sound I'd ever heard. I don't think she hears me come in. There's a tranquility to her face, the way it subtly moves to the tune of the song, the small, almost imperceptible movement of her eyes under her closed eyelids.

  I stop, and I stare, transfixed.

  Her black hair is long, the ends curling inward. It flows down her back almost like an ebony cascade. She's wearing an off-white gown that cups her breasts in a modest fashion before cinching at the waist and flowing downwards. With her pale skin, she almost looks like Snow White.

  I shake myself, a little amused by the direction of my thoughts. I'd never thought myself particularly poetic, but the sight of this woman, so immersed in her music as if she's living in her own world, makes me wonder if she's even real. Makes me want to insinuate myself into her world.

  I stand there, just watching, for what seems like an eternity. It's only a soft gasp, followed by an "Oh!" that has me alert again. Her eyes snap open and they focus on me. A deep black, I feel myself falling even more.

  She might just be the most exquisite woman I've ever seen in my life, her natural beauty so pure and untouched.

  "I didn't know there was someone in the room. My apologies." Her voice is just as melodious as the piano music.

  "No, I should be the one to apologize. Your music is beautiful." She lowers her eyes slightly, a blush staining her cheeks.

  "Thank you." She murmurs, raising up from the piano and coming to stand in front of me.

  "You must be one of my father's guests, no?" She gazes up at me, her eyes wide and innocent. She's tiny, her head barely reaching the middle of my chest. Her height couples with her slender frame serve as a friendly reminder that she's almost a decade younger than me — clearly off limits.

  "Theodore Hastings." I introduce myself, holding out my hand to her. She gives me a timid smile, hesitantly putting her hand in mine.

  "Bianca Ashby."

  The contact is brief, but it's enough to mess with my head. She probably has no idea what she does to me, the way my eyes follow the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts as she invites me to sit down.

  I swallow hard, and I try to think of the most disgusting crime scenes I've ever witnessed, hoping the gore will put a damper on my growing erection.

  Bianca smiles sweetly at me, but she doesn't attempt to continue the conversation, too shy to even look me directly in the eye.

  "Your father told me you're in college?" I try to remember anything Martin might have mentioned about her.

  She gives me a soft nod.

  "And what are you studying?" God, once again I feel entirely too old for her.

  "Social studies."

  "Really? Why?" I wouldn't have expected that answer from a rich girl. But then, she doesn't look like the typical spoiled little rich girl.

  "I want to help people." She says, lowering her gaze as if she's ashamed of her dreams. "I want to make a difference for the less fortunate than me. I know I'm in a position of power and privilege because of my father, so I want to do something to give back to society." She finishes saying this, and I can't help but look at her in awe. She can't be real, can she?

  So gorgeous and poised, and she has a big heart too? I swallow hard, the need to touch her so overwhelming, but I control myself.

  "That's a commendable aspiration." I praise, and I'm regaled to one of those beautiful smiles of hers.

  Fuck! I'm in trouble.

  We don't get to talk much further, as Martin strides in with a few other men. After some brief introductions, we are all ushered to the dining room.

  By some luck of fate, Bianca is seated in front of me, so I continue to study her, her beauty something I've never encountered before. And it's not just her looks. There is something about her that pulls me and draws me in.

  The conversation flows, and I notice that Bianca continues to smile, but doesn't say much else. Granted, no one seems to address her directly. Even Martin seems to forget the fact that his daughter is sitting at the table, his stories becoming bawdier and teetering on the vulgar. Bianca maintains her gentle smile, even though I can tell there's a certain tightness to it.

  I catch her eye and I give her a reassuring nod, hoping it would comfort her to know she is not forgotten. She blushes and looks down at her plate.

  "What about your daughter? She's of age, isn't she?" One of the older man, Anthony Bering, leers at her.

  "That she is." Martin smirks.

  "Tell me girl, do you have a boyfriend?" He turns his attention wholly on her, and Bianca shifts a little, clearly uncomfortable.

  "She's not allowed to." Martin comments, taking a sip of his wine.

  "Let her answer. Why isn't she talking?" Bianca lowers her gaze even more.

  "I taught her well, Bering, she knows when to shut up." Her father interjects, pride reflected in his gaze.

  "She's a little meek thing, isn't she? Perfect for plucking. Probably a virgin too." He can't seem to stop talking, and looking at Martin, he has no intention of putting a stop to this. Bianca's cheeks are burning, and she is trying awfully hard to ignore the comments.

  "That's not a way to talk to a lady." I interject, sick of this bawdy talk, especially in Bianca's presence.

  "Lady? Tell me, Ashby, how much do you want for her?" Bering chuckles.

  "How much are you willing to pay?" Martin raises an eyebrow and I feel my anger rising. Surely it's just a joke, as much as it is in poor taste.

  "I don't know." Bering continues, his eyes roving over Bianca's form. "I don't think she knows how to please a man. Do you, little bird?" He stands up, his fingers on her chin and raising her head up.

  Seeing his pudgy little hands on her and I don't even think, I just react. In a matter of seconds I have him by the collar, my fist plunging into his face. There's outraged gasps around me as Bering falls to the floor.

  "I told you that's not a way to treat a lady." I say through gritted teeth. Bering sputters some threatening nonsense, but I don't care.

  "Are you ok?" I turn towards Bianca to ask, and she gives me a soft nod, her big luminous eyes wide as she's looking at me as if I'm her knight in shining armor.

  "Let's not get too ahead of ourselves." Martin gets up, coming around to check on Bering. "I'm sure Anthony h
ere only meant well." I frown at his words, and a glance at Bianca tells me I should drop it. I didn't realize her father was so callous to her — his own child. But Martin being Martin... it doesn't surprise me. It just makes me feel even worse for her. What is her life even like, having a self-serving narcissist for a father? He clearly doesn't care about her.

  "If you'll excuse me." I say rather tersely and take my leave before I do something worse. I already feel bad for leaving Bianca there, an innocent lamb for their slaughter, but I need to realize she's not my concern.

  You just met her!

  My brain is telling me to drop it, but my heart...

  Fuck!

  I'm almost in the driveway when someone calls out my name. I stop and turn. Bianca is running towards me, her long skirt hampering her movements.

  "Mr. Hastings." She says, huffing out of breath as she reaches me.

  "Are you ok? What happened?" I immediately ask, my previous thoughts promptly forgotten.

  "I wanted to thank you. For what you did there." She speaks softly, the corner of her mouth raising ever so slightly.

  "You don't have to thank me. I did what everyone would have done."

  "And yet you were the only one who did." She raises her head to look at me, and we stare at each other for a moment.

  I lift my hand and I tug a stray strand of hair behind her ear, marveling at the softness of the texture.

  "You shouldn't measure your worth by their words, Bianca."

  "Thank you." She gives me another tremulous smile before dashing back towards the house.

  I stare at her retreating figure and I know.

  I'm in deep trouble.

  Fuck!

  FOR AS LONG AS I'VE been seeing Pink, we've never exchanged numbers or any personal details. We always scheduled our next meeting in the moment. Which is why I'm here. I will not stand her up, but I need to put a stop to our encounters.

  I watch the door of the room open, and Pink struts in, her tits almost spilling out of her top. She drops her jacket to the floor and then she's on me.

  "Pink." I say, stopping her hand from reaching for my crotch.

  "What?" She pouts at me.

  "We need to talk." My tone is different from usual, and I find that I'm not in the mood for any games.

  "We can talk... and do other things." She smiles, her hand creeping up my thigh.

  "No. That's exactly what I want to talk to you about. We can't do this anymore." I grab her hand, trying to put some distance between us.

  "What do you mean?" She frowns, tilting her head to the side.

  "I'm trying to pursue someone and it wouldn't be right..."

  "Who?" She cuts me off, her voice holding an edge to it.

  I raise an eyebrow at her. We'd agreed no personal details.

  "You don't need to know about it." My voice is impersonal as I say this, but it's better to end things on friendly terms. And going by her reaction, I sense some underlying jealousy.

  I stand up and make to go for the door, but she grabs onto my hand.

  "Why? What does she have that I don't?"

  "Stop this." I say, disentangling myself from her. There went my attempt at a parting on good terms.

  "No. You must tell me. Does she fuck you like I do?" She scowls, and the viciousness of her words leaves me speechless. Maybe I've given her false hope, but while our chemistry has always been amazing, that's all it's ever been. And I was clear from the beginning.

  "Bye, Pink." I turn towards the door once more.

  "Tell me!" She raises her voice. "Does she worship your cock like I do?" On her knees, her hands go to my fly. I swat them aside, locking her wrists above her head.

  If I must be cruel, then so be it. At least she'll understand that it's over.

  "No, but that's just the thing. She's too pure and innocent for that." I push her aside and leave. I can still hear her screams behind me, and I shake my head.

  Maybe it is my fault. Maybe I gave her too much attention with our weekly meetings, and she imagined there would be more to our affair. It was just fucking. Savage, out of this world fucking, but it was just fucking.

  This woman, though, the one that's been haunting my dreams?

  She's my future wife.

  Chapter Six

  I'D GONE THROUGH THE worst torment of my life in the last few weeks. So wrecked with worry I'd been that Theo had fallen in love with someone that I could barely sleep. I'd resorted to keeping myself awake by sniffing more and more white powder, all the while checking all surveillance devices I'd placed on his person.

  But nothing happened. He never met with anyone.

  My paranoia was getting the best of me, and I simply could not focus on anything else but Theo's mystery woman. Who was she? How was she better than me?

  Most importantly, how do I kill her?

  One late afternoon, I am going through one report that my P.I. had compiled on Theo. So focused I am on what I'm doing that I barely pay any attention to the notice that someone is asking to see me. I absentmindedly think it must be Drew.

  Ever since I've become more independent, he'd started stepping back from his duties and had even married last year. Now, he mostly works remotely if I have any assignments for him. He's also the perfect alibi when my father decides to show some interest in what I was doing.

  I head downstairs, and to the drawing room, expecting to see Drew. Instead, I'm more than surprised when it's Theo who is waiting inside the room, his back to the entrance.

  I carefully step inside, suddenly alert and curious to the reason of his visit.

  "Bianca." He turns, offering me half a smile. I reciprocate, putting on my best act.

  "Mr. Hastings." I greet him back, still addressing him formally.

  "Call me Theo, please." He says, motioning me to the settees.

  "Theo," I settle on the couch next to him but still keeping an appropriate distance — even if it's killing me. My nostrils are flaring ever so slightly as I'm taking in the scent of him, his nearness, both of which I'd missed so agonizingly much over the last few weeks. "What beings you here?" I ask, schooling my features to reflect my confusion at his presence when all I want is to jump his bones, tell him to take me right here.

  "I wanted to make sure you're ok. After last time..." he pauses, "I hope nothing happened after I left." His concern floors me, but then I realize what this is all about.

  I'm just a battered woman to him, someone in need of saving. So he's taken it upon himself to make sure I am ok. If I didn't know this was Theo's nature — to save everyone — I might have been hopeful at his inquiry. But as it stands, I can see that I am just another pet project for him.

  From reading his file and following his daily life, I'd drawn some conclusion about what makes Theodore Hastings the man he is — his humanity. He simply can't help himself when he sees anyone in trouble, offering to help even if it might be to his disadvantage. He's simply that good, the opposite of me.

  But then I realize that this might be to my advantage. Maybe playing the victim is exactly how I can ensnare him.

  I look down, and I fidget.

  "I'm fine." I say, making sure my voice trembles a little. As expected, he picks up on my distress immediately, and he takes my hands into his. I almost sigh of pleasure from that contact alone.

  "You can tell me if something happened. I don't think I mentioned this last time, but I work with NYPD." He's clasping my hands, as if to reassure me. I turn my head to the side, a whimper escaping my lips.

  "It's nothing I'm not used to." I finally admit, looking at him from the corner of my eyes to gauge his reaction. His eyes widen slightly.

  "It's happened before?" He asks as if it's hard for him to hear this, so I just softly nod.

  "Goddamn it!" He curses.

  "I'm so sorry, Bianca. I'll have a talk with your father." The moment he mentions my father, I vigorously shake my head.

  "No. Please. Don't mention it to my father..." I keep shaking my head, moldin
g my lips in a thin line to reflect both fear and reluctance.

  "But..."

  "Please, you'll only make it worse." I beg him.

  "Then what can I do?"

  "You don't have to do anything. It's not your problem."

  "I want to." He continues, his expression grim.

  "It's fine, really." I stand up, my back to him. Taking a deep breath, I put on the best act of my life.

  "You should go, Mr. Hastings."

  I don't even turn to see how he might react to this. I just continue what I already started.

  "You'll only get me in trouble with my father. He doesn't like me to entertain strange men."

  He doesn't speak for a moment, and I have to wonder if I went too far with my rejection.

  "I'm sorry you don't feel safe enough to talk to me." He says, his tone defeated.

  I don't look back as I leave the room, still debating whether I'm doing the right thing. I'm literally banking on Theo's savior syndrome.

  Prove me right, Theo!

  The following days turn into weeks and into months. Theo proves to be as relentless as I'd pegged him. Every so often he would come to check up on me, finding some sort of excuse to question whether I feel unsafe or if anything else happened to me. He's sweet that way. But even though his visits are quite frequent, it isn't enough anymore. Especially with this mystery woman he'd left Pink for still a mystery.

  I bite on my pen, trying to figure out what to do next. Sure, I'd appealed to his protective instincts, and he'd taken the bait, coming to see me almost weekly. Still, I need more. I need him to see me in a romantic light.

  As I keep on thinking how to turn our relationship around, one of the staff announces that I have a visitor. I go down the stairs a little too fast, deep down hoping it would be Theo.

  I'm not disappointed as I see him in the foyer, all dressed up in a suit and flowers in his hand. He looks a little uncertain as his gaze roams around until it settles on me.