by Liz Crowe
But it was new, and loud, and bright, and sold overpriced drinks, so I guessed it qualified. We did a few shots on top of the wine we’d had with dinner, which sent me into a lovely zone where I got out on the floor and danced and danced, half unaware of people watching me, but the other half—the one that’d spent years dancing in front of an audience—fully cognizant of the admiring glances and flat-out stares. At one point, a strong arm encircled my waist and pulled me close. Face to face with one of the hottest dudes I’d seen in a while, I smiled.
Sweaty and thirsty, I grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bar. “Buy me something,” I said, leaning over and letting him leer at my cleavage again. “This shit ain’t free,” I said as I leaned away from him.
He laughed and raised a hand without taking his eyes off me.
I studied him through my boozy haze. He was tall, with a fit torso, and dancer’s legs and ass. He had a long face, full lips, deep green eyes, and dark brown hair. He was, in a word, fuckable. Which turned out to be true, many times over that night. And a lot of nights after that. By the end of that month, I’d moved into his surprisingly suburban house, and we’d begun shopping for furniture.
Chapter Fifteen
“So,” Mama said, handing me a bowl of green beans to snap. “We ever gonna meet this new mystery man?”
“You know I don’t care for you living out there,” Daddy chimed in, wiping his face with a paper towel. He’d been allowed in the house, based on some compromise that meant he was still not allowed in his bedroom. He poured himself a glass of tea. “It’s not proper.”
“I invited him to Sunday dinner,” I said, stringing and snapping away. “Next week.”
“Well, you could have warned me,” Mama claimed, mildly.
“Just did, I think.”
Daddy snorted. I expected their usual routine—significant glances culminating with his calming hand on her shoulder. But she kept her eyes on the pie dough. He waited a few minutes, then gave up and stomped out. It beat the arguing, I supposed.
“These beans are terrible,” I said, holding up several spindly ones.
“Out of season,” Mama said, calm as she could be. “Gonna snow next week,” she said.
“Mmm-hmm,” I said, content with the ensuing silence, since I didn’t have to actually live here anymore.
“This man, he have a name, or what?”
“He does,” I said, dumping what few ends and strings I’d collected into the trash.
When I turned, Mama was staring down at her flour-covered hands. A tear slid down her cheek. I froze. I hadn’t seen her cry in a while. She was doing the full-on stoic, all-is-well-but-for-my-husband-sleeping-in-a-different-room thing, and had been for so long I’d almost forgotten how miserable it was around here.
Damn Dominic.
She swiped her face, leaving a trail of flour. I wiped it off and sat, taking her hand in mine.
“Mama, you are ice cold. And you’re skinny. I know you’re not eating.”
She glowered at me and yanked her hand away. “Don’t you mother me, young lady. I still have all my faculties.”
I leaned away, relieved at the return to our usual style.
“Well,” she snapped, slapping the piecrust into the dish and pinching the edges with the sort of firm determination you’d put into taking a college exam.
I stood up and stretched. I was sore from all the acrobatic sex, which had taken a turn for the rough lately. Not something I discouraged, but not something I’d ever really fantasized about, ether.
“Well, what?” I couldn’t help but tease her. It was a small satisfaction, but one I treasured.
“That man you’re shacking up with? That so-called businessman that no one knows a single thing about. Him?”
“His name is Daniel, Mama. Daniel Callahan. And he’s an investor. An ‘angel investor.’ ” I hooked my fingers around the words the way she always did.
Her face got even paler. The hand she put to her throat shook. She stood up and put the pie crusts in the warm oven. I waited for more commentary, but none seemed forthcoming.
“Hey, I heard Aiden’s agent might have sold his book to some movie producer.”
She remained turned away from me. “Yes, so I understand,” she said. “He’s in New York for his first big-shot signing next month.”
“I know you’re proud of him.” I tossed her this bone, feeling superior now in my position as girlfriend of a rich, sexy, wonderful, mystery man.
She leaned against the sink, looking at the ceiling. “Yes, Angelique, I am. Although for the life of me I can’t imagine why anyone cares a hoot about that silly story.”
“It’s terribly romantic,” I reminded her, grabbing my purse.
“No. I assure you it’s not.”
“Oh, Mama. I wish you and Daddy would kiss and make up.”
She slumped, looking even older and smaller than she’d seemed a few minutes before. I put my arm around her shoulders. She stiffened. I moved away from her, relieved we’d hit that magic status quo once again.
“I have a date. And an early morning tomorrow at the studio.”
She waved me off. “Go on. Have fun with Dan the mystery man.” She shot me a small smile.
I had my hand on the doorknob when she called my name. I turned.
She had her arms crossed and looked utterly miserable. “I’m glad you’re here still. Thank you, I mean …” She dropped her arms to her sides. “For staying. I look forward to meeting him, your … new man.”
I drew myself up, and allowed the words to fly out of my mouth without thinking first. “Well, I guess you should know that the only reason I did stay is because of Daniel.”
She frowned, then let her face go neutral. “Whatever it takes, I suppose.”
She and I glared at each other, the years and years of unspoken, suffocated emotion between us like a thick, impenetrable fog.
“Bye,” I said, waltzing out and slamming the door in direct contradiction of long-standing family rules.
The tears came later, when I ran into Dan’s house and threw myself at him, cursing a blue streak.
The official Sunday dinner-slash-meet the boyfriend was a strained affair. Daniel was one of those guys who never met a stranger, but I got the feeling that his zeal in trying to make my parents approve of him was not going over well at all. It infuriated me because I knew they were bound and deterimined not to like him, no matter what he said or did.
“So,” my mother said, once we’d finally made it to coffee and apple pie. “An investor, are you, Dan?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, smiling. But I could tell he was fraying around the edges. My mother will do that to you, I’d warned him. He’d been gripping my hand under the table so hard my knuckles ached.
“Hmm,” she said, taking another tiny bite of pie, then putting her fork down.
That sort of ended the meal on a note symbolizing the whole event. Daddy had said little, but shook Daniel’s hand as we left, gave me a hug, then headed outdoors, even though the snow was starting to fall and the temps had dropped.
We didn’t say much on the thirty-minute ride to his house. He kept a death grip on the wheel. When I touched his thigh and let my fingers travel up the inseam of his dress trousers, he grunted. “Not now, Angelique.”
I withdrew, willing to let him get past the whole thing on his own. When he wanted to be left alone, it was best to do that, I’d learned.
He helped me out of the Mercedes then unlocked and opened the front door for me. As I was taking the second or maybe third step into the Italian-tiled, cathedral-ceilinged foyer, something shoved me from behind. I stumbled, surprised, but not really worried. Until the “something” hit me across the face, pressed me up against the wall and ripped off my skirt and panties.
“Hey, damn it,” I said, but my voice was small. We’d been heading in this direction for a few weeks now. “I’m not really in the mood, Daniel.”
He backhanded me before I could get
out another word. I screamed, shocked and now legitimately terrified by the looming presence of my usually solicitous, if a little overbearing, boyfriend, the man I’d allowed myself to entertain actual wedding fantasies about.
He had a grip on my arm and was unbuckling his belt with the other hand. I tasted blood and fear and my first tickle of anger.
“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I squirmed and tried to shake off the vise-grip of his fingers. “Jesus. Calm down, already.”
“Shut up, bitch,” he said, grabbing my leg and yanking it up before shoving into me hard, before anything resembling the usual amount of preparation. It hurt. Bad.
But this was my boyfriend, after all. And he was usually such a sweetheart, always buying me stuff. We’d gone car test-driving the day before, and he was leaning toward a BMW convertible, he’d said with his adorable grin.
All of these things ran through my brain while he rutted and grunted and fucked me as if I was no more than a prostitute … no, a sex doll. When he ripped my shirt and bra, then squashed one of my breasts in one hand while he kept hammering me up against the wall so hard my lower back hurt, I protested, hoping he’d gotten this thing out of his system and we could start over, square one, mutually pleased by the sex as usual.
The shock and pain of the next blow to my cheek forced the tears I’d been holding back to run down my face. He kept thrusting, wrenching my nipple, his neck pressed against my face while I counted down from a hundred, willing him to finish.
He did, of course, and pulled out of me so fast he was still coming. I dropped to the cold tile floor, in shock and pain from my face and nose and nipple to the harshest pain between my legs. I felt ripped, shredded, and pissed off, but too scared at that moment to act on it. Sniveling, I let my legs sprawl out in front of me while I tried to pull the tattered edges of my shirt together.
He stood there, breathing heavily, the smell of his spunk filling my nose, while I sobbed, unable to make myself stop. When he touched my shoulder, I spit out a curse and crawled away until I hit the bottom step, then pulled myself up.
“Oh, God, oh, honey I’m sorry, baby, Angel, my sweet Angel.” His deep voice hit me hard. I turned, my shock expanding to epic proportions at the sight of tears in his eyes. “My darling, I don’t know what came over me. I’m … Oh God, your face. Honey, please let me …”
I reached out for him, let him catch me in his arms, carry me to the huge claw-foot tub and gently wash me, even between my legs, as he soothed, kissed, and made promises.
Promises, it turned out, he never intended to keep.
Chapter Sixteen
The early start to winter that year should have been an omen. But there were a lot of those—warnings, red flags—that I didn’t heed as I should have.
The freeze outdoors was juxtaposed with the slow thaw between my parents.
Antony, Margot, AliceLynn, and baby Josh had their happy little family unit. Aiden, Rosie, Jeffery and baby Mandy had theirs. Kieran and Cara were making a go of it again, although she refused to marry him for some reason, something he told me about a few nights after Daniel raped me.
I’d finished my last class of giggly little girls at the studio, nodded at the last wannabe ballet mom, keeping my head turned slightly so I wouldn’t reveal the small bruise under one eye. As I contemplated how in the hell I could avoid every member of the Love family and any of their friends until it faded, I looked up from a stack of paperwork for the coming spring term and saw Kieran knocking on the window next to the desk.
“Shit,” I muttered, knowing he’d seen me full on, bruise and all. I unlocked the door and let him in, self-consciously pulling my hair down that side of my face and turning away from him. He stood in the open door, wind-blown snow swirling around his tall form.
“Shut that, already. Jesus,” I said, walking away from him.
He grabbed my arm and turned me around, tucking my hair behind my ear. His brow furrowed in a classic male Love way. I jerked out of his grip, but he had my chin between his thumb and forefinger, and was moving my head, left to right, in silence.
“Cut it out,” I said, slinking behind the desk and pulling hair over my eye again. “I slipped while I was, you know …” I waved in the general direction of the studios.
Kieran flopped into the chair opposite me, his gaze neutral. “Mama and Daddy don’t like him. I suggest you steer clear of them for a few days.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the messy desk. “And now, I suggest you tell me the truth, or I will find this ass-wipe and clean his clock for him before I turn him over to Antony, who will then hand him down the line until he reaches our father, if he lives past Dominic.”
I stiffened. “I fell down, Francis. I broke my fall with my damn face on the edge of the barre. End of story. Spare me the chest beating.” I shuffled some papers. “What’re you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be out convincing Cara Cooper to marry you so y’all can stop living in sin and making our parents fret? They have enough to worry-wart over between me and Dominic.”
He sighed and put his feet up on my desk. “She won’t marry me. Says we should take it slow. But can you keep a secret?”
I glanced over at him and shrugged. “No promises, but I can tell you’re about to bust, so spill it.”
“She wants a baby.”
I tilted my head and tapped my chin with a fingertip. “Let’s see, so in our world, the “then comes Cara with a baby carriage” usually means “then comes marriage” first, right? Or did I miss something?”
It was his turn to shrug. “I dunno. We’re pretty happy the way we are. I’ll finish my degree next year and be able to do full-time teaching to go with the coaching. Cara got a promotion, and is gonna be managing two of the newly merged clinics. Why not have a baby?” His wide grin was contagious.
“Francis, you’re something else, aren’t ya? Woman refuses to marry you, no matter how much you beg, but you’re happy as a pig in shit because she wants you to knock her up anyway? Lord have mercy, our poor mother …” I shook my head.
“Well the way I figure it, the rest of you ya-hoos have softened her up. Besides, you know how she is about babies.”
I sighed and leaned on my elbows. Exhaustion hit me hard. I hadn’t been sleeping well, and had spent the past day or two worried about the way Daniel was getting snappy and short with me again, after about a week’s worth of pampering and “I’m sorry babys.”
“Oh, and I have more news,” Kieran said, looking smug. “Want to go out and grab a bite? My treat.”
I glanced at my watch, pondering how easily I was slipping into a “but Daniel will be pissed off if I vary the schedule” sort of thinking. “Yes. I would love it. What’s Cara up to tonight?”
“Book club. She and her group are reading some seriously sexy stuff right now. It’s pretty awesome fluffing for later.”
I smacked his shoulder. “Pig,” I said, but to my surprise, he grabbed me and held on tight. I pressed my nose to his chest, my arms around his waist and let myself relax.
His news—that Daddy was so happy that Dominic seemed to be with Diana Brantley again he’d agreed to call a truce with him—made me dissolve into giggles.
“The fact that Diana is actually with the handsome new veterinarian and is all but engaged to the man, and the extra fact that our mother is the one who told me that …”
Kieran chuckled then finished his burger. “I know. She’s holding onto that, I’m sure. Anything for reconciliation.”
“I really don’t think Dom is gay, d’you?”
Kieran shrugged. “I stopped trying to figure him out years ago. Unfortunately, it’s part and parcel of his illness. Manic depressives act out sexually sometimes. And every time Dom is off his meds, he gets that way … reckless, dangerous, willing to try anything, you know?”
I nodded, taking a bite of my BLT, wincing when my sore jaw sang out in pain. Kieran frowned at me.
“Yeah, I remember, all right. He is the
only one of y’all with a kid our mother has never laid eyes on, which makes her insane.”
Kieran sighed and finished his iced tea. “Please tell me what happened to you for real, Angel.”
I toyed with the fries, dredging them through ketchup and putting them to my lips. “I’m fine. I’ll deal with it. Don’t worry about me.”
“You know I’m at risk now, since I’ve seen you.”
“What are you babbling about?” I caught the waitress’ eye to get me a box for the food. My appetite, never great, had disappeared at the sight of a text from Daniel. “I gotta go,” I muttered, tucking the phone in my pocket.
I had known Daniel for just shy of six weeks, and had fallen so hard for him, this sharp U-turn of personality had me reeling, but determined to get past it.
He paid the bill then grabbed my hand as I was getting up. “I can’t not tell them, if they ask me how you are.”
“Oh, I see. You’re physically incapable of telling our parents a lie.” I raised an eyebrow and pulled my hand free of his. We shrugged into our coats and hats and hit the parking lot. The snow had stopped, but the late evening was pitch dark already. “I hate winter,” I said to no one in particular.
“Call me, or text me or just run out and find me, promise? I mean it.” My brother had me by the shoulders and was glaring at me with those Halloran green eyes. I tried not to cry. Luckily, his phone rang, distracting him. I ducked into my car, blew him a kiss and pulled slowly out onto the main highway. At a stop light, I tugged my phone out of my purse.
“I don’t appreciate coming home to an empty house. Where the hell are you?”
My fingers shook from cold and panic as I replied: “Had dinner with a brother. Headed home now.”
That night I got some new bruises, none of them above my neck or below my knees or elbows. He called it “BDSM play.”