by Portia Moore
“So what’s up?” I ask him, running my hands across the top of my thighs. He arches a perfect brow at me, wearing a small smile.
“There has to be something up for me to want to see you?” he asks lazily. I roll my eyes at him.
“Lately, yeah,” I tell him with a shrug.
He looks down at his shoes guiltily. “I’m sorry about that,” he says quietly.
“It’s okay. Was Jade mad after the restaurant?”
“Sort of.” He looks away, and I don’t pry. I don’t want to know what happened after that.
“You haven’t asked me to come over to your house again,” I remind him softly.
“I know.” Zach’s jaw tightens. “It’s hard for me to have you come over there. I don’t want you running into my dad. Things are a lot more complicated at home.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “You’ve never told me why.”
“I…” Zach takes another drink.
He lets out a long breath, staring out into the darkness. “My dad is a fucking jerk,” he says finally, flatly, as if he’s stating any other fact. The sky is blue. Water is wet. “Has been for as long as I can remember. Mom stays home, doesn’t work. He comes home, finds something wrong with the house not being clean enough, her cooking, what she got at the grocery store. It turns into a fight. He smashes something. He used to hit her until I got big enough to stop him.”
My mouth hangs open. The wheels in my head turn, and it all finally clicks into place. Zach, kneeling on my bedroom floor with a backpack full of stolen food, telling me that he can’t protect his family, but he can take care of me. Zach, telling me that he can’t protect me if we’re together, that a relationship will just end in us hating each other.
“You’re afraid you’ll end up like your dad…” I whisper softly. “But that’s crazy, Zach. You’re nothing like that. You never have been, and there’s no reason to think you ever will be.”
Zach shrugs. “He wasn’t always like that. Things changed at some point. After they immigrated, I think. Life wasn’t what they thought it would be. And it changed him, made him a mean son of a bitch. At least that’s what I think—it’s the only thing that makes sense.” He looks at me then. “I could change too, Rain. I don’t know how to trust myself, that I won’t someday be a man like that. That I won’t hurt the people I promised to love.” He says the last part quietly, his eyes dropping to the porch steps, his beer forgotten in his hand.
“You won’t,” I say earnestly, turning towards him. “I believe in you, Zach. I see who you are, even if you don’t. You could never be like that.”
He doesn’t say anything but drains the last of his beer and takes his empty can and mine.
“Things are over between me and Jade.” He says, raking his fingers through his thick blond hair.
I stare at him. I feel dizzy suddenly, and I don’t know if it’s from the cider or that he’s single again, completely. “Why?” I ask, my voice slightly shaky.
“We wanted different things,” he says flatly. “What about you and Marcus?” he asks, staring at me. My stomach does a somersault.
“I-I told Marcus we couldn’t be more than friends.”
“Why?”
I bite my lip and look away from him. I don’t want to do this again, to declare my love and him send me away with a pat on the head. But I can’t lie to him. I never want there to be lies between us, so I let out a deep sigh. “Because, Zach, you were my first kiss. And I wanted you to be everything else, too. And I know that’s not going to happen…but I’m not ready to accept that yet. And it wouldn’t be fair to Marcus or anyone else.”
His beautiful eyes widen. “You…you want me to be your first?” His hand is on the back of his neck as if he’s trying to keep it from falling off his body. I tear my gaze from him, feeling foolish and embarrassed, but at least it’s out there.
He looks sad for a moment. “I just—”
“You don’t want to hurt me. I know.” I look up at him, and it’s there again as our eyes meet. Tension is sparkling in the air between us, making everything feel thick and heavy. I always feel drawn to him, as if something beyond my control is pulling us together. Like it’s written somewhere that he is meant to be mine and I am meant to be his. I feel it every time we’re close, and I think he feels it too. If only he could give in…
“Rain,” he whispers. He brings his fingers to my neck, and slowly they trail to the back of it and through my hair. My eyes flutter closed. I’m floating, afraid to move the slightest inch. That if I do, I will wake up from a dream like I have so many times. I savor the touch of his fingers, trying to file it away in my memory, to go back to later when he’s gone. He leans closer to me. I swallow hard, then feel his soft, plump lips on mine. He moves closer, his empty can rattling down the stairs as he bumps it, his arms making their way around my waist. His lips are soft and warm. He groans softly, his forehead pressing against mine as his tongue slides along my lower lip, and my mouth parts without my meaning for it to, a soft gasp coming from me as he suddenly pulls me up against him.
I can feel it all. His heart hammering in his chest, the quick puff of his breath against my lips, the slide of his tongue into my mouth, the brush of his nose against mine. I’m alive, every nerve in my body, every inch of my skin, and this is what I’ve always wanted. It’s better than I could ever have imagined.
I love him, I think. He kisses me, sweet and slow and deep, and I know more than ever that it’s true. I want to tell him, but then I would have to break the kiss, and I’m afraid that if I do, he’ll come to his senses and stop. I don’t know how many more times we’ll fall into this before he realizes this is what I want—not want, but need.
He pulls away first, breathless, his eyes locked onto mine. They’re dark, full of something I don’t totally understand, but it makes my pulse leap in my throat when I see it, my body responding to it anyway.
“Rain, I don’t want to do this after you’ve been drinking,” he says, blinking as he tries to regain his senses.
“What? Are you saying…?” I feel fuzzy from the cider and the kiss and the slow pulse of blood through my body, dragging me towards him again like a tide.
“I don’t know,” he says with a light laugh, but his eyes are bright. His expression is full of surprise and what I can only explain as joy. It makes me feel like I’m floating. We both laugh together.
It’s the first time he hasn’t said that we can’t do this. The hope within me flares at his words. The possibility of more, because he’s not turning me down flat this time. This time it’s an unspoken later.
I cling to that, through the entire walk home. Zach walks me back, wheeling my bicycle for me because he says it isn’t safe for me to ride it. He’s probably right. I’m stumbling a little, but there’s a broad smile on my face the entire way. I feel like I’m floating, giddy with happiness, because something has changed tonight.
I actually believe that things are going to be different.
Chapter 29
Rain
Present day
Tonight is my first outing as a newly engaged woman and my first introduction to what will be my life as Vincent’s wife. He invited me along with him to a business dinner with his partners. I’ve never met his partners before and I have anxious, frightened butterflies all day as I wait for it to be time to get ready. I’m clumsy and make mistakes at work, making my boss even more annoyed with me than usual, and by the time I make it back to his—our—home, I am trembling with nerves.
I decide to wear the cranberry wrap dress I purchased before Christmas, my black Louboutin pumps, and tasteful rose-gold and diamond jewelry—large enough to show that Vincent spoils me, but not enough to seem pretentious. As I dress and touch up my hair from my appointment earlier, I try to push my anxious thoughts away.
My mother still doesn’t know I’m engaged. We haven’t talked since Vincent’s party. Even though I posted on social media, my mom isn’t on any platforms. It’s her faul
t we haven’t spoken. I’ve left countless voicemails on her phone, but she hasn’t so much as texted back. Mallory keeps telling me that she’ll come around, that I just need to be patient, that maybe I should text her and tell her that I’m getting married so that I will get some kind of response. But I don’t want to tell her news like that in a text. I want to tell her over the phone or in person. I want to hear her voice when she finds out, to hear if she sounds excited or disappointed, relieved or worried. I don’t want her to have time to calculate a response. But I haven’t heard anything from her, and I didn’t know when I will.
By the time Vincent arrives, I’m doing my best to appear calm. He looked poised and sophisticated as always, and he kisses me quickly when he walks into the penthouse, whispering in my ear, “You look beautiful. Make me proud, Poppy.”
I fix my gaze on the giant ring on my finger as we ride down the elevator, my arm linked through his, the ring glittering as my hand rests against his forearm. I feel a slight skip of my heartbeat when we get into the car, remembering the things he’s done to me in the past in the backseat of so many luxury cars. But tonight he’s a perfect gentleman. It also seems as though his thoughts are elsewhere.
We’re at one of the most exclusive French restaurants in Chicago, and I try not to look too overwhelmed as we walk in. I’m getting used to the outrageously beautiful things that I experience with Vincent, but sometimes—especially when I’m as nervous as I am—it’s still hard to keep from being in awe. I still feel out of place, as if I’m a character in someone else’s story.
His two business partners and their girlfriends are at the table already, and both men stand as we approach. They’re similar to Vincent in appearance—dark-haired, well-dressed, confident, and intimidating. If I didn’t know Vincent is an only child, I’d have assumed they are his brothers.
“This is my fiancée, Poppy,” Vincent introduces me, and the nickname grates on me more than it ever has. It irritates me that he doesn’t introduce me to his friends by my real name, but I swallow it.
“Are you going to call me Poppy in your wedding vows?” I can’t help but whisper to him as we sit.
He flashes me an irritated look. “And if I do?” he says, a challenge in his voice. I look for a playful glint in his eye but there isn’t, and my stomach clenches.
“It’s not my name,” I say tightly
“It’s what I like to call you. It’s an endearment. Honestly, Poppy, don’t start, just fucking behave. This is an important night.”
I flinch, stung. He looks away from me, ordering wine for us both when the waiter comes by, and then is deep in conversation with the two men. I’m left to talk to their girlfriends, as I expected, but it still makes me nervous. What if I say something wrong, or stupid, or embarrass Vincent more? Will he realize that when it comes down to it, I’m just not what he’s looking for? Not fit for his lifestyle outside of trips by ourselves and in his bedroom?
“So, Poppy?” one of the girls asks. She’s blonde, tall and willowy, in a slim-fitting black dress with a deep neckline and halter neck. She’s wearing diamonds set in gold, and her hair is a perfect dyed shade of platinum blonde, cut into a chic bob. Next to her is a brunette with dark eyes and pale skin, wearing a cobalt blue slip dress and sapphires, her hair long and dark brown. “I’m Nicole,” says the blonde, “and this is Lita.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you both,” I say, trying to calm my nerves.
“Why haven’t we met you before?” Nicole asks, her eyes full of interest as she glances down at my engagement ring. “Lucky you,” she says, gesturing to it. Her tone is flat, even though she’s smiling.
“You really must be his favorite flower. So lucky,” Lita adds, her voice revealing only a trace of condescension.
I look between the two of them. “Yeah, I know it kind of is silly, but he likes to call me that. It’s sweet, really.”
The two girls exchange glances again, as if they’re speaking a language with their eyes. I have a feeling what they’re saying about me is far from I’m lucky and sweet.
“It’s really cute,” Nicole agrees. I reach for my glass of champagne, realizing tonight isn’t going to be the fun relaxing night I thought it would be. These girls make me more nervous than their boyfriends who, since we’ve sat down, have barely said a word to us.
“How long have you both known Vincent?” I ask. Lita glances at Nicole, who I’m guessing she’s leaving to answer this question.
“I’ve been with Carter going on a year and a half. I met Vincent about a month after,” she says, sounding bored. Lita doesn’t bother to respond, her attention glued to her phone.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?” she asks, now wearing a sugary sweet smile, which is jarring from her earlier countenance. I feel my face flush. The women at the table don’t look much older than me, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six, but old enough where I feel embarrassed that I’m not even legally able to drink yet.
“I turn twenty next month,” I say, avoiding her gaze.
“Oh, you’re a baby!” Lita exclaims, now suddenly interested in the conversation that I suddenly don’t want to be a part of. I glance over at Vincent and his associates, who are at the bar looking as if they’re engrossed in the most interesting conversation in the world.
“How did you guys meet?” Nicole asks. Having their gaze on me is worse than them being oblivious to me.
“At a boutique,” I say, not elaborating further.
“Well, congratulations on landing one of the most eligible bachelors in the country and getting him to put a ring on it. When I was your age, I was still getting drunk and partying in Cancun,” Lita says with a laugh. Nicole nods and smiles with a mischievous grin.
“Yet, here you are, swimming with the sharks,” Nicole says before taking a sip of her champagne. I don’t exactly feel as if I’m swimming…more like I’m the bait for the said sharks.
The rest of the conversation goes more smoothly when I change the topic to being about them. Lita tells me she met her boyfriend, Mario, at fashion week. Lita met Carlos, her boyfriend, on a beach in Venice. My relationship with Vincent is the newest of the three, and I wonder if their coldness to me initially is because I received a ring before them.
“So, which of the apartments are your favorite? We went to a fantastic party at the penthouse in Lincoln Park. It was just fabulous. He had one of the best mixologists in Chicago there. Drinks to die for.”
I stare at them for a second. “What? The penthouse in Lincoln Park? When did you guys go?”
Lita laughs and Nicole’s wide smile falters a little. Nicole shoots Lita an almost knowing glare that makes her grin. “About three months ago?” Lita says, emptying her glass again.
Three months ago! What the hell are they talking about?
I try to keep the smile on my face and to not look like the wind has been knocked out of me, but I’m sure I’m pretty close to failing. Lita and Nicole have begun chattering on and on about the celebrities that were there and how amazing it was, and as each minute passes, my blood gets hotter.
I run through dates in my mind and try to think of a time when Vincent mentioned a party, but hell, he hasn’t even mentioned another place. I steel myself and interrupt their conversation, trying to keep my voice even.
“Do you remember what date that was?” I ask with just the slightest waver in my voice.
“Hmm, I remember a little after St. Patrick’s day, right before my mom’s birthday…” Nicole says with a finger to her cheek, thinking. “It was on this date,” Lita says unanimously, showing me a picture in her phone of her and Nicole, with Vincent in between them smiling widely at the camera as if he’s having the best time in the world. The date on the picture is the date when I was in Indiana for Erin’s birthday party. He never said anything about an apartment or a party, and I realize they’ve asked which apartment is my favorite, like there’s several of them. Anger is the only thing stopping the prick of tears at the back
of my eyes.
I’m not sure if the girls read my expression and take pity on me, or if they’re just bored with the topic, but I thank God that it changes. Soon the men are back at the table. Vincent kisses my cheek, but I’m still as a statue. He looks at me curiously, and I attempt to muster a smile, but I can’t. He eyes me, more annoyed than concerned, and is his normal disarming self with the other guests all throughout dinner. I really try to enjoy dinner but the food tastes like cardboard in my mouth. My head is spinning. Vincent has other apartments? He’s never said anything, never alluded to it, never so much as hinted that he has any property that he lives in that isn’t an investment property, and he sure as hell didn’t mention he threw a party while I was gone.
I finish my entire glass of wine, and by the end of it I’m wondering if there are other secrets that he is keeping from me. What else don’t I know? I’m okay with each of us having things we keep private, but before he asked to marry me, he never seemed to have the need to keep things from me, and for sure doesn’t want me to keep things from him. Every boundary I’ve ever tried to put up, he’s smashed through in the name of love, saying that he only wants to take care of me, that he is doing it for us, that he loves me. But there is a cold ball of ice settling in my stomach again
“What the hell is wrong with you, Poppy?” His voice cuts through the tense air between us. I frown at him. He barely said two words to me at dinner.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you have a penthouse in Lincoln Park?” I can hear the irritation in my voice, the high pitch that I know will aggravate Vincent, but I almost don’t care. “You had a party there while I was gone; you didn’t even mention it. And what else do you have, Vincent? I was so embarrassed hearing about it from women I’ve never met before!” The tears that I was fighting earlier are about to make an appearance, and his stern expression softens a bit. “The party was very last minute,” he says, taking my hand. “I was lonely and I missed you, Poppy,” he says, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing it gently.