by K. V. Rose
I laugh out loud, despite myself.
“That’s not a good simile,” I say. “I gotta go. Text soon.”
I hang up as I get to the check-in. The black marble floors and chandelier make me wish I’d put on something other than jeans and a t-shirt, but it’s too late for that now.
The receptionist is beautiful, her sleek brown hair pulled up in a high ponytail, which reminds me that my own hair is a wavy, sweaty mess around my face from walking in the summer sun.
“No need to check-in, Miss Larson.” She slides a key across the marble counter. Rich people and fucking marble. “Second floor, room 207.”
I smile, nod my thanks and turn to go, my bag back from the security guy. I think I might take advantage of the amenities, get a workout in to keep my anxiety at bay.
I hear a woman giggling at my back, a too-loud sound that means she’s trying to impress someone, or she’s utterly punch drunk in love, but I ignore it, heading to the curving staircase that bisects the large foyer.
“Riley?”
I freeze.
The laughter behind me stops.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
I don’t want to turn around, but I’m too far from the steps to walk up them without looking back, and I don’t see the damn elevator, so I turn.
My eyes lock on Caden’s light blue ones and everything goes out of my head. Words, logic, rationalization. Everything.
He’s wearing a grey blazer, a crisp white shirt with two buttons undone, his tan, muscled chest visible beneath. And on his arm is a girl with flowing blonde hair and a frown on her overly done lips. She steps a little closer to him, so her body is flush against his arm, and she’s wearing a short red dress.
That’s when my mind decides to work again.
Caden works in Haven. His company is here. What the fuck was I thinking?
“Yes?” I ask Caden.
His eyes flash. His nose looks swollen and red, like someone punched him. This surprises me, because not many people would be brave enough.
He isn’t touching the woman, but it really doesn’t matter, because there’s no way she could be any closer to him. Well, technically, if she were naked…they’d be half a centimeter closer. As it is, her dress seems sheer enough to be inconsequential.
“Why are you here?”
I roll my eyes, lift my bag. “Obviously, I’m checking in.” I don’t look at the blonde girl again, but she makes some kind of impatient sound and his eyes flash again, ice blue and full of that ever-present anger he seems to bottle up just for me.
I think about last night. About my back against the tree. About him touching me while I was in Benji’s arms. I wonder if the woman knows, but of course she doesn’t. Or maybe she does. Maybe she punched him.
“Why are you here?” I counter when his gaze seems like it might burn a whole through my t-shirt.
“Is my dad here?” He steps closer, out of the girl’s grasp, but even so, we’re not that close. I know the receptionist heard. Probably the men at the lobby doors, too. My cheeks burn so hot I know my face is the exact same shade as a ripened tomato.
But I try to play it cool. “Why the hell would I know?”
That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. He smiles, and it’s so cold. Just like him.
“That’s right,” he says, as if remembering something. He cocks his head to the side. “He keeps up with you. Not the other way around.”
I turn around to head up the stairs. There’s nothing more for me to say to him.
The woman laughs behind me, and I trudge up each step as fast as I can, thankful I despise heels. When I get to the balcony on the second floor, I can’t resist glancing down. Caden is leaving the lobby, leaving the hotel, and the woman is shouting after him. He ignores her, and even though it should mean nothing to me, I feel some sick satisfaction that he leaves without her.
Twenty
June, 3 Years Ago
I manage to talk my way into a free bus ride when it finally comes to the stop, which is the first—and probably will be the last—time. But the bus is packed full of drunk older ladies and the driver waves me in with an eye roll.
I sit quietly in the back, clasping my hands together, trying not to think too much about what just happened. I feel like I must be in shock. Right now, it kind of seems like a blur. Like maybe it didn’t happen at all.
But I can still smell him. Still feel his hands in my hair.
I almost miss the stop closest to the Viranis and I’ve got to scramble off, the driver sighing loudly at my back as I descend the steps.
I run the rest of the way. Mom’s shoes are too big, and I almost slip several times, but I’m terrified that if I don’t move fast enough, he’ll find me.
And I don’t even know his fucking name.
Finally, I round the street the Viranis live on: Gated mansions surround me, luxury cars in enormous driveways, the ones that didn’t fit in the four car garages. And the Virani’s house, at the end of the cul-de-sac, black and glass and monstrous.
I stop running when I see it. Because it means I’m safe.
Of course, neither Jack’s nor Caden’s cars are in the driveway, and I know they’re not in the garage tucked around back because they both hate parking in the garage. I just hope to God someone is home because if they’re not...well, Matthew will be here at least.
He’ll let me stay.
I walk up the porch after entering the code at the gate. The floodlights spring on and I’m momentarily blinded, but I hear a familiar, deep voice as my eyes adjust.
“Riley? Are you okay?”
Mr. Virani.
I blink, wrap my arms around myself.
Mr. Virani is wearing plaid lounge pants and a red, long sleeve pajama shirt, his feet in slippers. But he doesn’t look as if I’ve just woke him up, even though it’s probably after one in the morning.
“I’m so sorry—” I manage to say.
And then it hits me, what just happened. What I might have just escaped from. I start to cry, silent tears leaking down my face.
His brows knit together, his dark blue eyes soften. “Come in, come in,” he says, and he holds out his hand. I see he’s taken off his wedding band for the night. See his short, trim nails.
For a moment, I don’t want to take his hand. I can still feel Mom’s boyfriend-of-the-night all over me. And I remember Mr. Virani’s lingering eyes whenever I’d walk in from working out with Jack in the backyard, practicing basketball drills that I sucked at but did to keep him happy. I remember wanting to cover up, to pull on sweats over the ratty shorts I wore to exercise in.
I remember, too, hearing the Viranis argue about Mr. Virani’s latest tryst. About how she was half his age. But I wasn’t supposed to hear that. And at eighteen, I’m less than half his age.
Besides, where the fuck else am I going to go?
I take his hand, take a breath, trying to pull myself together.
I’m safe here.
He closes the door behind me, and when I hear it click, I hope someone else is here. Even though Mrs. Virani has always seemed cold to me, I could use a woman’s ear.
But as I step out of my shoes and place them carefully on the shoe rack by the door, I hear nothing in the big house. Nothing but an oppressive silence.
I straighten, meet Mr. Virani’s gaze, cross my arms back over my chest. I’m all too aware I’m not wearing a bra under my white t-shirt.
“Is anyone home?” I blurt out. Mr. Virani arches a brow and my face heats.
He slips his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. His hair is just a shade darker than Caden’s, but thinner. And his lips aren’t as full as either of his sons’.
“Well, I don’t know if Jack told you, but—”
I nod. “University tour,” I interrupt. My legs feel shaky. I don’t know if it’s from running or what happened or being here alone with Mr. Virani, but suddenly, I want to be by myself. I bite my lip, wincing at interrupting him. My mother
would have slapped me for that shit.
But my mother, I remind myself, is a piece of shit. And Mr. Virani doesn’t look like he wants to slap me. He looks like he’s concerned.
“Yes, and Caden is at school and Maria is off with her friends.” I’m not sure if it’s my imagination that hears the last word wrench free of his tongue, as if he doesn’t quite believe it himself. But whatever. That’s their business.
I nod, rub my hands over my arms.
There’s a stretch of silence between us and I look down at the gleaming marble floors, lit by the dim setting of the chandelier overhead.
“Riley,” Mr. Virani begins, “what happened?”
The tears are dry on my face but as he asks the question, his voice so gentle, my lip starts to tremble.
I don’t cry.
I’m not a crier. Even if a moment ago I slipped. I take a shaky breath and swallow past the lump in my throat.
“I don’t—I’m not...” I can’t get the words out.
Mr. Virani crosses the space between us and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go sit down?”
Gratefully, I nod. Because I need to fucking sit down before I pass out.
He steers me, gently, down the hall and past the cavernous kitchen, into one of the two sitting rooms on the main floor. Lights flick on as we enter, dimming down to what I assume is a preprogrammed, after-midnight setting. This sitting area is the smaller one, with an electric fireplace in the wall, stone mantel, a flat screen TV flush against the wall. The curtains are closed on the floor-to-ceiling window adjacent to the fireplace. The floor is plush, slate grey carpet here, and it’s soft beneath my feet.
Mr. Virani guides me to the end of the couch and gestures for me to sit down. I find I’m thankful he doesn’t sit beside me. Instead, he stands off to the side, hands back in his pockets.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. “Do you want to file charges?”
My eyes widen and I stare at him, mouth open. I snap it closed and shake my head, pulling my knees to my chest and tugging my shorts down over my thighs. Of course he knows why I’m here. Why else would I be here in the middle of the goddamn night in my pajamas?
Fuck, this was a bad idea. But I hadn’t had any better ones.
“No,” I say quickly. “No charges.”
He sighs. “Riley, if someone hurt you—”
I shake my head again, my lip threatening to start its trembling once more.
But thankfully, I don’t need to say no a second time. Mr. Virani nods.
“Do you want something to drink or eat...” he trails off, and I wonder if he’s feeling as awkward as I am right now.
“Did I wake you?” I ask, then feel my face flame as I realize what a stupid question it was. But I don’t want to talk about what happened. I don’t want to think about what happened. This embarrassment feels better than that.
He hesitates, then shakes his head. “No, Riley, you didn’t.” He sighs, rocking back on his heels again and looking at his slippers. “I don’t sleep well,” he admits.
Jack has told me as much. He’s told me about the screaming matches he and Caden have gotten into with their father over making the slightest noise too late in the night.
Suddenly, thunder cracks outside, and then I hear rain. It’s pouring down with a dull roar.
I whip my head around, looking at the window. But I can’t see anything past the heavy drapes. I’m glad I missed the storm. But for some reason, it makes us being alone in here feel almost claustrophobic.
I tell myself I’m panicking, because of what happened. I’m safe here.
“I’ll be right back,” Mr. Virani says wistfully. “I’m going to get us a drink.”
I nod my thanks and he disappears off to the kitchen.
I bury my head in my hands, letting my eyes close, letting the sound of rain outside wash over me. And it’s only then that I feel how tired I am. It’s an exhaustion that weighs on me, heavy in a way I’ve never felt before.
But it quickly morphs into something else: Anger. Anger at my mother. At her boyfriend. At Jack for always yanking me around. At myself for letting him. At myself most of all, for being strange and introverted and weak and weird and not making more friends. Of having to rely on Tyler and Jack’s pity for the sake of having some semblance of a social life. Which is a joke. I don’t have one. Aside from Tyler, I have one other friend. Morgan. And she’s rich too, probably dancing around her parents 5-star hotel right now and ordering room service and having unprotected sex with her boyfriend of the week. Which isn’t fair to Morgan. She’s nice. Just an airhead with way too much money. Like everyone else in this city.
Startling me out of my self-pity, I hear Mr. Virani’s footsteps echo down the hall.
I snap my head up, shoving down all of those thoughts. All of that anger. I bottle it up. Because that’s what I’m good at. Every now and then, some of it escapes. In foul language or biting comments or clenched fists. But usually, I keep it under wraps. Because no one cares about a poor girl’s anger.
Absolutely no one.
Mr. Virani extends a red plastic cup to me, which makes me laugh a little. I’ve seen Caden and his friends with these around the house sometimes. I’ve even seen Jack with one. But I’ve never drank anything other than bottled water in this house. Truth be told, I’ve always been a little scared of any substance, after seeing what’s happened to my mom.
She’s been an addict since I can remember. My dad paid for a sitter after he left when I was a baby, until I was ten. And then that money disappeared.
I take the cup he’s offered and peer inside of it. He takes a drink from his own and finally takes a seat, a respectful distance away from me. Something has changed in his face. He seems less tired. More...energetic.
“It’s just Diet Coke,” he whispers conspiratorially to me, ankle crossed over his knee.
I laugh at that and take a sip.
“And sorry that it’s Diet, but Maria doesn’t allow sugar in the house.”
I take another drink and nod. The ice bumps my lips. I always drink water. I don’t even know if I’ve ever had Diet Coke before. Or regular. It tastes sickly sweet, but it’s something to do with my hands so I keep drinking it.
I know about the no-sugar rule. Jack always bitches about not having cereal here. He says he had a depraved childhood because he wasn’t allowed cereal. Clearly, he has no idea what a depraved childhood is.
“Do you have your phone?” Mr. Virani asks after a moment, when I’ve nearly finished my drink. It feels strange and cold in my stomach, which is because there was nothing in the house for dinner. I was studying for finals this week and Mom, of course, didn’t think to restock groceries.
I shake my head, hoping Mom’s boyfriend didn’t steal my phone from my nightstand. I will kill him for that, if nothing else. It’s an allowance I make in our budget every month, to feel connected. To feel safe. Although a hell of a lot of good it did me tonight.
Mr. Virani sighs. “Do you want me to call Jack?” He blows out a breath. “Or Caden?”
My eyes meet his at his oldest son’s name. Does he know? Does he know I fawn over him? Does he know how many fights Caden has interrupted between me and Jack? How many he’s put a stop to? That night at the club when Jack was humiliating me in front of his friends and their girls?
“No,” I finally manage to say as Mr. Virani stares at me, waiting for an answer. The word feels heavy on my tongue. I grip the red cup in my hand and stand shakily to my feet.
“Is it okay...if I stay here tonight?” My breathing is coming in shallow gasps. I feel as if I’ve run a marathon. It must be the shock dying off. That exhaustion intensifying.
But then I stumble and throw out a hand to catch myself against the back of the couch. Immediately, Mr. Virani gets to his feet, setting his cup on the coffee table.
He comes to my side and grips my arm, takes my cup out of my hands. “Of course you can stay, Riley.” He keeps one hand on my arm and
reaches the other to set my cup on the table. “Here, I’ll help you to the guest bedroom.”
And then he picks me up in his arms.
My heart pounds in my chest, but my eyelids feel heavy. I think I shouldn’t do this. I think something about this is wrong. Mr. Virani shouldn’t be carrying me up the stairs. I shouldn’t be feeling so sluggish. I shouldn’t have to force my eyes to stay open. But I do.
And I can’t talk. I open my mouth to speak but my tongue is a deadweight.
Mr. Virani gently puts me on the bed after pulling back the covers with one hand. This is the guest room, and I feel a strange sense of relief. I’m not sure what I thought would happen, but I’m glad I’m in the guest room, all white walls and a monochrome ceiling fan, white sheets.
But then Mr. Virani’s hand lifts up my shirt. And I can’t move. Not just from fear. Or shock. Or anger. But it literally feels as if I’m paralyzed.
Mr. Virani lets out a low whistle. “I’ve always wanted to see your small tits,” he says, and then he pulls something from his pants pocket.
My gut recoils as I realize it’s a cell phone. But I still can’t move. And my eyes are closing, despite my best efforts to keep them open.
And then I’m pulled under. Into blackness.
Twenty-One
Present
I get up at five in the morning. Not wake up, because that would imply I slept, which I didn’t. Benji texted me during the night to tell me Riley’s flight was cancelled. Eventually, I’ll have to tell him to stop keeping tabs on her. Tell him it’s strange and quite frankly, it pisses me off. But I don’t tell him now, because the information is useful.
Even if it only serves to put me on edge.
After I got over my initial surge of anger, I realized she wouldn’t be staying at The Villa to meet with my dad. There are far more hotels far closer to Toronto for that, and much nicer, too. And if my dad is fucking her—I try not to think about that—he’d want the best. Not for her, but to show off his wealth.
I slam my fist on the nightstand, get out of bed, and get in the shower.