Tell Me You Love Me: A Novel

by S. Ann Cole

  I ask, “Are you saying I should give it to them?”

  He shakes his head. “No. But…”

  “But what?”

  “Now that they’re here, things are starting to add up. I think…” He trails off and rubs his hands down his face again. “I think they’re behind your kidnapping.”

  I can only stare at him, speechless. Because, what?

  “Virginia said they were swindled out of all their money. Ironic.” He scoffs at this. “They are broke and in debt. Desperate. My guess is that they abducted you with plans to ransom you for the brooch. That didn’t work out so now they’re flat-out asking for it.” He takes a sharp breath. “I’m afraid of how far they will go if we don’t give it to them. Desperate people do desperate things.”

  I shake my head, confused and angry and enervated. “Daddy, if we give in, they’ll just keep coming back whenever they need a payday, holding this over our heads.”

  “The last time I made the mistake of simply taking their word for it because I wanted them to go away as quietly as possible,” he admits. “This time, we will do it right. Lawyers and paperwork.”

  I look at him, at the wrinkles I want to smooth from his forehead, at the worry and sadness I want to wipe from his eyes. I love this man so much. He’s all I’ve ever known. He has given me the greatest love I have ever had.

  It’s a lot to take in, this revelation. But while I’m a little overwhelmed and addled with a plethora of questions dancing around in my head, there is one thing I am positive about: Aaron Bentley is my father. The only family I have left.

  My mother is as dead to me as she’s always been, and Angus is as nonexistent to me as he’s always been. There has only ever been one constant in my life and it’s this man right here, sitting across from me, stricken with panic that he will lose me.

  Slowly, I stand on weakened feet, walk over to him, and get down on my knees before him. I place my hands over his trembling ones and peer up at him.

  “Daddy, please listen to me,” I begin. “You are my father. I am your daughter. Nothing will ever change that. I’m grown enough to understand that every lie you’ve ever told was to protect me. I’m not mad at you, and I’m never leaving you. No matter what.”

  Tears brim from his eyes, threatening to spill. He drops his head, as if ashamed to be breaking down in front of me like this. “I felt worthless…not being able to have kids. I felt like less of a man, you know. Then you happened…” He lifts his head and touches his palm to my cheek. “For them, you were a means to an end. But for me, you were a miracle. God is amazing. You were always meant to be mine.”

  I am a product of a long-con, possibly a con gone wrong. A shitty situation that has caused this man much pain and mental instability. But out of every bad blooms something good.

  We are that something good. Our bond. Our love. Our loyalty. And that’s worth more than seventy million dollars. So those avaricious assholes can go screw themselves.

  “Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it,” I tell him. “If it will bring you peace of mind and erase these lines from your forehead, I will.”

  The best thing is, once we get rid of these people for good, he won’t need to be so damn paranoid anymore. I want him to live his best life. Laugh openly. Have friends over. Have dinner parties. Not have an entire security team residing with him as if he’s the mafia or something. I just want him to live a normal, healthy life.

  “You’re my miracle, sweetheart,” he says brokenly.

  I smile. “And you are mine, Daddy.”

  Thirty - One Kholton

  “And you’re sure of this how?”

  Brian thumps his fist on my bedroom door and pokes his head in. He finds me seated cross-legged on the floor, a chaos of test sheets and stationary scattered around me.

  Pencil clenched between my teeth, I glance up at him. “What?”

  “You heard the doorbell just now?” he asks. “It was for you. Princess Bentley.”

  I remove the pencil and raise a brow at him. “You told her I’m not here?”

  “Yeah.”

  I go back to grading papers. “Good.”

  I don’t hear him move off, and he knows I hate to be disrupted when I’m working. Without looking up, I ask, “Something else?”

  “I’m thinking you should see her, man,” he tells me. “She’s not looking too good.”

  He’s got my complete attention now. “What do you mean?”

  “Dunno.” He shrugs. “She just looks…messed up. She’s either been crying her eyes out a lot or sleep-deprived.”

  What? Okay, yeah, I’ve been avoiding her, but Serena’s a woman in every sense of the word. She’s not the type to be bawling or losing sleep over some dude because he’s avoiding her, so as narcissistic as I am, I’m certain this isn’t about me.

  “Look, man,” Brian says, “I know the job’s over and you need to cut ties, but I also know she means something to you. At least call her and find out if she’s all right. ‘Cause she sure as shit doesn’t look it.”

  He backs out and leaves.

  After returning from Philly a week ago, I met with the client and terminated the contract on the basis that the brooch could not be located where it was indicated it would be, and that the job was far riskier than initially agreed upon. All bullshit, of course.

  Brian was disappointed with the outcome, but didn’t disagree with my decision. All we need to do now is return the brooch, and Natalie has already agreed to help us take care of that.

  So it’s true, I’ve been avoiding Serena. Mostly because I’m a pussy—well, pussy is powerful, strong, and resilient, so not a pussy. A pair of balls is more like it.

  I care too much about this girl. Think too much about her. Want too much from her. I don’t particularly like how weak I am with her. That’s some dangerous shit right there, because I’m not even sure I can trust her.

  She’s using me for something—other than sex—and I’ve yet to figure out what that is. That tells me she’s done this multiple times before and is damn good at it—whatever it is. And that’s something to be wary of.

  Before, I didn’t have a choice because of the job. But now I do. It’s over. The final step in a long con is to go ghost. Brian is moving back to L.A. and I’m going back to my penthouse on the Upper West Side. But since we’ve decided to return the brooch without Serena or her father suspecting a thing, we’re in no rush to disappear.

  I’d already ended things with Serena back in L.A., and a few days ago I sent her a request to terminate our contract with a referral to another tutor—which she hasn’t responded to. So all I need to do is keep things…ended. To ignore her until she gives up.

  What does it matter to me if she’s been crying? She’s not my woman. She was a job. She—

  Oh, screw it. Who am I kidding?

  I’m on my feet, test papers flying in the air as I dash out the door. I can’t do it. As much as it irritates and confuse me, I care about this girl. So damn much.

  Hopefully, the traffic is thick and I’m able to catch her.

  Brian makes no effort to hide his shit-eating grin when he sees me breezing through the house like my ass is on fire.

  I rent open the front door, determined to run as far as I needed to catch up with her. Except I don’t have to. Because she’s sitting on the steps outside my door, head between her legs, arms wrapped around her knees.

  “Serena?”

  She startles at the sound of my voice and twists around. When she realizes it’s me, she scrambles to her feet as if embarrassed.

  Brian was right. Serena Bentley doesn’t look like Serena Bentley.

  She’s thrown together in a baggy sweat-suit and her hair has seen better days. Her eyes are dark-circled and red-rimmed. Her make-up-free face is pale and distressed. What the hell?

  “Oh, um, hey,” she says weakly, patting the tangled mess piled on top of her head. “I—I thought you weren’t home.”

  “You were waiting for me?”<
br />
  “No.” It’s too quick to be the truth. “I was waiting for my ride.”

  “Babe?”

  She looks up at me but doesn’t answer.

  Why do I feel like I want to slay dragons for this girl? “Come here.”

  Casting a glance over her shoulder, she hesitates. “Um, Beau’s going to be here any min—”

  “No, he won’t,” I refute. “Come here.”

  Her gaze darts around for a minute, before she sucks in a shaky breath, pats her chaotic hair again, and climbs the steps to me.

  Holding her sad, conflicted eyes, I say, “I’m gonna put my arms around you. Do you want that?”

  Her lips part, then her head jerks in a nod.

  Closing the space between us, I wrap my arms around her petite frame. “I’m gonna hold you tight. Do you want that?”

  She lets out a single sob, and then nods.

  I press her up against me and with everything in me, hug her as tightly as I can. “I’m gonna stand here and hold you for as long as you need me to, okay? Use this moment to be as vulnerable as you want. And we won’t ever have to talk about it again. Not unless you want to.”

  And I do as I promise. Sometimes all a person needs when they’re hurting is for someone to hold them. Not to talk. Not your pity. Not your advice or opinion. Just your strength, your presence, a hug.

  For fifteen long but precious minutes, she hugs me tight and stains me with her pain. When she’s all cried out, I take her inside and tuck her under my covers. She falls asleep almost instantly.

  I don’t know how long I had been sitting there like a creep watching her sleep, when my phone rings and jolts me out of it. I glance down at the screen. Aaron Bentley.

  “Mr. Bentley,” I answer.

  “Ah, hello, Kholton,” he greets coldly. “How are you?”

  “You want to know if your daughter’s here?”

  He chuckles, but it doesn’t mask his worry. “I haven’t seen or heard from her in well over a week. I know she was with Alaric for a little while, but he told me she went AWOL. I figured the only other person she would run to is you.”

  Quietly, I get up from the bed and leave the room, closing the door behind me. “I found her on my front steps. She’s asleep now. You can send her driver—”

  “No,” he interjects with a touch of sadness. “Keep her with you for a few days, will you?”

  Not while I’m trying to get her out of my system, no. “Why?”

  A long pause. “Well, there’s been some family matters. She handled it unbelievably well at first—she always tries to be so strong. But I knew it wouldn’t be long before it all sank in.” He sighs heavily down the line. “I know this is a strange request after I insisted you break things off with her, but… she glows when she’s with you. A few days. Please.”

  Blowing out a breath, I rub my hand down my face. Having Serena here, even if it’s just “a few days” is the opposite of what I need.

  I’ll get sucked in again. She’s a vortex, and I have no bones in my legs when I’m around her to fight against her powerful current. Yet, I care that she’s hurting—and I’ve got a strong idea what’s causing that hurt. How can I turn her away?

  “Okay,” I agree.

  Aaron expels a breath of relief. “Thanks, son. I’ll pack some of her things and send them up with Beau.”

  I brace against the banister. “Okay.”

  “Son?”

  “Sir?”

  “That girl,” his voice is soft but gruff, “she’s my world. Please, take care of her.”

  I don’t understand this man. At all. “Back in L.A., I told you the truth. That I’d end up hurting her. So how can you seriously trust me with ‘your world’?”

  With complete confidence and not a break in his voice, he replies, “You will never hurt her. You will do the right thing.”

  “And you’re sure of this how?”

  “Because I know love when I see it,” he says simply. “You took a bullet to save her when you barely even knew her. Imagine what you would do now that you’re in love with her.”

  I kill the call faster than I can absorb his words.

  My heart explodes in my chest.

  Well, fuck.

  Thirty- Two - Serena

  “That’s what hurts.”

  I am not in my own bed when I wake up.

  I feel heavy, confused, disintegrated.

  It takes a moment for memory and recognition to settle in. I’m at Kholton’s place. I don’t remember how I got here, but I do remember him holding me on his doorstep, letting me cry in his arms.

  Mortification washes over me. I feel so weak, so pathetic. Why did I come here? How did I get here?

  I toss back the sheets and swing my legs off the bed, palms pressed to the mattress. Glancing down, I realize all I’m wearing is my underwear.

  Did we have sex? I scoff at that thought. Nope. Nope, we didn’t. With that weapon Kholton has attached to his body, if we had sex, I would be feeling it right now. I no doubt had another sleep-stripping episode. Some people sleep-walk, I sleep-strip. I’ll get feverish during the night and strip off my garments piece by piece.

  Pushing to my feet, I amble to the bathroom to wash off the foul stench of pathetic steaming from my pores.

  As I climb into the shower, I notice a bottle of Bath & Body Works Warm Vanilla Sugar shower gel. It’s exactly the shower gel I’ve been using for the past couple of months.

  Kholton has never smelled like Warm Vanilla Sugar before, so I know it’s not his. Especially since his bottle of Brickell is right there next to it.

  One of his girls left it here. The realization lances through me like a spear.

  What do I expect, though? He ended things with me. Of course he’s hooking up with other people. He doesn’t owe me anything, especially since the whole reason behind him ending things is me not wanting us to be exclusive. So even if we were still hooking up, without exclusivity, I might have still come across some woman’s shower gel in his bathroom.

  I feel sick. Sicker than I’ve felt for the past couple of days. With two scornful fingers, I pick up the bottle, open the shower door, and toss it in the trash can. Stupid honey-smelling bitch.

  I crank up the water heat and shower with Kholton’s Brickell. After scalding my skin raw, I clean my teeth at the vanity, staring at myself in the mirror as toothpaste foams from my mouth. I look…better. A little less like a druggie going through withdrawal. No surprise there, considering last night was the first time in over a week that I actually slept.

  I had a nervous breakdown.

  When I first heard the truth about my existence, about my biological parents, I dealt with it like an adult. I embraced my Daddy and we made plans to give these horrible people what they crawled out of the woods for and get rid of them for good.

  That first night, I slept okay.

  The second night, not so much.

  The third, fourth, fifth, even worse.

  The truth took a toll on me mentally. I couldn’t stop thinking. I wanted someone to talk to other than my father, and as much as I love Alaric, this truth was too delicate and personal to share.

  I wanted Kholton. But Kholton didn’t want me. He ignored my calls and messages and was never home when I visited.

  It only got worse as the days went by. I couldn’t eat, sleep, or function properly at work. Eventually, my father was forced to put me on a leave of absence.

  He did everything he could to help me, but nothing stopped me from obsessing over Angus and Virginia. Digging into their background. Staring at their pictures. Hating them.

  When I received a request from Kholton to terminate our contract, along with a refund check of the exact amount I’d deposited for my studies, it sent me over the edge.

  Overwhelmed, I broke down. I cried nonstop, and at times I couldn’t tell if I was crying over him or my family.

  To get away, I packed a bag and went to stay with Alaric. But even then, it hurt that I couldn’t
tell my best friend what was wrong. For the most part, he believed I was upset about Kholton.

  Soon, I stopped remembering what day it was, if I showered or not, ate or not. The next thing I know, I’m here, waking up in his bed.

  Now I’m faced with the sickening fact that he’s been sleeping around. And the pain in my chest is here again.

  I want to put an end to this. An end to him screwing other people. Except the only way to do that is to tell him the truth. And that’s not an option.

  I exit the bathroom towel-drying my hair at the same time Kholton is entering the bedroom.

  We both halt.

  Watch each other.

  He’s wearing slacks and a tucked-in button-down, messenger bag slung across his broad chest. His customary teacher/tutor attire.

  We’re both frozen in that moment, our gazes locked.

  Dammit, but I missed him. That face, that rebellious hair. Those up-to-no-good eyes. Now someone else has them. Someone who smells like Warm Vanilla Sugar.

  I break the ice. “I’m so sorry.”

  “For what?” His voice gives nothing away.

  “For showing up on your doorstep the way I did.”

  He starts moving again, further into the room. “You just woke up?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You checked the time?”

  I wrap up my hair with the towel and tighten the one wrapped around me. “No. Why?”

  “Because it’s noon.” He smiles, as if pleased. “Means you’ve been out for seventeen hours.”

  “No, it’s not.” I glance to the clock on the nightstand. 8:00 AM. Which is also the exact same time as when I woke up roughly half-an-hour ago. Huh?

  Kholton chuckles. “That’s been saying eight o’ clock for months now. I keep forgetting to replace it.”

  Oh, wow. I really slept for seventeen hours?

  My eyes must be bugging out of my head because Kholton laughs at me like he thinks I’m adorable. “It’s a good thing, bab—Serena. You needed it. Last night you looked like you were on drugs, to be honest.”