"It's because I'm Hispanic, isn't it?" I ask bitterly. "She hates me because I remind her of Maritza."
Isaac shakes his head. "I think it's just an excuse for her now."
"She treated Maritza like trash," he explains. "Nothing Maritza ever did was good enough for my mother and she worked that poor woman day and night. I didn't know it, didn't even understand it at the time, but my father was just as bad."
He stops and swallows hard, clearing his throat before continuing.
"Maritza didn't have any say in sleeping with my father," he finally whispers. "If she ever resisted, he threatened to have her deported. Even though she knows that, my mother still blames Maritza. She blames Maritza so she doesn't have to admit that her marriage fell apart because she and my father are the shittiest people you're ever going to meet."
Isaac hangs his head as I stare at him in stunned silence.
"I... I don't know what to say," I finally stammer, and Isaac lets out a soft, mirthless laugh.
"What, you think rich people don't have skeletons in their closets too?" he scoffs.
My mind fills with the unwanted image of Mom passed out on the couch, an elastic band and needle lying on the coffee table beside her, and I quell the urge to make a petty retort. Instead, I look silently down at my hands, suddenly unsure of what to do with them or where they belong.
"My mother thought that my father sent you to the party, Nina," says Isaac. "She threw you out because you reminded her that no matter how much money she inherited, no matter how much Dad made at his job, her life fell apart and there was nothing she could do to stop it."
The setting sun hides behind the neighbor's roof and the throbbing headache behind my eyes grows stronger, matching my pulse as it pounds in my head. Isaac inches closer to me, his shoulder brushing against mine now, and I feel myself relax at his touch.
"I'm sorry," I finally whisper.
"Nina, you don't have to be sorry for—"
My mother's high-pitched laughter interrupts Isaac, and he glances down at her as she stumbles out of the house arm in arm with her latest "boyfriend." I guess it really was an out-call after all; he just got a two-for-one deal today. She's wearing heels far too tall and a skirt far too short, and my face flushes as Isaac gets a great view of my mom's thong while she gets into the passenger seat of a rusty white Caprice parked out front.
"Who was that>"Wgreat?" Isaac finally asks after the clunker disappears down the street.
A knot of fear and shame forms in my gut and threatens to choke me as it rises into my throat. I never wanted him to know, but there's no avoiding the truth now. I never wanted to see Isaac again just an hour ago, but now I'm suddenly scared that he'll hate me. I'm scared that he'll be disgusted at my family secret.
"That was my mother," I answer, my voice little more than a squeak.
Isaac’s smile slackens as he notes my hesitation and a look of understanding washes over his face.
"And the guy?"
"He's one of the many reasons I didn't want to you to come in when you drove me home," I whisper. "There are a lot like him, and... and they're all paying her. She uses them for drug money, and they use her for..."
I can't say it. I can't just come out and say what I'm thinking: that my mother's a whore, a heroin addict, and someone I'm stuck with forever.
I bury my face in my hands and wait for the ridicule to start, but instead I feel Isaac's strong arms around me, enveloping me as he holds me close. I want to lash out at him and melt into
him at the same time, and I can't figure out which one I want to do more. My body answers the question for me by holding him close, and I press my face into his chest as I start sobbing.
"Welcome to the fucked-up family club," Isaac says, squeezing me so tightly that it somehow forces a sarcastic laugh out of me. Suddenly I'm laughing uncontrollably. I'm so miserable that I can't stop, and my stomach clenches so tightly that I can barely breathe. Soon Isaac starts to laugh too, and now there's no stopping either of us.
"Do you want to be president or treasurer?" I whimper in between fits of laughter, and he completely loses it and doubles over in hysterics, still holding me close.
"God, I hate my mother," he finally wheezes in between fits of laughter, and I refrain from agreeing. Right now, everything sucks. All of it.
Except this... except us.
As long as I have Isaac, I'm going to be okay.
wi
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Chapter XXIV
Irene
"The time is: seven... thirty... AM."
"The time is: seven... thirty... AM."
My eyes snap open to the robotic voice of the alarm clock. It announces the time once more in its badly digitized female voice before I reluctantly shimmy away from Terrence’s warmth and smack the snooze button. That’s the one nice thing about his god-awful alarm clock—it’s meant for a blind person, so the snooze button is easy to find. You could hunt for the button on my alarm clock all morning and not find it.
The sun shines brightly in the window and the gorgeous autumn leaves rustle gently against the glass panes. I smile sleepily at the fiery reds and oranges, and then I duck back beneath the warm blankets and snuggle up beside Terrence once more. I don’t know which I like better: the way he smells—a soft, almost tantalizing scent that invades my brain and makes me think delightfully dirty things I probably shouldn’t be thinking about so early in the morning—or the way his smooth back feels pressed against my skin. It’s almost hypnotic running my fingers down his back and feeling his muscles beneath them.
"The time is: seven>"Wgred ... thirty-five... AM."
Goddamn it.
I smack the alarm clock once more and then sigh in contentment at the feeling of the silky, downright luxurious sheets against my legs as I roll back to Terrence’s side once again. He mumbles something in his sleep and then rolls over, wrapping his strong arms around me and holding me close to him.
God, I could just curl up like this all day—maybe even stay here, frozen in this moment for eternity. If this is what heaven’s like, there’ll certainly be no complaints from me. I haven’t felt this at ease since...
I put my arms around him and kiss him back, snuggling up beside him against the warmth of the chimney. God, this is wonderful. I’ve never felt like this before.
...since I last saw Isaac.
A pang of guilt stings me and drives away the beautiful feeling of contentment I’d been savoring. Why do I do this to myself? Why can’t I just admit that he’s gone? I loved him—I really, truly did—but I’m never going to see him again. I need to move on.
"The time is: seven... forty... AM."
"Sheesh... will you shut up already?" I grumble, reaching out and slapping the clock once more, this time extra hard.
I want to shut the damned thing off entirely and go back to bed, maybe sleep through the whole day with Terrence, but I know I can’t do that. It’s Monday and Terrence needs to be down in the lab. He needs to get to work for the day, and since I’m his assistant, it’s my job to get him there.
Assistant? Lover? Which is it?
I shove the uncomfortable worry out of my mind. I don’t know and I’m not going to think about it right now. Not until I’ve had a chance to find some coffee and piece myself together for the day, at least. After last night, I'm not even certain I care. I don't know what I think anymore.
I wriggle out of Terrence’s embrace, and when I roll over, his handsome, sleeping face instantly entrances me. His strong, well-defined jaw and high cheekbones are just so drop-dead gorgeous that I can’t help myself, and before I realize what I’m doing, I lean in and kiss him softly on the cheek. One by one, I leave a line of kisses down his jaw line, putting a little more force behind each one, and he groans in his sleep but still doesn’t wake up.
I hold back a quiet giggle at the adorable look on his face, and then I plant one final, long, deep kiss on his lips. This final kiss does the trick just like in Sleeping Beauty,
but as he awakens into it, he pulls me in close to him and presses his lips to mine with a passion that makes me wish I could melt into him.
"You have to get ready for work." I whisper, forcing myself to break away from the kiss. I hate it, but I have to do my job... whatever that is. I’m still not sure what happens next, now that we’ve made love to each other. I... I can’t just go back to being his assistant now, and I’m scared that he’s going to expect me to.
"Trying to get rid of me already? It was that bad, huh?" he teases, and then he groans and stretches as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. It takes me a long time to answer him—I’m too distracted by the way his broad, powerful shoulders look in the morning light.
"It was amazing," I whisper, kissing him on the cheek again, "but amagaicted byzing or not, it’s Monday morning and I’m supposed to get you to the lab. Don’t shoot the messenger."
This isn’t a relationship. It can’t be... not while I still work for Terrence. It was a one-night stand—one weekend at best—and nothing more. Now I just have to figure out how to make myself believe that load of crap.
"I would never even dream of shooting the messenger," he tells me, his voice low, sleepy, and deceptively seductive. "Not when there are so many other things I’d rather do with her instead."
He suddenly rolls on top of me and steals my breath away with a kiss so aggressive, so full of animal desire that a repeat of last night’s romp suddenly seems much more appealing than being a responsible grown-up and getting out of bed. He grabs my hands, entwining his fingers in mine as he pins me down against bed, and just as I’m about to give in to him, the alarm clock comes to my rescue.
"The time is: seven... forty-five... AM."
Terrence groans in disappointment and releases me from his thrall, and I hurriedly wriggle out from beneath him before I get myself into even more delightful trouble.
"Marcus is supposed to be back today," I tell him as he begrudgingly climbs out of bed, bracing himself against the tall bedpost. "I need to get you down to the lab before he comes up and finds us."
Terrence laughs and shakes his head. Now there’s a sound I could listen to forever.
"Oh no," he jokes. "We wouldn’t want him to know we’re normal humans, would we?"
I catch the faintest hint of something else hiding behind his joke... bitterness, maybe? He hasn’t adjusted well to being blind. He must hate feeling that he’s bound to the whims of everyone around him, reliant on them babying him to get through the day. I make a mental note to avoid doing it, though I’m not exactly certain how.
Terrence heads toward the bathroom, counting the steps under his breath, and I quickly decide that it should be illegal for him to wear clothes. The well-sculpted muscles of his back flex with each step, and I feel my face flush at the sight of the faint, pink nail marks just below his shoulders—a reminder of last night’s pleasures. My eyes trace their way down his back and shamelessly latch onto the smooth curves of his tight ass, obscured only barely by his skin-tight, gray boxer briefs. Why did I make him get out of bed, again? I must be insane.
Terrence closes the bathroom door, and a moment later, the shower turns on. I’m tempted to join him and inevitably waste what little remains of the morning, but I resist the urge. Instead, I cast off the blissfully warm sheets, brave the chilly morning air, and go on a scavenger hunt for my clothes. My underwear hangs draped over the dresser mirror, and I flush in embarrassment and quickly retie the bows as I dress myself. My little black dress is badly wrinkled after last night's romp, but it's good enough to get me back to my room. One of my stockings is nowhere to be found no matter how thoroughly I search, though, and I can already hear the gossip from the maids after their next weekly cleaning.
Terrence is still in the shower once I've finally given up on the elusive garment, so I distract myself by tidying up a bit. His brown leather shoes lie tossed on the floor beside the dresser, so I grab them and place them next to the door instead. I make the bed, fluff up the pillows and then frown disapprovingly at the thick layer of dust coating the nightstand. I'll have to have a word w haace ith his maids for not cleaning up better in here.
...did I seriously just think that? What the hell's wrong with me? I grab one of Terrence's socks from last night's pile of clothing and wipe away the dust. I've never had a maid a day in my life and I damned well don't need one for a nightstand. I should be ashamed of myself for even considering it.
Terrence finally emerges from the steamy bathroom wrapped in a white towel that's just a hair too small for him, and it's all I can do not to start drooling.
"Enjoy your shower?"
"Yep—nice and hot. If it doesn’t hurt just a little, it’s not hot enough," he answers with a grin. There's something amazingly sexy about his response and I'm glad he can't see me blushing right now. I have no idea what's gotten into me lately—well, apart from him.
"Did you sleep well?" he asks as he slowly makes his way to the dresser.
"Wonderfully once you finally let me go to sleep," I tease.
"Oh, so it's all my fault now?" He sticks his tongue out at me, and I hop down from the bed and wrap my arms around his waist from behind.
"Not entirely your fault," I whisper in his ear. He tenses up at the feeling of my breath against his skin, and I get the impression that sheer willpower is all that's holding him back from throwing me down on the bed and having me for himself again.
The leftmost drawer is filled with neatly pressed shirts, all arranged in rows from light colors to dark. Pants fill the center drawer in the same manner, and finally, socks and underwear on the right. I shouldn't be as surprised as I am at how organized the maids keep everything for him—how else could he find anything to wear? My dresser is a mishmash of blouses and slacks, jeans and sweatshirts all thrown into whatever drawer had room at the time. I'm lucky if they're even folded.
Terrence pulls out a midnight blue button-down shirt, black slacks and a shiny black leather belt, and then I turn away as he dresses. Why I feel that he needs privacy now when I was totally okay with ogling him all the way to the shower is beyond me. Getting dressed is different from undressing, somehow, and staring at his bare, muscular body is only acceptable if I'm planning to fuck him silly afterward. No idea where I got that rule from, but it seems like a good fit after this weekend's pleasures.
"Oh for Christ's sake," he mutters behind me, and when I turn around, he's on his hands and knees by the dresser as if searching for something.
"What's wrong?" I ask, hurrying to his side.
"My shoes," he snaps in exasperation. "I always leave them right here and..."
"I saw them lying there and put them by the door," I tell him, and he se stands up and shoots me a look of irritation as I fetch his shoes.
"Sorry," I whisper meekly. I had no idea it was part of his organizational scheme—I just thought he was messy.
"No worries," he tells me with a soft smile. "You didn't know."
He plants a kiss on my cheek as if to say all's forgiven, and I take my precious time admiring how good he looks before finally looping my arm through his and starting for the door.
We walk silently step by step down the long hallway, down stair after stair on the way to his laboratory. I rack my brain for anything to say, but even though my mind swirls with question wilentls, I can't break the silence. He stares straight ahead as if trying to pretend he doesn't know me, and the sudden chill leaves a sharp pain in my heart. Was this weekend all a mistake? Was it all just a one-night stand we're both going to have to forget?
God, I hope not.
Marcus is waiting for us at the lab entrance, the dark wood of the imposing double doors gleaming in the morning sunlight, and he uncrosses his arms and waves to me with a gentle smile as I approach.
"Good morning, Marcus!"
"Morning to you as well, dear. I hope Terrence didn't get you into too much trouble while I was away."
"None whatsoever. It was a nice, quiet weekend," I lie throu
gh my teeth. Terrence winks at me and I feel the butterflies in my stomach finish off their morning coffee and start fluttering.
"Oh... well, I'm glad to hear that," says Marcus, raising an eyebrow at me. He doesn't believe me, does he?
"Okay, Terrence," I say, breaking away from Marcus's inquiring eyebrow before I start blabbing. "There's sciencing to be done and inventions to be invented. Off with you!"
Terrence laughs, and it almost feels awkward as he unhooks his arm from mine, as if my arm doesn't know what to do with itself now that it's not holding him close.
"Let’s go, old man. You heard the lady," says Terrence, and Marcus guides him across the threshold and into the glass hallway of their labs. Just before the door swings shut, Marcus smiles back at me over his shoulder, and it's the happiest I've ever seen him look.
Chasing Wishes Page 22