by M. Never
“Feisty girl.” Ryan nips at my lower lip.
“Don’t forget it.”
“I won’t. I love you.”
Those three little words make my heart constrict because I never thought I would hear Ryan say them again. I never thought I would feel his touch or see his face. I thought we were over, but I know now we are just beginning.
“I love you, too,” I publicize with my hands still pinned over my head.
Ryan shifts so the weight of his upper body is supported by his elbows. He’s still holding my hands, but it’s gentler now. Connective. Secure.
“What was the guy in college like?” Ryan asks.
“EJ?” I frown. “Why do you want to know?”
Ryan shrugs. “Call it curiosity.”
I stare up into his inquiring, blue eyes and after a few conflictive seconds I answer. “He was perfect on paper.” And for some strange reason I feel guilty telling him the truth.
“Go on,” Ryan urges.
“He was smart, handsome, funny, rich. Ideal marriage material.”
I am incredibly uncomfortable talking about this.
“He sounds perfect.”
“I told you, on paper, he was.”
“But you didn’t trust him?”
“I thought that’s what it was.”
Ryan is searching my face for something. “But it wasn’t?”
“Looking back on it now, I thought my problem with men was that I didn’t trust them. And I’m sure on some level that was true after what happened with us. But I realize, it wasn’t just about my trust issues. The deep seated truth is, no one was you.” I blush from my admittal, the heat rising in my cheeks. I hate talking about my feelings, but with Ryan they seem to pour right out. “I never wanted anyone but you.”
Ryan clasps my hands tighter. “That’s all I ever wanted to be, your perfect.” He rubs his nose gently against mine. “And what an epic fail that was. I thought if I let you go, you could find someone who could give you everything I couldn’t.”
“Well, that plan worked out brilliantly.” There’s no controlling the resentment in my voice.
“I thought I was making a sacrifice. That’s what you do for the people you love.”
“Ryan, you didn’t make a sacrifice, you put yourself on a chopping block.”
“Call it whatever you want, I didn’t want you involved in all my fucked-up shit. You were leaving for college and had this big, bright, future ahead of you. I didn’t want to drag you down.”
“Don’t you think it should have been my decision as to whether I came or went?”
“In hindsight? Yes. But there’s nothing we can do about it now.”
“Yes, there is.” I stare up at him. “We can put it behind us and move forward.”
Ryan smiles. A big, beaming, panty-melting smile. “I like those words.”
“Which words?”
“Us and forward.” He kisses me sensually, his tongue rolling softly against mine. I moan, instinctively flexing my hips, his erection digging into me. It’s a delicious feeling.
“You were my perfect, Ryan. You still are.” I deepen the kiss. All systems go. Ryan exhales a satisfied groan into my mouth as he slides into me slowly, sweetly, lovingly. Seizing every part of me.
“Only. Mine,” he grunts arrogantly, his satisfaction reverberating as he moves leisurely, torturously—in, then out, and over and over again.
I’m a total goner.
Emily was right, Ryan loves the fact I’ve never been with anyone else. And for the first time, I’m not ashamed that he’s the only man I ever slept with. He’s the only one I want to possess me, and he does. In every possible way. On the most elemental levels. Mind, body, soul, and heart. He always has.
I secretly hope he always will.
“ARE YOU SURE you don’t need a date?” Ryan asks for the ten-millionth time. I’m trying to talk hands-free as I pin my hair up with the phone wedged between my shoulder and ear. It isn’t working out so well.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I fumble, “and besides, Emily sent the head count in weeks ago. There isn’t a seat for you at the table.”
“I am not above wedding crashing. I can stand at the bar all night.”
“Ryan . . .” I laugh.
“Fine. Send me a pic of you in your dress, at least.”
“I will.” I smile. “But I gotta go, the limo will be here any minute. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, love you, babe.”
“Love you, too.” I hang up, then stare down at the phone. There isn’t anything I want more than for Ryan to come to Emily’s wedding with me. For him to be on my arm and proudly announce he’s my plus one. My permanent plus one. It doesn’t really matter about the head count, there would’ve been no problem adding him. Especially if he was my date. But what would I tell my father? Dad, this is Ryan my secret boyfriend who strips for a living? Who, by the way, you also convicted five years ago on a drug charge. Why don’t you just lock me in a tower and throw away the key?
Judge Remington would interrogate Ryan the moment he laid eyes on him. It would go something like this . . . where are you from, what’s your family background, where did you go to school, what’s your occupation?
And when Ryan answers every single question wrong, my father will freeze him out. Then forbid me to see him, and when I refuse he’ll rip the carpet out from underneath me, forsaking me as his daughter.
Ryan will meet my father on my terms, when I know he can’t take him—and everything I want—away. It may take years, but I’m more than willing to sacrifice. I just hope Ryan is, too.
There’s a beep in front of my house. It’s time. I run down the curved staircase, my mint-colored bridesmaid dress rippling at my knees.
I hop into the white Navigator limo to find Emily decked out in the most beautiful wedding dress I have ever seen. It’s an over-the-top, ivory Lazaro bridal ballgown. The corset is covered with a sheer overlay that elongates her bodice. The skirt is organza, asymmetrically layered, and flowing like a waterfall all the way down to her feet.
She’s absolutely glowing, and so is my Uncle John, dressed in a black tux with a mint green vest that matches the bridal party colors. He’s openly proud, and full of love for his daughter.
I sit across from them, pelted with pangs of envy.
What I wouldn’t give for my father to look at me that way.
To even see me at all.
My uncle sees me though. He loves me like a daughter, even if I’m not his own.
I’m grateful for that. For him. For Emily.
They’re my only true family.
I stand by the bar sipping champagne. Emily and Alex’s wedding went off without a hitch, and now I’m just taking it all in. I can’t believe my cousin is married. I can’t believe she actually went through with it.
I feel his presence before I see him. It’s like a gust of cold wind. My father. The Honorable Merrick J. Remington, is standing next to me.
“Alana,” he regards me like I’m an acquaintance.
“Daddy.”
“You look very nice,” he comments impassively.
“Thank you.”
Silence.
I catch a woman patting the corners of her eyes; she’s been crying. I think she’s one of Alex’s aunts, I remember her from Emily’s bridal shower. She’s a very nice, older woman who dresses impeccably and treats her two Pomeranians like the children she never had. Watching her reminds me of the last time I cried. It was shortly after my mother died. I was ten, it was Christmas morning, and there were all sorts of presents under the lavishly decorated tree. But I couldn’t bear to open one. Not without her. My father came downstairs and just looked at me from across the room. He didn’t say a word. Just stared as I cried my eyes out. He forced me to open my gifts as the wallops of tears shredded my face. When I was finished, surrounded by piles of soaking wet wrapping paper, he stood up in his smoking robe and slippers, looked down at me and said, “Remember this fee
ling, Alana. It’s weakness. And Remington’s aren’t weak.” Then he disappeared for the rest of the day. I was only ten and my own father was calling me weak because I was mourning my mother’s death. Someone I loved. And because I was showing emotion. I knew from that moment on if I wanted to survive in this house without her, I was going to have to make a drastic change. So, I cried every single tear I could that day, and then never cried again. I shut down, becoming the robot my father wanted. The robot he expected. Living without my mother is like living in a world without color. I saw black and white for so long that I didn’t recognize pigment even when it was splashed right in front of me. The first time I saw a rainbow since my mother’s death was when I met Ryan. He re-introduced what was missing in my life.
I keep turning over what Ryan said, how he wants to be the father he never had. Someone loving, and caring, and actually there.
Sometimes, I wonder if I’m strong enough to be the mother mine once was. Someone tough, yet tender, and affectionate.
Someone who doesn’t need to be the lifeline between father and child. Because that’s what she was. She linked us, and now that she’s gone, the only thing that strings us together is obligation.
On so many levels I hate this man.
On so many levels I love him.
I WON’T SUGARCOAT it, law school’s a bitch.
Over the last three months I’ve read so much I’m surprised my eyeballs haven’t fallen out of my head. I’m closing in on the end of my first semester. It’s no longer warm and sunny in the city, the days have grown shorter, and Thanksgiving is just around the corner. Thank goodness, because I need the reprieve. Not that I don’t love every single second I’m on this campus. I do. I’ve just been feeling a little distant lately. From myself, from my family, and worst of all, from Ryan. I’ve been overly focused on school, borderline obsessed. So the days off will be restorative. And with me immersed like this, Ryan battles for every second he can get with me. I did warn him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I think secretly, he likes the challenge.
I head across campus to the library where I’m meeting my study group, when I hear my name being called. I turn to see my Uncle John walking toward me. He’s decked out in one of his expensive suits—a black three-piece with a white collared shirt. His coat is slung over one arm and a huge smile brightening his face. Once he reaches me he pulls me into a huge bear hug. “How’s my girl?” he asks, with so much emotion you’d think I was really his daughter.
“Fine,” I reply happily. “What are you doing here?”
It’s a nice surprise.
“I had lunch with an old law school buddy.” He grins. “Professor McMillan, do you know him?”
“I’ve heard the name, but he’s not one of my professors.”
My uncle is one of the most renowned lawyers in New York City. All of his clients are A-list, and every case is high profile. He lives every law student’s fantasy. Okay, maybe not every law student, but definitely mine.
“Where are you headed?” He begins to walk with me.
“To the library, I have study group.”
“Looking forward to the long weekend?”
“Yes.” I drop my head back thankfully.
“Are you coming to Thanksgiving dinner?” he inquires.
“Of course, where else would I go?” I stop, dead in my tracks.
It’s not like my dad’s cooking.
“I just thought you might have other plans.” He winks.
I look at him speculatively as the cool November wind blows the ends of my long, blonde hair around. “Why would you think that?”
“Emily may have mentioned you have a special someone in your life. I thought you might be spending the holiday with him.”
I just went into cardiac arrest. “Emily told you?”
My uncle fumbles over his words. “It slipped out. Then I grilled her. But I think it’s great. You deserve to be happy, Alana.”
I stare up at my Uncle John, speechless and slightly panicked. “You can’t tell my father,” I blurt out.
My uncle freezes. “Okay,” he drawls, “I wouldn’t do that without your permission anyway. But can I ask why not?”
“Ryan . . .” I huff. How do I explain this without having it sound worse than it is? “Ryan just isn’t who my father would choose for me.”
My uncle sizes me up. He knows all too well what I mean. Going against my father is like rising up against the government. There are consequences, severe consequences.
“Alana, you know I’ve never agreed with your father’s parenting style. He may be my brother, but I’m not afraid to call a spade a spade. He’s an egotistical asshole who has no right to tell you who to be or who to love.” My uncle’s eyes are fierce. We’ve had this conversation many times. The ‘be who you want to be’ lecture never gets old.
One day I’ll tell him he was the fire that fed my drive to succeed, and that he gave me the courage to emancipate myself from my father’s chokehold so I can live the life I want, with the person I want.
But at the moment, I’m not going to bite the hand that feeds me. Not today. My father pays for everything—school, my apartment, and my credit card bills. So, until I can stand steadily on my own two feet, I’ll play pretty little liar for as long as necessary to get what I want. My uncle may not like it, and I can’t freakin’ stand it, but that’s just the way it has to be.
My father made the rules, I just play by them.
“I know, Uncle John.” I pacify him. “That’s why I’m keeping my relationship to myself. I don’t want to rock the boat and lose focus.”
He smiles as he puts one strong arm around me. “Always levelheaded.”
“I try,” I quip.
“I’m extremely proud of you, Alana.” His sentiment is sincere.
“Thank you.” I rest my head on his chest. I truly love this man.
“I’d like to meet him.” My uncle treads lightly.
I look up alarmed. “Oh . . . I’m not . . . I don’t know if that’s—”
“When you’re ready,” he cuts me off.
I carefully consider.
“Maybe.”
“We don’t have to tell your father.”
“Um, that would be a written clause.” I laugh.
“Good, good.” He gives me another squeeze. “Now, go on and conquer the world like only a Remington can.”
I lift onto my tippy toes and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “See you on Thanksgiving,” I promise before breezing away.
It’s 6:30 p.m. on a Wednesday night, and I’ve been studying civil procedures for the last three hours.
If I didn’t love it so much, I’d ask someone to put me out of my misery. Ryan drops his backpack by the front door catching my attention. I glance at it impassively, knowing exactly what’s in it. His costume or uniform, if that’s what you want to call it—his cowboy hat, eye mask, and tasseled G-string for the Revue, and the little blue metallic shorts for the club. It’s Thanksgiving Eve, the biggest clubbing night of the year, so there’s an extra show this evening and all hands working at Culture tonight . . . yayyy . . . I just sort of block it all out when Ryan goes to work. There’s a lot to be said for blissful ignorance. I try to pretend he’s a car salesman or a waiter or a gas station attendant, basically anything that requires him to wear clothes.
Over the last three months things have gotten routinely comfortable. I don’t get to see him much with school and studying and all, but he’s usually there when I wake up and sometimes when I go to sleep.
Ryan saunters over and sits on the floor next to me. The middle of the living room is my favorite place to study, with all my books and papers spread out in front of me.
He smells intoxicating, a heady mix of my shampoo and his deodorant. Leaning up against the cream leather sofa he props his head onto one hand. “You going to wait up for me?” His tone is suggestive, and it immediately uncurls a very dark desire from somewhere deep inside me.
“Maybe,
are you going to be a good boy tonight?”
“Baby, if you want a good boy, you’re wasting your time with me,” he flirts.
“I didn’t say I wanted a good boy,” I counter, “I just want to make sure you remember who you’re coming home to.”
Ryan stalks closer to me. “I could never forget,” he growls.
“Good,” I groan as he pushes me down and crawls on top of me. Pinning my hands down, he slowly starts licking my neck, teasing his way up until he reaches my mouth.
“I thought you were leaving for work?” I taunt right before he kisses me.
“I am, but I want to show you just how good I can be before I go.” He circles his hips lazily, his erection growing rapidly between my thighs.
“Do you have time for that?”
“I can make it quick.” He nips my bottom lip.
“That’s disappointing,” I joke.
Ryan snaps his head up with a feral look in his eyes. “Oh baby, this is just the warm up.” He then attacks me, his tongue on a mission. I moan into his mouth, breaking my hands free so I can rake them through his hair, my body arching up to feel his.
“What’s underneath here?” Like the bad boy he is, Ryan slides his hand up under my shirt. I’m dressed in my usual studying attire, a gray Columbia sweatshirt and black leggings. No bra.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I provoke.
“I would like to know, and I’m going to find out.” There’s a fight in his voice as he forces my sweatshirt up, the warmth of his hands spreading deliciously across my skin. I didn’t realize how much I needed him until this moment. How much I needed this.
Just before Ryan gets a chance to pull my top over my head, my phone rings.
“Don’t answer it,” he protests immediately, a decibel short of desperate.
I glance down at the screen. Motherfucker. If it was anyone else calling I would listen to him. Instead, I push Ryan off me and adjust my shirt.
“Hello?”I scramble to answer it. A soon as I hear his voice I sit straight up.
“Hi, Daddy.” I look at Ryan, who’s kneeling in front of me with lustful eyes.