His eyes turned shy, round cheeks suffused with pink. I watched his teeth sink into his lower lip, then release.
“Tell me what you want, puppy.” I cajoled, running my fingertips down his spine.
I loved the way he shivered under the touch.
“Say it again.”
My fingers paused, settling in the middle of his back. Of all the things he could have asked for, of all the things I was more than willing to hand over, it was this he wanted?
How am I going to survive him?
I didn’t make him wait. I never would. These words would be available to him at any moment’s notice.
“I love you.”
His face ducked into my chest, and I felt him smile.
Gently but firmly, I pulled the strands of his hair, lifting his head so I could look into his face. “I really love you. So much.”
Emotion swirled in his gaze, overtaking his entire face. And then he was crawling up my body, movements clumsy and endearing, lips latching onto mine and pulling me into a kiss that robbed us both of breath.
I don’t know where we tumbled, but we went there together, sinking into each other like it was the last place on earth.
When finally we broke apart, Fletcher sucked in a deep breath and then pecked one last kiss against my lips.
My little kiss monster.
“If we don’t get out of this bed, I’m going to have you again.” I half growled, half groaned.
He bobbed his head like he was hoping I’d do just that.
“Stop being so cute,” I said, pecking the tip of his nose with a kiss. “Your body needs a break.”
He whined when I slid out from beneath him but uttered no word of complaint when I carried him into the bathroom to shower us both.
“Ethan?” His tentative voice made me pause as I was soaping up his back.
I hummed, inviting him to go on.
“How did you know Milly was my mother?”
The loofah fell out of my hand, and instead of pulling him around, I slipped forward, pushing between him and the wall to stare into his face.
“I guessed. Seems like you have a pretty complicated relationship with your mom, and the only other name I’d heard mentioned was that one… I thought they might be one and the same.”
“She doesn’t like me.”
Water dripped off his nose, rivulets tracing over his ears. His downturned face hid his expression, but I didn’t have to see his face to feel the stark pain he emanated.
My heart clenched at how small and vulnerable he appeared. He’d refused to speak about her before, so now that he was, I wanted to tread carefully.
I also didn’t want to scoff and deny what he said because, just judging from the things I’d seen and snippets of talk I’d heard, he was likely telling the truth.
What a moronic woman. An evil villain in this city.
She must lack a heart to not love someone like him.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I said gently, drawing him into my arms. “I’ll love you enough for both of us.”
“I don’t want your parents not to like you because of me.”
His words were hollow. Aching. Incredibly perceptive.
I pulled back, but he refused to look up.
“Look at me,” I ordered.
His eyes lifted.
“Good boy,” I murmured, stroking the flesh of his earlobe. Just that minuscule praise softened him noticeably. “I choose you. Over anyone. Anything. People who don’t like you don’t matter to me, and I’m begging you not to let them matter to you.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to have someone hate you. Someone who is supposed to love you.”
My heart cracked. Swallowing down the lump of sickness lodged in my throat, I blinked, trying to rein in my thundering heart. “You’re right, puppy. I don’t, and it kills me that you do. I can’t take that hurt away from you or erase the scars it’s left. But I can love in spite of it. I can promise I won’t ever hate you, and I will always be by your side.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Not really sure how to reassure him, I did something I hadn’t ever done before. The moment I did, he drew back slightly, dividing his gaze between the pinky I held between us and my face.
“What are you doing?”
“They don’t pinky swear in the Grimms?”
He made a face. “I highly doubt they pinky swear in the Upper East Side either.”
I shrugged. “They do it on TV.”
He giggled. The sound was pure and innocent and made tears spring to the backs of my eyes. His pinky hooked around mine, and we stood there under the spray while I sealed my vow.
“Always by your side,” I whispered, holding my thumb up.
He blinked, confused, and I lifted his thumb, then pressed the pads of both together. Pinkies entwined, thumbs pressed together, I leaned down and kissed them.
“Stamped and sealed,” I announced when I was finished.
He giggled again.
We finished washing in comfortable silence, his mood not nearly as heavy as before. It just made me all the more determined to make his future better than his past.
36
Villain
* * *
Red soles.
The brand-new black shoes he wore were adorned with unmistakable red soles. It was a signature design the stupid boy probably didn’t even know.
But I did.
Knowledge from long ago still branded my brain. Not like a tattoo, more like a scar. Though I was a far cry from the world I’d once forayed in, it was a past life I would never, ever forget.
How could I?
That life was the reason for the one I lived now.
There was definitely something different about the boy when he stepped into the house that night. At first, I didn’t think much of it. But his boldness grew until it was hard to ignore, and the flash of red on the bottom of his feet caught my eye. The hem of the designer hoodie that peeked out from beneath his threadbare coat was impossible to miss.
He smelled of money, of a new sort of arrogance, which made him think he could ask questions and try to trip me up.
Did he know something?
No. He was too stupid for that.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling something was going on. Something I wouldn’t like. I’d hidden that child away for over twenty years, practically in plain sight.
No one would dare look for the son of an elitist in the slums. It was impossible for them to even comprehend.
But now I found myself worrying their paths might somehow cross.
This wouldn’t do. No, not at all.
All my years of sacrifice would be for naught. And his years of torment were far from over.
I hope you die wondering where your precious blood went. I hope you die knowing the reason you lost your son was that he didn’t have the right mother.
I couldn’t shake the vision of the red soles, of the feeling those were a warning I needed to heed.
The air outside was bitter, its icy fingers reaching into the cloak I wore to brush over my cheeks and the tip of my nose. A stark craving for vodka ate away at my insides.
That stupid boy even wasted my stash, and now I had to go out to buy more. How I hungered for the flick of the alcohol’s fire, to feel it burn a path all the way to my core. Alcohol was the only heat hot enough to mask the frozen soul inside me.
The aromatic scent of yeast flooded out an open door ahead, accompanied by the annoying jangle of a bell. The wintry air blasted me, bringing with it the slightly sweet aroma, making my stomach growl.
Before the door to the bakery closed, I slid in, folds of the heavy cloak flapping around my ankles. Inside was brighter than the sidewalk, the bright lights accented by the glowing counter displaying a bountiful presentation of bread and sweets.
The aisles were lined with other staples and things people thought went well with bread. Honey, jam, and different spreads.
Things I never bothered to buy. Packaged rolls, loaves, and cookies sat in baskets, and people stood around the counter across the small shop, gossiping as if they had nothing better to do.
People were the same no matter what social circle they walked in. All of them gossiped, whispered, and pretended. All of them played games and lied.
The only difference between the Grimms and the Upper East Side was that the people dressed, ate, and lived better.
“Is that all you want today, Martha?” the man behind the counter asked, packing some stuff into a bag.
“That’ll be it for today,” she replied. “Just add it to the tab.”
Another woman standing among them scoffed. “Just add it to the tab,” she mocked. “You get a real thrill outta saying that every day, don’t you, Martha?”
Martha took the bag, making an uppity sound. “You act as if I haven’t earned the right.”
My eyes rolled as I stepped behind one of the displays, listening to their petty dribble.
“You hardly earned it. A boy stole a loaf of bread out of your bag, and you threw a fit. If it wasn’t for the richie coming in to save the day, you’d be eating days-old bread like the rest of us.”
My ears perked up at those words. A richie... here in the Grimms?
“I was a victim just like our fine baker,” Martha said, and I peeked around to see the man behind the counter nod.
“Never seen anything like it. That man marched into the police station with his fancy clothes and monied accent. Just his presence alone had Fig shaking in his boots. I knew that boy Neo had connections with that Ivory White, but I had no idea the little guy knew one too.”
The little guy.
Fletcher.
Moving along the racks, I slithered until I was closer to the gossip, not wanting to miss a single word.
“Is it really true? The heir of the Abbott group really walked in and bailed him out?” Another shopper appeared from somewhere in the store, clearly also listening.
The baker made a sound. “As true as can be. Gave me a handful of cash and has been paying the tab for Martha since. Paying for all she can eat for the whole year!”
The heir of the Abbott group… Beneath the cloak, my hands curled into themselves. My upper lip curled, and a bitter taste coated the back of my throat.
“I’ve seen that white Mercedes in these parts a few times now,” someone added. “Fig better think twice before he keeps trying to haul in that boy. Ethan Abbott threatened with his lawyers, and we all know it’s not an empty threat.”
“Money,” the baker spat. “Buys you out of all kinds of trouble.”
“It also buys you bread.” Martha cackled, the rattling of her bag loud in my ears.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her walk toward the exit. Clearing my throat, I stepped forward. “Excuse me.”
Martha turned, a wary expression crossing her features.
I pushed back the hood, ignoring the tremble in my hands. I really need a drink.
The moment my identity was revealed, Martha relaxed. “Milly. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Been busy,” I said. “Did I just hear you talking about Ethan Abbott?”
Her eyes widened, and a little bit of a gleeful glint came into her conniving gaze. “You mean you don’t know? It involves your own son!”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking,” I snapped.
The glee left her eyes, replaced with caution. Caution she would do well to entertain.
“Well?” I demanded, drawing the stares of the others standing up front.
“It was your boy,” she explained. “Fig caught him stealing from me and the baker. Dragged him into the station, and that bigshot from the Upper East Side came and bailed him out.”
“Ethan Abbott?”
She nodded. “Knew it was him right away. See him on TV all the time.”
What is Fletcher doing tangled up with Ethan Abbott? How in God’s name did they meet?
“Don’t you have something to say to me?” The entitled snap brought my attention back to Martha.
“What?”
“I said your son stole from me. Aren’t you going to apologize? He’s been running these streets for years, causing trouble, taking everything he can get his dirty hands on. You should have raised him better.”
How dare she? How dare this insignificant wretch pass judgment on me?
When I stepped forward, she stepped back. I stepped again, but she was frozen in place. My glare unwavering, I leaned in, keeping my voice low and controlled but achingly cold. “You’re lucky I didn’t do better at raising him, because if I had, he would have struck you dead and emptied your pockets before relieving you of your bread.”
All the color seeped from Martha’s know-it-all cheeks. Her eyes flashed with horror, and the bag in her hand suddenly was hugged against her chest. “You’re an awful woman,” she whispered.
I smiled.
She escaped quickly, the door unable to close because it was caught by the blowing wind.
Feeling the eyes of the others behind me, I rotated, meeting their stares. They glanced away, going back to idle tasks they weren’t even bothering with to begin with.
Reaching down, I grabbed a packaged muffin that was sitting in a basket with others just like it. The wrapper crinkled loudly, filling the pungent silence.
“Put this on the richie’s tab too,” I said, teeth sinking into the pastry.
The man at the counter didn’t argue, and I left through the still-open door, not once looking back.
Ethan Abbott.
Red-soled shoes. Designer hoodie. A pocket full of money and a sudden display of backbone…
Fletcher, Fletcher, what have you been up to?
37
Fletcher
* * *
The place where the ball was being held looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. Everything was sparkling and brand new, and the rooms were wide-open, grand and glittered with gold touches. I knew it was a hotel, but really, it felt more like a castle.
I mean, sure, I knew Ethan was rich. I even thought of him as a prince. But lately, I thought less about that because, to me, he was more.
He had become the first thought in my head in the morning, my last thought every night. His kiss echoed across my lips, and his scent lingered on my skin. He was warmth and comfort, reassurance and strength, control in a chaotic world, order in the mess that was my heart.
While I knew my brothers loved me and we shared a bond no one else could touch, Ethan was different… He was more.
I was still scared to love him, but I was also scared not to. Scared that one day I would wake up and realize this had all been a dream.
What a beautiful dream Ethan was, and as I stood inside this massive ballroom, the glass dome ceiling framing the already darkening sky while polished marble stretched beneath my feet, I couldn’t help but feel like Sleeping Beauty.
If this was a dream, I hoped to never wake up.
“Agh!” a dramatic voice called from the second floor above. “The sound just floats up here, swirling through the air with romantic perfection!” The coordinator, whose name was too fancy to remember, made a kissing sound into the air. “Bellissima!”
Lowering my violin and bow, I glanced at the man sitting nearby at the piano. “Is that good?”
The man snickered. “Very.”
The coordinator walked dramatically along the carved-stone railing above, his hand trailing the cool stone as his oversized pants swished with every step. His hair was slicked down, making it look wet, and the ends of the scarf tied at his throat trailed behind him like there was an invisible wind only he felt.
He descended the wide stone and marble staircase slowly, as if he were on TV. “The upper crust of this city is going to go gaga over this!” he practically squealed.
My stomach grumbled, and I had a sudden craving for pizza. We’d been rehearsing for hours. For days. I didn’t mind so much. I liked to play my violin, but
I was tired. I’d never rehearsed for anything so much in my life. Usually, I just played what came. I played with no plan or organization.
Apparently, I couldn’t do that when there were other musicians hired to accompany my playing, so we’d made a setlist and had been rehearsing nonstop.
“Now,” the coordinator declared, stopping where we were stationed toward one side of the ballroom. “I think this is the perfect setup. The music carries beautifully, and you are still in sight of everyone but won’t be in the way.”
“Does that mean we’re done for the day?” I asked, hopeful.
“My job is far from done,” he quipped but then waved his fingers. “But you can go. Everything is set. Play like this tomorrow night, and the crowd will be eating out of your hands.”
I didn’t want anyone to eat out of my hand, but I didn’t say that. I just packed up my violin and grabbed the coat Ethan insisted on buying me.
It was light-gray wool with a big hood that spread over my shoulders when it wasn’t up. It had lots of buttons and deep pockets that kept my hands warm.
It was a lot different than the puffy black coat Ivory had gifted me, but I liked this one too. I liked it because Ethan had chosen it, and when I put it on the first time, his eyes went soft and he’d said, “This will keep you warm.”
The cell phone in the pocket was also something new. Again, I carried it at Ethan’s insistence. I didn’t think I needed one, but when he told me he wanted to be able to hear my voice at any moment, I couldn’t possibly say no.
And honestly, after the way I ran off the other day, I knew me having it made him feel better.
Sometimes I called him in the middle of the day just to see if he would answer. He did.
Every. Single. Time.
After buttoning up my coat, I pulled out the phone, checking the time. Despite the long day, we’d actually finished a little early. Ethan wasn’t due to pick me up for another hour. Deciding not to wait, I tucked the phone away and grabbed my case.
It wasn’t a far walk to his building, so I would just go to him.
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