“What about your mom?”
“We usually get along. But we don’t talk much so there aren’t many opportunities to disagree or argue. Do you get along with your parents?”
“I love my parents more than anything, but they have trouble letting me grow up and that causes arguments. My dad doesn’t say much, but my mom is constantly telling me she knows what’s best for me. She’s always telling me what to do. She doesn’t understand that the life she has planned for me is what she wants, not me.”
“What does she want you to do?”
“Move back to Indiana. Live in the same town as her and my dad. Get married and buy a house right next to hers. She has a whole list of things I’m supposed to do. Today she told me my ex-boyfriend stopped by. He’s from my hometown. My mom loves him. She gave him my phone number. I haven’t talked to him for over a year but it sounded like my mom was already planning the wedding.”
“How long did you date him?”
“About a year. We went to the same college and dated senior year. He proposed right before we graduated.”
Shit, I wasn’t supposed to tell him that. Because telling Pearce about Adam will lead to telling him I can’t have kids. And I’m not ready to tell him that.
“So he wasn’t just a boyfriend,” he says. “He was your fiancé.”
“Yes, but we weren’t engaged for very long.”
“Can I ask why you broke off the engagement?”
“I didn’t break it off. He did.” I squeeze my eyes shut, frustrated with myself. I didn’t mean to tell him that either. If I keep doing this, I’ll end up telling him everything. Part of me wants to. I want to know if he’s going to stick around after I tell him. Because if he won’t, we should just end this now.
“How could this man possibly pass up the chance to marry you?”
I open my eyes and see Pearce smiling at me. I’m not sure what his question means. Is he just being nice? Or is he making some kind of statement about his feelings for me?
“It just didn’t work out,” I say, trying to get off the topic.
“Would you rather not talk about it?”
“Not tonight. Maybe some other time.”
We’re both quiet, then Pearce says, “So going back to your mother, what do you tell her when she tries to control your life?”
“Not much. I usually just keep quiet and let her talk.” I pause. “The thing with my mom is that I feel Iike I can’t stand up for myself because every time I try, she breaks down crying, saying she’s just trying to help me and be a good mom.”
“So she gives you the guilt trip.”
“Big time. And I know exactly what she’s doing, but I just let her do it because it’s easier than fighting with her. Plus, I feel bad for her. She’s never gotten over my sister’s death. That’s why she’s so overprotective of me. She doesn’t want to lose me too. But what she doesn’t understand is that by being so overprotective, she’s pushing me away.” I pause again. “But honestly, I do love her. And my dad. Aside from being overprotective, they’re great parents. And they’re both really good people. They’re always the first to help whenever someone needs it. Even a stranger.”
“My father tries to control me,” Pearce says. “But he’s far worse than your mother. And he is not a good person. I’ll just leave it at that.”
I feel him tense up, his hand tightening around mine. I find another topic. A lighter topic.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.” I see his lips turn up. “Like the color of your eyes.”
“Favorite band?”
“I mostly listen to classical music.”
“Favorite food?”
“I think after tonight I’d have to say ice cream.”
“Favorite book?”
“The Art of War.”
“Seriously? That’s not exactly fun reading.”
“I don’t read fiction. What’s your favorite book?”
“I like a lot of different books, usually ones set in the past, given my love of history. Little Women is one of my favorites.”
“And what’s your favorite color?”
“Blue. But I have secondary favorites that vary by the season. Like right now I love orange. Orange leaves. Orange pumpkins. Okay, my turn to ask. What’s your favorite place to visit?”
“Italy. I like all the small villages along the Mediterranean coastline. It’s a beautiful area. The food is delicious. The people are friendly. And nobody knows who I am. I can walk the streets without being bothered.”
“That happens here?”
Pearce told me his family is well-known but I wasn’t sure how well-known. I hadn’t heard of him until I read the poster promoting the lecture series.
“Unfortunately, it happens more than I would like. I get recognized a lot here on the East Coast. Not so much elsewhere. Of course, within the chemical industry everyone knows who I am, and my father is well-known in the financial world, so some people know me because of that.”
“Do you travel a lot?”
“Not anymore. I used to travel during college breaks, mainly so I wouldn’t have to go home.” His voice trails off, but his comment, and his earlier one about his father, tells me he doesn’t get along with his family, so much so that he doesn’t even like being around them. There’s a history there but I’m not going to ask him about it. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it.
I ask the next question, not sure how he’s going to react. “Have you ever been married?”
“Yes,” he says simply. “When I was 22. It lasted a year.”
“What was she like?”
“Quiet. Reserved. She mostly stayed at home and read books.”
“Where did you meet her?”
He lets go of my hand. “At a dinner party at her parents’ house.”
“How long did you date her?”
He sighs. “Why are you asking about this? You already knew I was married. Are you trying to test me? See if I’ll tell you the truth?”
He’s angry. And he’s right. It was a test and I don’t know why I did it. I guess I don’t trust him as much as I thought I did.
“I’m sorry, Pearce. I only asked because I couldn’t understand why you didn’t tell me you’d been married. That’s kind of a big thing to leave out when you’re getting to know someone.”
He’s silent, then says, “It was an arranged marriage. Our parents set it up. It’s a common practice among wealthy families.”
He says it like it’s just a fact. No big deal.
“I didn’t know that was still done. I know it used to be done all the time, but now it seems old-fashioned.”
“For families like mine, it’s tradition. And it’s not that unusual. It’s still a common practice in many parts of the world.” He holds my hand again. “I don’t want to talk about it. Next question.”
“Pearce, this is something we have to talk about. If you’re going to be forced into another arranged marriage someday, then why are we dating? Not that I’m thinking we’d ever get married but—” I stop. I was going to say that dating is generally a process used to see if you want to marry the person, but maybe that’s not what it is to him. Maybe he just wants to date me for a few weeks, then move on to someone else. I don’t think he’s like that, but I’m not really sure.
“I’m not doing it again,” he says forcefully.
“Not doing what?”
“An arranged marriage.”
“Do you get a choice?”
“Usually not, but traditions have to end sometime and I’ve already fulfilled my obligation once. I’m not doing it again. Now can you please ask me a different question?”
His stress level is rising again. I need to calm him down.
“Have you ever had a pet?” I ask.
“No. And you?”
“I grew up on a farm. I had all kinds of pets. Dogs, cats, chickens, pigs. Well, we ate the chickens and the pigs but they were pets until they disappeared
one day.”
He laughs. “That’s rather cruel.”
“I guess. But it’s a lesson you have to learn as a farm kid. Don’t become friends with animals that will eventually end up on your dinner plate.”
He laughs again. “I could see how that would be an important lesson.”
“Have you ever been to a farm?”
“No. I never have.”
“You’re not missing much. I liked growing up there but I wouldn’t go back and live that life. Okay, next question. Did you play any sports in high school?”
“Football.”
“I should’ve known that. You’re built like a football player.”
He slips his hand under the hem of my shirt. It brushes against my skin, sending a shiver through me. “Do you know enough about me yet?”
“No. But nice try.”
“Does this ban only apply to sex? Or any kind of physical contact?”
“Just sex. But I think if we do other stuff, we won’t be able to stop.”
“So I can’t kiss you?”
“You can kiss me.”
He leans over and kisses me just once. I kiss him back, which leads to him giving me another kiss. And another after that. The kisses continue, becoming deeper, more intimate, as his hand slowly slides up my shirt.
“Is this banned?” he asks over my lips as he caresses my breast.
“No,” I whisper.
He lifts my shirt up and I sit up enough for him take it off. I lie back down and he puts his mouth over my breast, his tongue teasing my nipple.
I moan, begging for more. I don’t know what other guys were doing, but they were doing something wrong because it never felt this way with them.
Pearce’s hand slips down my pajama pants and under my panties. “How about this?” I hear him say. “Off limits?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He continues pleasuring me with his hand until I’m beyond satisfied. I relax into the pillow, my body reveling in the warm, consuming afterglow.
Pearce lies on his back and puts his arm out, inviting me to lie next to him. But I’m not ready yet. I reach down and take him in my hand.
I hear his breath catch. “Rachel, you don’t have to.”
“I want to.” And I do. I return the favor, then lie in his arms and fall asleep.
In the morning, I wake up and find myself wrapped all around him, our arms and legs entwined. I look up to check the clock.
“Pearce.” I nudge him to wake him up. “It’s six. What time do you need to be at work?”
He opens his eyes. “Right now.”
“Sorry, I should’ve set the alarm.”
He turns on his side to face me. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
I run my hand over his bare chest. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m the one who insisted you stay. And I’m glad you did. It was a good night. I learned a lot about you.”
He kisses me. “But you still need to know more?”
I laugh. “Yes. A lot more.”
He pulls me on top of him and kisses my neck. “There isn’t much more to tell.”
“I doubt that.” I feel his muscular body beneath me, his warm skin. He’s only wearing boxers and I can feel his arousal between my legs. Being in this position is far too tempting.
I move off him to the side. “Do you want breakfast? I have cereal and I think I have milk.”
“I’m taking you to the grocery store this week. You never have anything to eat.”
“Yes I do. I have all kinds of stuff.”
“Your fridge is empty, and the only food you have in your cupboards is macaroni and cheese. You can’t live on macaroni and cheese.”
“I’m proof that you can. I eat it every day.”
“Well, I don’t. And if I’m going to be over here all the time, you need to stock the fridge. I’ll pay for it. I cost a lot to feed.”
I kiss his cheek. “I didn’t know you were planning to be over here all the time.”
He sits up on his side. “I’ll be over here as much as you let me.”
I smile. “Then I better stock up on food because I want you to come over more. And maybe spend the night again.”
“I will definitely do that.” He leans over and kisses me. “So that settles it. I’m buying you groceries.”
“I’ll make a list and we’ll go shopping next time you’re here.”
I don’t want him paying for my groceries, but right now I could really use the help. I’m barely making ends meet and there’s no way I’m asking my parents for money.
“I need to get to work.” He gives me a quick kiss, then gets out of bed and gets dressed.
When he’s at the front door ready to leave, he gives me another kiss, this time a longer, sexier kiss, then says, “Goodbye, Rachel.”
As he’s walking away, I call after him, “Much better that time!”
He’s already down the stairs. I laugh as I close the door.
My phone rings and I go in the kitchen to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hi, Rachel, it’s Laura.”
Laura manages the shelter. She usually doesn’t call me so I’m surprised to hear from her.
“Hi, Laura. What’s going on?”
“We’re canceling the reading lesson this Saturday because we had a pipe break overnight and water went everywhere. There was a lot of damage and it’ll take at least a week to clean everything up.”
“Do you need me to help?”
“No, we have a crew coming in. I just wanted to let you know not to come in this Saturday. We transferred everyone to a different shelter but it’s so crowded there that it wouldn’t be worth trying to teach with all that noise.”
“Okay, then I guess I’ll see you a week from Saturday.”
“It may not be cleaned up by then, but I’ll keep you posted.”
“Hey, I wanted to tell you that I met Jack Ellit yesterday.”
“Who’s Jack Ellit?”
“The man who funds the literacy program.”
“Nobody funds the literacy program. Donations go into a general fund and get divided up later.”
“He made it sound like he was a significant donor. He even said he’d look into converting space in the building next door into a classroom so we’d have a place to teach.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rachel. I’ve never heard of anyone name Jack Ellit. And I’ve seen the list of donors. In fact, I’ve met most of them at fundraising events. That man must’ve been confusing our shelter with a different one.”
“Yeah. He must have. Okay, well, bye.”
She hangs up and I set the phone down, my hand shaking. Who was that man who was here? And why did he make up that story about funding the literacy program? He said he knew Laura. He knew that I volunteered at the shelter. He knew I was a student. How did he know all that? Is he watching me?
I let him into my apartment. I answered his questions. He knows all about me. He knows where I live.
What if he comes back? Who is this man and what does he want with me?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
17
PEARCE
By the time I drive home, get myself ready, then drive to work, it’s 7:30, much later than my usual start time. My father is waiting for me in my office.
“You’re late,” he says, not bothering to say hello. He was facing the window but turned around when he heard me walk in.
“I’m not late. Most jobs start at nine, so by traditional standards I’m early.”
I would normally just apologize for being late, but today I feel like fighting back. Talking with Rachel last night reminded me just how much my father controls me, not letting me have any kind of life. It’s gotten to the point I’ve become numb to it. But last night, something sparked inside me and told me to fight.
“This job isn’t nine to five,” he says. “This job is your life and you will be here when I say to be here.”
“As long as I get my work done, i
t shouldn’t matter when I get here or when I leave.” I go around him and sit at my desk.
He stands beside it, staring down at me. “Getting it done and doing it right are two separate things. Your work is satisfactory at best, which is why you need to be here putting in the hours to meet the level of performance I expect.”
“If you feel I’m not performing up to par, fire me.” I’ve never said that to him, but I’ve wanted to a million times.
He huffs. “Are you drunk?”
I almost laugh, but I keep a serious face. “No, I am not drunk. But I have a lot to do so I would appreciate it if you would let me get to work.”
“You will be here at six tomorrow.”
I don’t answer. He likes having the last word so I let him have it. He turns and walks out the door.
God, that felt good. It wasn’t much, but standing up to him with just those few comments was enough to give me some energy. Some life.
I notice a new stack of contracts on my desk. My father put them there because he knows how much I hate reviewing them. But right now I don’t care. I’m still in a good mood from being with Rachel and I’m going to try to keep it going the rest of the day.
I check my phone and see the message light blinking. I listen to the messages. The first one is work related, but the second one is from Rachel. I call her back.
“Rachel, it’s Pearce.”
“Hi. I’m sorry to bother you at work but I need some advice. I wasn’t sure who else to ask. Shelby’s at work and I don’t want to tell my parents this or they’ll worry.”
“Go ahead.”
“Yesterday, a man came to my apartment. He said he donates money for the literacy program at the homeless shelter I volunteer at. He said he stopped by because he was trying to get to know all the volunteers. He was an older man and seemed okay so I let him in. He asked me all these questions about myself, and at first I thought he was just being friendly. But when he didn’t ask much about the literacy program, I got suspicious.”
I already don’t like this story. It doesn’t make sense. A financial donor would not show up uninvited at a volunteer’s home. He could’ve easily met Rachel at the shelter when she’s there working. And since she doesn’t know this man, she never should’ve let him into her apartment. She needs to be more careful. She’s far too trusting of people.
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