Mr. Baker was quiet for a second before looking from me to Bianca. The smile that cracked his face was slow and easy. He shook his head. “No Roman, you were in love with my daughter when you came to my house that day looking for her. I saw it in your eyes and in the way you spoke about her.” Holding the wine in his left hand, he extended his right hand to me and I shook it. “I approve of this and I’m happy for you.” He leaned over and kissed Bianca on the cheek.
“Thank you,” I replied, relief flooding my system.
Bianca tilted her head to the side, her lips twisted into a smile. “I’m happy too.” She reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. “Thanks.”
We entered the living room and immediately I was hit with a sense of familiarity. The dark mahogany leather furniture and polished oak floors reminded me of the Richmond house they sold months ago. The only notable difference between the two homes were the walls. In Richmond, their walls were a crisp white and completely bare. The walls in the Brooklyn brownstone had character. But one wall in particular caught my eye and held my attention.
“Wow,” I breathed. “Did you know about that?”
I turned my head slightly and the moment I looked at Bianca, I knew she was just as surprised as I was. She opened her mouth and then snapped it back closed twice.
“I mean, he asked me where he could look up some of your work, but he never said he was buying anything. I haven’t been over here in months.”
That’s kind of cool, I thought, staring at one of my paintings hanging on my girlfriend’s parents’ wall.
“Everyone.” Mr. Baker’s voice boomed over the music. “This is my daughter Bianca and her boyfriend, Roman.”
About thirty or so people lifted their glasses in our general direction and said hello as the old school R&B eased through the room from speakers I didn’t see.
We spent the next seventy minutes mingling with Bianca’s parents’ guests. We were inseparable. We walked together, hand in hand. When she was talking, I just stood in awe of her. When I was talking, I noticed her doing the same. When we had successfully talked to everyone, we sat on one of the leather couches so we could steal a minute alone.
“When you told that man that you were a curator and he thought you said courier, it took everything in me not to burst out laughing. You didn’t even correct him,” I laughed, recalling the conversation. “You just let him keep talking about the number of couriers in the city.”
“That wasn’t as hilarious as when the lady in the red dress said that you—”
“Bianca, your father and I would like to speak with you both,” Mrs. Baker interrupted, startling us.
Where the hell did she pop up from?
We looked at each other for a second, talking silently. She shrugged with an almost indiscernible shoulder movement. I nodded in return. With our hands still intertwined, we stood and followed Mrs. Baker out of the living room. Silently following her, we left the laughing, drinking guests and the steady beat of music downstairs to enter an eerily quiet office upstairs.
“What’s this all about, Lidia?” Mr. Baker asked as we closed the door behind us. He sat on the edge of his desk. He gestured for us to sit down, but Bianca remained standing so I did as well.
“Our daughter told Jim that she is a courier. As in a delivery person,” Mrs. Baker hissed, pointing at Bianca. “Her job is to represent us. Her job is to be the representation of everything that we’ve done to raise her. The right schools. The right upbringing. The right choices. And the newest partner at the firm thinks my daughter is a mail person!”
Mr. Baker shook his head. “Slow down.” He turned to look at Bianca. “What’s going on?”
“I told him I was a curator. He either didn’t hear me or didn’t know what it was because he continued the conversation as if I were a courier. I continued saying curator. He continued saying courier. That’s on him.” Bianca shrugged and I bit my lip to keep myself from laughing.
The look on his face as he said courier was funny as hell.
“Do you understand what you did? Do you understand how that looks?” Her voice elevated with each question. “Do you understand how disappointing—“
Mr. Baker shook his head. “Lidia—”
“And do you really think telling him you’re an assistant curator making pennies would be any better?” Mrs. Baker snapped. “And let’s be honest, you’re not a curator. You’re an assistant! You get coffee and answer phones. You need a real career!”
I felt Bianca’s body stiffen and I squeezed her hand. I looked between Bianca and her mother and I felt my entire body grow hot. My blood was boiling with each word out of Mrs. Baker’s mouth.
Clenching my jaw, I stared at Bianca’s mother for a second. “Bianca is a curator. Being a curator is a real career. And Bianca is good at what she does,” I interjected firmly.
Mrs. Baker scoffed. “This coming from the artist!” She used air quotes as she said ‘artist.’ “Bianca, you need to get your head out of the clouds and get a real job. Before you know it, you’re going to be thirty with no prospects, no career, no money, no husband. You think you can just continue to float by in life with your looks and—”
“With all due respect, you don’t know anything about Bianca if you think she isn’t going to be highly successful. She has a real job and what she’s doing is her dream.” I looked over at Bianca and when our eyes met, I felt a tightness in my chest. “And although she’s beautiful, she doesn’t float by on her looks. She is talented.”
“Pull yourself together, Lidia,” Mr. Baker barked. “You’re upset and you’ve had too many glasses of wine.”
Ignoring her husband, Mrs. Baker turned her sights on me. With her hand on her hip, she glared. “I told you before when you lied and said you were just friends with my daughter that you were a bad influence on her. You have her believing she has the ability to do something with this art thing. She needs to concentrate on building a business and finding a suitable husband. Not playing around with this art thing and casually dating a man who doesn’t have the means to take care of her,” she sneered.
Mr. Baker stood up and strolled across the room to his wife. “Lidia, you need to stop so we can broach this conversation when we are not hosting a party.”
“She embarrassed us, Stanley! She has one job. Essentially, we pay her to show up to these events and not embarrass us! And now everyone thinks we raised a delivery person.”
He put both hands on her shoulders. My eyes shifted back and forth as I watched Bianca’s parents stare at one another.
“You know what, Mother?” Bianca’s throaty voice was lower, angrier, but still calm. “I’m done.”
“The damage is done, Bianca! The stink of disappointment is already in the air. Everyone is talking about it. Our common daughter and her starving artist beau are just two good-looking people without bankable careers!” She threw her hands up dramatically.
“There’s nothing common about Bianca,” I replied impulsively, my breathing coming harshly. I had no doubt Bianca could defend herself, but hearing someone disrespect her made me see red.
“And Roman’s not a starving artist,” Bianca snapped. “He’s successful. He’s talented. He’s made it. He’s…everything.” She looked over at me and whispered emphatically, “You’re everything.”
My heart rattled in my chest.
Turning back to face her parents, Bianca took a deep breath, her chest heaving. “I’m done letting you criticize me and my choices and my decisions. I’m done putting myself in this position. I’m done being some kind of trophy for you to show off whenever it’s convenient and you want to impress the art crowd, but I’m a disappointment when I’m around your colleagues and friends. I’m done!”
Mr. Baker took a step toward us. “Bianca, sweetheart, let’s talk—”
“Father, your wife has made this an easy decision for me. I don’t need this. I’m done.”
“You’re done? No, we’re done!” Mrs. Baker retorted. “Do you
think you could afford your place in Chelsea if it weren’t for us? Do you think you’d be able to fly off to see your boyfriend whenever you want to if it weren’t for us? Your grandparents’ money will last you a few years and then what? You’ll live off of your assistant salary? I’m sure minimum wage goes a long way in the heart of New York. Like it or not, Bianca, if you want the life you’re accustomed to, you’ll need to have access to our money. And if you want us to continue supporting you then you play by our rules! It’s as simple as that.”
Bianca pulled her hand away from me so she could take a few steps toward her parents. “I don’t want your money anymore.”
“That’s ridiculous. You don’t make enough money to live on, Bianca. Let’s just talk about this later.” Mr. Baker gave me a pleading look. “Roman, maybe you should take her downstairs so these two don’t say something they don’t mean.”
Bianca shook her head and backed up so that we were side by side. “No, I mean exactly what I’m about to say and I want to make sure you both understand me clearly.” She paused and it seemed as though all of us held our breath waiting for her next words. “I’m done. Keep your money. Keep your judgment. Keep your bullshit. You want a trophy, not a daughter and it’s not worth it anymore. Having someone actually support me makes me realize what I never got from you.”
“Do you hear the way she’s talking to us, Stanley? What kind of ungrateful child did we raise?”
“That is enough! I’ve heard enough!” Mr. Baker bellowed, looking between his wife and daughter. “Lidia, you need to stop talking. Now! And Bianca, I know your mother has been offensive, but keeping a roof over your head and a steady flow of income in your bank account is support.”
Bianca sighed. “It always comes down to money for you guys. Financial support is not the only support you are supposed to give to your child. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m done with it all. Roman, let’s go.”
Bianca put her hand back in mine and turned toward the door. I was a little ahead of her, but I continued to look back at her so I could follow her lead.
I glanced over her head at Mr. Baker as he grimaced in frustration. “Bianca, don’t walk out like this. Come back here!”
Mrs. Baker’s voice was shrill as she threatened, “If you leave here, you might as well pack up your apartment and be out by the end of the month. You better stop this instant if you know what’s good for you.”
I opened the door and waited for Bianca to walk through, but it seemed as though her mother’s words had an effect on her. She stopped in her tracks although she didn’t turn around. She looked at me with tears in her eyes that she blinked away. Squaring her shoulders, she turned around. “You can’t buy me. I’m no longer for sale.”
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Chapter Ten
With my arm around her shoulders, I glanced at Bianca as we climbed the stairs from the subway platform. She hadn’t said anything in the entire twenty-five minute ride from Brooklyn. I’d tried unsuccessfully to get her to talk to me once we left her parents’ house, but she said she just wanted me to hold her hand and let her sort through some things. But as we made our way toward her apartment, my thoughts were consuming me and it felt like I was going to explode
I have to do something. This has to be a sign that I should move here. Right? I wondered, looking over at her. We crossed the street and were officially at a full thirty minutes of her not speaking. She’s never this quiet. Ever. And now with this shit—
“I’m sorry,” Bianca said, interrupting my thoughts.
I stopped in my tracks even though we were a few steps from the entrance to her building.
Cupping her face in my hands, I searched her eyes.
What’s going on in that head of yours, B?
“You don’t have anything to apologize for. You didn’t do anything wrong. Like I said when we first left your parents’ house, I’m proud of you, B. You stood up for yourself.”
“I’m used to the bullshit they say about me. I’m just sorry about what they said about you.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “You didn’t deserve that! She had no right to say anything about you or what you do. She doesn’t know anything about you. She doesn’t know anything about me!”
I brought my forehead to hers and stared into her glassy eyes. My hands relocated to the small of her back. “B, it’s fine. I’m not worried about it and I don’t want you to be either.”
“It’s not fine! I hate that they are so money hungry. I hate that my mother is so small minded and stuck up her own ass to acknowledge your success. You are able to survive and thrive doing what you love. Your paintings go for a lot of money and you love what you do. That is a success! That’s the definition of success. Their idea of success is directly related to the number of dollars in your bank account.” She let out a frustrated sigh before burying her face into my chest. “Rich people suck.”
My heart sped up and I became irrationally nervous.
Tonight is probably not the best night to tell her about my trust fund, I thought as she continued her muffled mumbling into the front of my shirt. A chill coursed through my body as I thought of the other things I needed to talk to her about. Tonight’s probably not the best night to talk about anything at all.
Swallowing hard, I closed my eyes and breathed in her sweet smell. “Bianca, look at me,” I demanded softly.
Tilting her head slightly, she peered at me through her lashes. I pulled her body into mine so that I could feel her warmth.
“The only person whose opinion of me mattered in that room was yours. You warned me about your parents a long time ago so I wasn’t surprised. I’m fine. Okay?”
Her brown eyes stared at me with an unreadable expression. “My elitist parents are the last thing I want to talk about. Can we go upstairs and you make me forget this night ever happened?”
“Oh I’ll make you forget,” I growled, grabbing at her ass.
She squealed with laughter as she swatted my hands away. She shuffled as fast as she could through the door that the doorman held open for her. I chased after her, threatening to tickle her.
Once she got to the elevator, Bianca turned around and put her hands on her hips. The kinky curls of her hair framed her face and the lighting in the lobby gave her a golden glow. She was biting her lip in an attempt not to smile which resulted in an expression I instantly fell in love with. Captivated by her beauty, I stopped a few feet in front of her and smiled.
“If you tickle me, I will scream so loud everyone will think you’re trying to murder me,” she informed me, her chest rose and fell quickly.
“I don’t believe you.” I took a step forward.
“I scream loud,” she warned, narrowing her eyes at me.
I smirked. “Oh, I know.”
Her shoulders started shaking and I saw it in her eyes before the laughter burst out of her. As she laughed, I closed the space between us, wrapping my arms around her.
When we got to her apartment door, we tried to quiet ourselves down which only made us laugh harder.
“Shh! We can’t wake Chunk,” Bianca whispered before giggling again.
Once we got ourselves together, we entered the apartment soundlessly. Bianca slipped her heels off and I scooped her up and carried her over my shoulder through the dimly lit living room. The faint sound of a TV could be heard from the bedroom on the opposite end of the hallway. We didn’t say a word until we had her bedroom door closed and locked.
“You can put me down now,” Bianca commented as she slapped my ass.
It was pitch-black, but I was just as aware of Bianca as I was in the light. Pinning her legs against my chest, I was able to use my fingers to stroke the bare skin of her thigh. Goosebumps erupted in the wake of my path. “What if I don’t want to put you down?” I murmured, turning my face into her hip.
She squirmed a little. “Put me down before you drop me!”
“I’m not going to drop you.”
“You don’t know what could happen.”<
br />
I slid her down my body until her feet touched the ground. Letting my fingers get lost in her hair, I brought my face to hers. “But I know that you’re safe with me.”
I felt the rush of air leave her lungs at my words and a smile played at the corners of my lips. It was good to know that I affected her the way she affected me.
We just stood there, taking each other in in the dark. The house was void of sound so each breath she took told me how bad she wanted me. My heart was thumping so hard that I knew she could hear it. I waited longer than necessary to press my lips against hers because I wanted her to hear it. I wanted her to know what she meant to me.
The moment became unbearable and I gave in, kissing her with enough passion to take her breath away. My body reacted instantly.
I sucked on her bottom lip until she moaned in my mouth. Her moan was like a bell going off inside me. I slid my hands down her body and over her rounded hips until I was cupping that perfect ass of hers. With a firm grip, I pulled her against me. I wanted her to feel how hard I was, how hard she made me.
Bianca’s fingers danced over my back as she pulled my shirt up and over my head. She ran her nails over my skin and my muscles constricted in anticipation of her next move. My gut twisted with yearning.
I kissed her teasingly, diving in and then pulling away. I caressed my tongue against hers and she moaned again. The sound of her moaning vibrated through me and my dick strained against my zipper.
“B,” I growled against her lips as she unzipped my jeans.
I trailed kisses from her lips across her cheek and down her neck. With each kiss, I peeled the straps from her body, letting her dress fall to the ground. My hands brushed against her hardened nipples as her beautiful body was exposed.
I nibbled on her collarbone as my fingers grazed the lace material of her G-string. She shuddered the closer I got to my prize. The anticipation of touching Bianca burned. I wanted her badly and holding back until I couldn’t take it anymore was a high that couldn’t be replicated.
B is my drug.
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