by Hannah Gray
Copyright © 2020 by Hannah Gray
All rights reserved.
Cover Designer: Okay Creations
Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
contents
prologue
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
twenty
twenty-one
twenty-two
twenty-three
twenty-four
twenty-five
twenty-six
twenty-seven
twenty-eight
twenty-nine
thirty
thirty-one
thirty-two
thirty-three
thirty-four
thirty-five
thirty-six
thirty-seven
thirty-eight
thirty-nine
forty
forty-one
forty-two
forty-three
forty-four
forty-five
forty-six
forty-seven
forty-eight
forty-nine
fifty
fifty-one
fifty-two
fifty-three
fifty-four
fifty-five
fifty-six
epilogue
acknowledgments
about the author
prologue
Anna
Ten Years Old
Mommy grabs my cheeks with her hands, gripping them tighter and tighter as her face gets closer to mine. I wish she’d just give me a spanking and get it over with; that would hurt less than having my cheeks squeezed like it’s one of those squishy stress-ball thingies.
With her teeth gritted, she speaks in a hushed yet intimidating voice in the changing room at the pageant, “You are being an embarrassment to your father and me, Anna. You’re up there, onstage, squirming around, messing everything up that we have worked on with you. Your sister never squirmed that much; that’s why she always won, and you always get second or third.”
“S-s-sorry, Mommy. I had to pee. I really had to pee.” I really did have to pee. I know it’s not a reasonable excuse, but it’s the truth. Sometimes, a girl just has to go.
Her cold palm slapping my cheek happens so fast that I didn’t even feel her other hand let go of my face. It stings, and tears burn the backs of my eyes. But I can’t let them fall. No, Mommy says that crying makes me weak. I’m ten years old, and ten-year-olds are not supposed to cry. Mommy says so.
My sister, Fern, never cries. She’s fourteen. But she also never has a reason to cry because she is perfect. Her hair is perfect, her skin is perfect, she’s graceful, and she always does well in her pageants. She’s everything that I’m not. And our mom knows it. That’s why Fern is Mom’s favorite instead of me.
I’d rather be outside, playing in the mud with the boys who live a few streets over. Their houses aren’t as big as ours, but I bet they have a lot more fun. I bet their mommy doesn’t slap them for squirming too much, and I bet their daddy doesn’t ignore them all the time. I bet their mom makes cookies with them and probably lets them play sports. I’ll even bet they are allowed to have a pet dog or cat and can probably even pick out their own lunchbox and backpack for school. Yeah, I bet they can do all of those things.
Maybe I could, too, if I had parents who loved me. Mine don’t—that’s clear to see. I wish I had been born to another family. I’m only ten years old, but I know it isn’t supposed to be this way. Moms and dads are supposed to give you hugs and kisses and tuck you in at night and snuggle you, not mine though. They just make me feel like I’m an embarrassment. I try my best not to be; it’s just hard when you don’t fit in and aren’t good at anything.
One day, I’ll break away from it all. I’ll live my own life far, far away. And when I have babies, they’ll never have to question if I love them; they’ll just know. And they will never, ever know my parents. I’ll make sure of it.
One day, I’ll find someone who loves me, even when I’m squirming too much or embarrassing them. I’ll find someone who accepts the bad parts about me, maybe even loves them. They’ll build me up instead of making me feel sad. They will be my family. And finally, maybe then, I can even learn to love myself. Maybe.
one
Anna
Sophomore Year of College
“You need to stop. Your mom is going to walk in any minute,” I whisper in between giggles against Maverick’s broad shoulder.
He continues planting kisses up my neck and to my jawline. Causing me to squirm against him. He makes it pretty damn hard for me to not give in when his mouth feels this good. But Mrs. King isn’t really anyone I want to piss off. Besides, my mother would strangle me with her own bare hands if I did anything to mess this up.
I can basically see her scowling at me now. She’s the one who urged me to go after Maverick in the first place. She knew his parents from events and fundraisers and wanted me to catch his attention. Though she told me over and over again that I’d be lucky to even catch his eye. Now that I have, she just constantly tells me not to mess it up.
Using every ounce of self-control I have, I push him away. “Cut it out. They’ll be plenty of time for that later, you horndog.”
Groaning, he obliges. “I can’t help it, Anna. You make it so fucking hard when you look the way you do. And the way you smell?” He leans down, so his mouth is hovering over mine. “Fucking delicious.” He winks, moving in closer, his lips against my ear. “I could just eat you up.”
I quiver at his words. Every cell in my body needing his touch. Before I can say fuck it and pounce on him, I hear the sound of footsteps approaching.
Putting an appropriate amount of distance between us, I smooth down my dress and run my fingers through my long, perfectly curled brown hair. We’ve been together for a few months now, so I have met his parents a handful of times. Yet I still get a little nervous each time. Hell, I’m still nervous Maverick will eventually see right through me. My mother has always dressed me up like we’re some hoity-toity family. Which is fair because, technically, we are.
She used to drag me to every pageant there was in New England. My whole life, I’ve lived a lie. I have brilliant white teeth, expensive clothes, and my long, brown hair is never out of place. Boring, dark hair, might I add. Well, it’s nothing but a facade I put on.
But Maverick is good. He’s the star baseball player at New England University. He’s hotter than hell, and he’s good to me. To my mother, the most important part of the relationship is that Maverick comes from money and a well-known and respected family. If he didn’t belong to the upper class, then forget i
t; she would have had me shitcan him in a heartbeat.
Growing up in a small town in Maine, which certainly had its share of wealthy people living there, financial status soon became my parents’ number one concern. It’s basically all that mattered to them. Still is actually. I can’t imagine being like that.
Miranda King walks in, looking nothing short of the Stepford Wife that she is. She is a small-framed woman with chestnut-brown hair and dazzling blue eyes. She’s friendly enough, but she certainly reeks of high society. Her nose pointed up at anyone below her. Luckily for me, I’ve been trained to fake being someone that I’m not. With my sporty little Audi, perfectly manicured nails, and dresses tailored to fit only me from only top-name designers, I can make this woman believe I’m good enough for her son. Even if I don’t believe it.
“Hello, Anna. It’s always so good to see you.” She gives me a sickly-sweet smile that has zero wrinkles with it. That’s due to the amount of Botox she has had. No doubt she’s a gorgeous lady. But when she has less wrinkles than I do at the age of twenty? Yeah, that’s pretty obvious—and not to mention, unnatural-looking.
She holds her hands out to her son, who takes them and then envelops her in a hug.
“Mom, looking as beautiful as ever.”
She puts one hand on his cheek and smiles up at him with nothing but pure adoration. It’s clear to see from the outside, looking in, that her son is her world. “My sweet boy, thank you for driving up to see us. Your father is thrilled. Speaking of that, Mason will be joining us as well.”
Maverick’s jaw tenses slightly, and he releases his mother’s hand. “Why? Does he need money or something?” he asks her in a snappy tone. One I’ve never heard him use before with her.
She laughs obnoxiously. And it’s also fake. “No, silly. He probably just wants to see his dad. No big deal.” She narrows her eyes slightly. “Please behave.”
His face remains stoic, and he nods gingerly. “Of course,” he answers coolly.
Her face relaxes. Well, as much as it can with the Botox and all. “Dinner will be ready in one hour. See you two lovebirds then.” And with that, she turns on her Louis Vuitton heels and gracefully exits the room.
“Who’s Mason?” I ask curiously. I have never heard Maverick or his parents mention anyone by the name of Mason.
He grumbles something inaudible, pulling me up the stairs and to his room. I know exactly what his intentions are.
“It’s no one, okay? I’ll explain later.” He gives me a devilish grin. “After all, time is ticking.”
He shuts and locks the door behind us. I want to push the issue further, but it’s so hot, the way he’s looking at me, as if I were weak prey and he were a big, bad hunter. My legs quiver with need. Slowly, I pull my sundress over my head, leaving me completely naked, except for my own set of Louis Vuitton black heels.
His eyes darken as he rolls his tongue over his bottom lip. “My sexy, defiant girl. Not even wearing panties to a family dinner.” Shaking his head, he takes a step toward me, closing the gap between us.
Leaning down, he takes my breast in his mouth. Sucking and licking until finally releasing it with a small pop. Then, he wastes no time in moving on to the next. His hand moves down to my most sensitive spot, and he slowly pushes his fingers into me. Not able to control myself, I rock my hips into him, and I reach between us to undo his belt, followed by his button and zipper. One small push, and they fall to the ground. I pull his boxers down, take him into my hand, and begin pumping.
He hisses and rocks into me. “Fuck, Anna, you turn me on so fucking much. You know that?”
“Mmhmm,” I murmur against him.
I remove my hand and push him back onto his chair. I walk away briefly, returning with a condom from his nightstand. After ripping it open, I slide it over his length. Slowly, I sink down on him, connecting my lips with his. We’ve done it here a few times now, so I have no doubt in my mind he’s watching us in the mirror behind me. It’s part of why I positioned him here; I know how much he enjoys seeing us.
As I move up and down on him, my breasts are level with his face, and he takes advantage of this and gives them the attention they deserve with his mouth. My pace picks up, the closer I get to release. I hear his breathing intensify, letting me know he’s not far either.
“Come with me, baby.”
He moans and nods, putting his hands on my hips and slamming me up and down harder and faster. My lower belly begins to burn, and my toes start to curl. The whole world goes dark as we rock into each other over and over again.
I finally come back to earth, collapsed against him, both of us breathing heavy, like wild animals.
He looks up at me and grins. “You’re always so fucking hot. You know exactly what I like.” He presses a kiss to my forehead.
“You were pretty decent too, babe,” I say with a thumbs-up.
He pretends to be annoyed. “Oh gee, thanks.”
I’ll admit, I can please a man. I’ve only been with three men sexually, but I guess I just know how to be sexy. Looking at me from the outside though? You’d never guess it. You’d probably think I had a stick shoved so far up my ass that I couldn’t walk straight.
But secretly, I’m this girl who doesn’t wear underwear sometimes and who wants to chop her hair off and dye it red. The real me wants to take all of these clothes to the Salvation Army and then go shopping at places like American Eagle and Target. To take off this pretty pink nail polish and paint my nails blue or gray, maybe even black.
But I’m not ready to lose Maverick yet. So, I will continue to wake up and put on this mask. It isn’t as though I need Maverick. But being with him, well, it makes life with my mother easier. My dad is basically a zombie. I don’t think he cares either way who I date. He just agrees with my mom because, well, it’s a helluva lot easier than dealing with the wrath of Evelyn Eubanks. I learned this at a young age. A very, very young age.
Some monsters you cannot defeat until you’re ready and strong enough. And I’m not ready to slay the dragon that is my mother.
two
Anna
We make our way into the dining room. The smell of savory spices and fresh-baked bread assaults my nostrils. The Kings have a chef, so the meals are always incredible.
Taking a seat, I look at Miranda. “Everything looks delicious, Mrs. King.” I give her my brightest, most dazzling smile.
She shakes her head and giggles, clearly already having been into the wine. “Oh, Anna, how many times do I need to tell you to call me Miranda? Mrs. King is my mother-in-law, and, well, let’s just say, I’m not her.”
“That’s for sure,” I hear grumbled from the other side of the room.
My eyes make their way over to what could be the sexiest man I have ever seen. I know; I’m here with Maverick. It’s not as though I’m trying to dry-hump this mystery guy, but what can I say? He’s extremely hot. So, in reality, I’ve done nothing wrong.
Mr. King stands. “Mason, glad you could make it, son.”
I find myself hanging on to that last word. Son. Does he mean son as in his son? Or is he just using it as a casual term? I look at Mason more closely. He looks a lot like Maverick and Mr. King. He has the same dark brown hair as them. The same sharp jawline. His, I’m pretty sure, I could cut my dinner on; it’s that sharp. He’s like some sort of a Greek god. The difference between them is his eyes. Maverick has his dad’s green eyes. Mason’s eyes are bright blue, almost like two sapphires staring at you, lighting up his whole face. Mr. King is a total DILF, so it would make sense that Mason is his son. If so, then, damn, bless these sexy genes.
He stiffly shakes Mr. King’s hand and then takes a seat—directly across from me, might I add. I look up to find him watching me. He leans back slightly and smirks. It hits me; I know him. This is Mason King, one of NEU’s beloved football players. He’s also one of the campus’s notorious, biggest fuckboys. But after getting a closer look at him, I can’t blame those bitches. Homeboy is hot. And
not in a typical college-boy way. No, he’s downright delicious to look at.
Snap out of it, Anna. You’re here with your boyfriend, for Christ’s sake.
His eyes move to Maverick. “Hello, brother.”
He emphasizes brother, letting me know this is a complicated story. But I’m here for it. I want all of the details. Even if I’m hiding my own complicated story like a nasty pimple that needs half a tube of concealer.
Maverick stretches one arm behind my chair, trying to appear bored, but I’ve been around him enough to know that this guy is getting under his skin. He jerks his chin up. “Mason. What brings you here? Some money perhaps?”
Mason holds his hands up, letting out a throaty laugh. “Daddy dearest here sends me more than enough money. So, no, not in need of money. Can’t a guy just come see his picture-perfect family?”
I find this dude entertaining as hell. I wish I could voice these types of words to my mom. It’d be amazeballs to watch her squirm as I embarrassed the shit out of her. But once the company left, there would be absolute hell to pay.
Mr. King speaks sternly, “That’s enough, you two. Miranda carefully planned out this dinner tonight. Show her respect.”
I hear Mason snort, and I’m guessing it’s because that’s all she did. Plan it. She told the chefs to make something delicious, and that was the extent of it. She wasn’t in the kitchen, peeling these potatoes; she didn’t roast this chicken to perfection; and she sure as hell didn’t make this delicious bread. I’m on piece number two. I’m secretly hoping they keep bickering, so I can keep shoving it down my throat without them noticing.
I can practically hear my mother’s voice in my head. Anna, what are you thinking, eating that bread? You know what carbs do to a figure like yours.
I make a mental note to get in a workout tomorrow. My body is in good shape, I admit. But I can’t help but let my mother get inside my head when it comes to the need to stay fit. She always lectures my sister and me that all it takes is a week of eating crappy to lose self-control. In my heart, I know that isn’t true. Yet I can’t shake her negative comments and remarks from my brain.