by Amelia Wilde
“We have them, too,” she says, sounding almost wistful. “The Constantines, I mean. Elaborate parties with ball gowns and tuxedos, with cakes that are as tall as a person. With fireworks and pop stars and every other kind of thing you can imagine.”
There’s a pressure in my chest as I imagine her with her family. Will she miss them if she’s with me? Of course she would. “Pop stars, huh? Who was at your birthday party? Ariana Grande?” Jealousy makes my voice come out gravelly. I don’t want her having a crush on anyone, even a famous pop star. “Or maybe Harry Styles?”
She gives a nervous laugh. “I never had a birthday party.”
I pull back so I can see her face. “What?”
I can’t see the pink of her cheeks, but I know it’s there. “We had family parties. Before my mom died. I don’t mean to say—” Haley swallows. “She was working, and my dad was so busy. She would make a cake from a box and we would sing, just the five of us. There wasn’t always a lot of extra money, so…” An embarrassed breath. “After she died, Petra would make the cake. But we didn’t have guests. I’m not complaining,” she says in a rush. “I would never complain. They loved me. It just wasn’t—we didn’t have parties like that.”
Outrage tightens my throat. “What about the huge Constantine parties?”
Her lips twist. “We’re not really Constantines. At least, not the real ones. The favorite ones. The rich ones. And I don’t think I would need a huge gala anyway. It’s ridiculous. I know that. It’s just something fun to daydream about around my birthday. A small party just for me.”
I’m a fucking fool. “When is your birthday, darling?”
“Does it matter?” She bites her lip. Blushes.
Damn her family. They made her feel like she wasn’t important. The Morelli children were strapped like animals, and even we got birthday cakes. “Of course it matters.”
“It’s…it’s on Saturday.”
“This Saturday.”
“It’s not a big deal,” she whispers, though it sounds less like she’s trying to convince me. More like she’s been trying to convince herself of that for her entire life.
“How old?” I’m pissed about her treatment, so it comes out gruff.
She shivers in my arms, but she answers me—my obedient girl even when she’s afraid. I pull her against my chest, comforting her even while I order her around. “I’m turning twenty-two,” she says, trying to sound nonchalant. And failing. It’s important, this milestone. She’s turning twenty-two, and she’ll have a damned party if it’s the last thing I do.
Chapter Sixteen
Leo
I’m in my office planning a party for a Constantine when the text arrives. The last of the daylight is fading in the courtyard. A bird from the trees taps at my window. “There’s new birdseed,” I tell it, though it can’t hear me. “Go away.”
It flutters off the sill as I pick up my phone.
A message from Eva.
Turn on the TV—channel 9
I loathe the sound of live TV and rarely require background noise to work, so I don’t have one in my office. There’s one in the den. It spends most of its time hidden by a panel above the fireplace. “Gerard,” I say as I open it. I know he’s nearby. I heard him in the hall.
“Sir?”
“Is Haley upstairs?”
“She is.”
She went up to read an hour ago. Some days, she prefers the smaller space and the deeper quiet in the private library. I wasn’t fucking around about my plans for the room on the first floor, but I haven’t had time for full-scale renovation yet.
Gerard steps into the den as the TV flickers to life. Channel 9.
It’s a news channel. And a news broadcast. And a very familiar face. The chyron at the bottom of the screen reads KIDNAPPED CONSTANTINE BRIDE.
“What the fuck.”
Rick stands on the sidewalk in front of the Constantine compound, camera lights competing with the dying sun. He has one hand in the pocket of what looks like a brand-new overcoat and a fading black eye from where I punched him. The other hand clutches a piece of paper.
“—engagement announcement was a painful day for the family. In all the confusion, no one thought to stop it from being printed. But Haley had already been taken. I’m here to ask for her safe return.” His eyes come up to the camera, and he takes a big nervous breath. I hate this motherfucker. He’s right to be nervous. “I’m so worried. We’re obviously—we’re offering a reward for her safe return.”
“When did you last see her?” one of the reporters calls. A press conference. Caroline planned this. Every detail. It’s not just that she wants him to kill me. She wants to set it up first.
“I haven’t seen her in almost two weeks.” This is the truth, and my stomach sinks. They’re going to run the same play as before. The one that made Haley cry. They said things that were close to the truth. Rick Joseph Jr. is going to stand on live TV and tie the truth in knots. “I was attacked, and she was taken.”
Fucking clever. He was attacked, and then I took her back. Gerard makes a sound off to my side. I can’t see him. My vision is going dark with rage, and if I’m honest, if I am fucking honest, if I am doing penance and opening my goddamn heart—
Fear, too.
“Do you know where she’s being held?”
“No,” Rick lies, and he’s almost convincing in this. “I didn’t get a good look at my attacker and I don’t know where Haley is.” He swallows hard and looks directly into the camera. “If anyone watching this has any information about her whereabouts, please call the Bishop’s Landing sheriff’s office. I—” He holds a gloved fist to his mouth. “I’m begging you. If you have her, please return her to us. She needs to be with her family. Haley is a sweet person who only—who only deserves the best. And if you’ve seen her, don’t wait to call. Every second counts.”
A photo of Haley flashes up on the screen. It’s her college ID. In the photo, she’s wearing a dove gray shirt and grinning like whoever took the photo told her a joke.
“Is there anything else you can tell us about her, Rick?”
He consults the paper in his hand. “She was last seen wearing a white nightgown. She’s five foot three, slim, with blonde hair. She has beautiful blonde hair. And she—she always loved to read.” Rick chokes out the last few words. The wail he lets out next is the highlight of his performance.
I yank a hardcover off the nearest shelf and throw it at the TV. It splinters the screen, turning Rick’s face into shattered glass. Another book. It hurtles through the air. This time, the circuitry shorts. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I want my hands around his neck again. I would make the right choice this time. I would end this. I don’t know I’ve thrown another book until it bangs against the windowsill. A framed print that Daphne gave me falls. More glass breaks. I want more broken glass. I want more destruction. I draw back a fist, aiming for the window, and someone catches it.
“Enough. Enough.”
“It’s not fucking enough,” I spit at Gerard, shaking his hand off mine. He doesn’t accept this. He locks his arm around mine and pulls me back from the window. My back screams. “You saw. I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“We’ll figure out a strategy.” I try to lunge past him, and he blocks me. “You have bulletproof windows. Mr. Morelli. Leo. Your hand will break before the windows, and you won’t be able to help Haley.”
I shove him one more time, but he’s right. God, fuck, I hate that he’s right. The red clears from my vision. My breathing slows. The pain doesn’t budge. It won’t. It’s never going to stop. I’m going to be in hell forever. Penance forever. I cover my face with both hands, intensely aware of Gerard’s eyes on me. I never fucking do this in front of people.
It takes too long to drag them back down.
When I do, Gerard’s expression is neutral. The rest of him is not. He’s poised to stop me from destroying my own home. From destroying myself. He might not have a choice, in the end, if
Caroline won’t leave Haley alone.
“I want to call in the second team,” I tell him. He pulls out his phone without hesitation. “I want every shift doubled. Nobody is getting in here. Call my legal team and have them on standby. They’re going to stand at the door if that piece of shit sends the cops.”
“What else can I do?”
Help me. Fucking help me. Find a way out of this.
“Just do your job. Keep them out.”
I leave Gerard in the den and go to find Haley. My heart pounds. It’s been set with needles and every one of them digs in with every beat. She’s curled up with her fantasy book again, Jane Eyre waiting in reserve, and I hate that I’m going to ruin this moment for her.
At the expression on my face, she scrambles up from her chair and comes to me. “What’s wrong?”
I do not and will not ever deserve this woman, this angel, who puts her arms around me with infinite care. She does touch my scars now, since the day in the study. It’s always the lightest pressure. I’m a selfish bastard, so I let myself hold her for a minute before I answer.
“I got a text from Eva.” Haley lifts her head from my chest and looks into my eyes. “Telling me to turn on the TV. Caroline sent Rick to do a press conference.”
Her brow furrows. “What does that even mean?”
“She called in a bunch of reporters for him to make a statement about you on the air.”
The color disappears from her face. “About the engagement?”
“No.” I run my fingers through her hair. It’s soft, and beautiful, and I hate that Rick talked about it like it belonged to him. “He announced that you’d been kidnapped and that your family is offering a reward for your return.”
Haley slips out of my arms, her hand to her mouth, and paces away. “A reward,” she murmurs. “A reward. She’s crazy.” She stops at the table and brushes her fingertips over the cover of Jane Eyre, then moves to the window. Her shoulders go up and up and up. Haley leans over the windowsill.
She’s holding her breath.
This is worse than outright crying. Her shoulders shake, but she presses both hands over her mouth. “I just—” A frustrated inhale. “I just—why?” Her eyes, made brighter by her tears, land on mine. “Why are they doing this?”
I go and sit on the windowsill. Pull her between my legs. Take her face in my hands. Her lips tremble, but she takes another long breath. I know she’s tired of crying. It’s not a release for her now. Not unless I’m making her do it. “They’re trying to get to you.”
This is almost the truth. They’re trying to get to me. And it’s working.
“Should I—” Her hands come up to mine, as if she’s afraid I might let go. Fuck letting go. “Should I just go back? Should I just go back home?”
“Absolutely fucking not, darling.”
Her breath is coming faster. Ratcheting up into panic. “How does this end, Leo? When? Do I need to call the press? The police?”
“Not yet.” Not ever. None of those people will help the situation. No matter what Haley thinks I am, I’m the Beast of Bishop’s Landing to the rest of the world. The press will only take Haley’s words as evidence that I’ve brainwashed her, and the police are fucking useless. “I’ll figure it out.”
Haley doesn’t believe me. I can see it in her eyes.
I put a hand around her throat.
There.
Her shoulders relax. So do her hands on mine. The rest of her body goes pliant and waiting, her breathing settling, and this—this is a fucking miracle. That she’s like this for me. That she walks the earth and isn’t afraid of me. Or that she is, but it’s a trustworthy fear. She knows I’ll only exploit it to make her hot. To make her wet.
To make her calm.
“I’ll figure it out.”
Her lips part, and she blinks back tears. The tip of her tongue wets her bottom lip. “Do you promise?”
I kiss her first. Squeeze her neck until she gasps in my mouth. I’ll mark this promise on her. I’ll keep it. No matter the cost. I’ll ask for help, if that’s what I have to do. I’ll admit weakness. I’ll call in reinforcements. Anything. “I promise.” The color has come back to her cheeks. I knew it would. She can’t help but respond to me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was sent. A gift. “If I touch you now,” I muse, keeping my eyes on hers, “what will I find?”
Her face goes scarlet. “That I’m wet.”
I lean in and bite her earlobe. Haley arches in my hand. “Take off all your clothes and bend over the bed. Don’t make me wait.”
Chapter Seventeen
Haley
My birthday arrives, and Leo wakes me up with a kiss. More than one, in fact. A trail of them down my neck and between my breasts and over my stomach.
And lower.
He keeps my legs spread with his body and licks three orgasms out of me. I can’t breathe by the time he looks at me from between my thighs, dark eyes glittering, hair a gorgeous mess. It’s work to catch my breath. “Is that all?”
He licks my clit again, a precise movement that sends a tremor through my legs and makes my head fall back on the pillow. “Greedy,” he scolds, and then he crawls between my legs and fills me up.
It’s a whirlwind day, with more people in and out of the house than I’ve seen. His front door keeps opening and closing. It gets louder every time, because Leo’s security team checks everyone who comes in. I’m forbidden from going into the dining room. I’m required to have lunch brought to me on a silver tray while I read.
In the afternoon he sends Mrs. Page to bring me to the guest suite, where two women in black uniforms wait to give me a makeover.
Daphne’s waiting too, her hand at the collar of her shirt. She can’t stop biting her lip. “Hi,” she says, her smile lighting up and disappearing again under the awkwardness. I haven’t seen her since she came into Leo’s room. I didn’t want to bother her. “Happy birthday.”
“Hey, Daphne. Are you here for a makeover too?”
“I can just go,” she says quickly. “It’s your birthday. You probably don’t want me in here, given—”
I grab her hand and tug her toward the door. “Listen. I don’t care that you walked in on us.”
“Oh my god.” She covers her face with both hands. “I’m so sorry. I should have knocked. Leo’s usually up late and I wasn’t thinking.”
“Are you okay, though?” This isn’t a conversation I expected to have in front of two stylists. But here we are.
Daphne blows out a breath and lets her hands fall to her sides. “It’s complicated.” A small smile. “I had no idea. And I probably have no right to be mad at him for not telling me, I just—I wish I’d known.”
“He didn’t tell me, either.”
“He didn’t?”
“No. I walked in on him. If he could have told you, Daph, I’m sure he’d have done it.”
She sighs. “It’s a lot. Living here is a lot.”
“I know. You don’t have to get ready with me, if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t blame you.”
Daphne rolls her eyes, and it’s so pretty it makes me laugh. “I want to come to your party. I want to get ready with you. That’s pretty simple, at least.”
“Is it? Because—” My cheeks heat. “Okay, so, I’ve never gotten ready for a party like this before. My sister always did my hair. Are there any rules I should know about? I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”
Leo’s sister presses her lips together in pure, kind sympathy and pats my shoulder. “No, there’s no rules. Just tell them what you want.”
They’ve brought a big mirror and chairs for us, and it turns out I don’t have to tell them what I want, because Leo already has. Daphne raises an eyebrow when the stylist tells me that he’s already given instructions. “He is such a control freak.”
I meet her eyes in the mirror. “I find it pretty hot.”
“Gross,” Daphne whispers, and then she dissolves into laughter.
It’
s nice, getting your hair done by someone with skills. It doesn’t feel terrible to be touched. Leo’s taken that on as his own personal mission. The shower was only the beginning, and it’s working.
He’s so much more than I thought. So much more than everyone gives him credit for. He would be furious if anyone knew, and I get it. He uses his reputation as a tool to protect his family. To protect me. To protect himself. So I wish things were different, but not too different. It’s an impossible task, untangling him from his past. I don’t think everything happens for a reason. That pat bullshit people say when they can’t think of anything better. But at some point, it all added up into the man he’s become.
“What are you thinking about?” Daphne asks. “You’re so quiet.”
My eyes are closed so the stylist can put on eyeshadow. They wouldn’t be here if Leo hadn’t approved their presence, and this is his sister, so I feel relatively safe in my honesty. And I’m tired. Tired from having nightmares. Tired from worrying about what Caroline will do next. And from the good things, too. “I was thinking about Leo.”
“You are, like…so in love with him.”
There’s no denying it, and no point in denying it. Daphne wouldn’t even be the first person I’ve told. She wouldn’t be the first Morelli. “It’s true.”
“Are you happy?” I’m so glad, so glad, that my eyes are closed. That the sweep of the makeup brushes is keeping them that way. I hope Daphne’s not looking. “You sound like it’s complicated.”
I don’t have the words. Just like with Eva, everything I could say about Leo falls short of him. Disastrously short. And if I try to describe to Daphne how I love him, I’ll cry and ruin all my makeup. I’m not sure I could force those descriptions past the lump in my throat. How my heart aches every second I’m apart from him, and sometimes more when he’s in the room. How the only thing that settles the fear and uncertainty of this moment in my life is his hands on me. How the sound of his voice is the closest thing I’ll ever feel to an answered prayer.
“He was sick,” I say instead. “After he came home from the hospital. He had this awful fever.”