by Tracy Wolff
I flash back to the way he looked at her in my driveway that day when the whole world came crashing down around our ears for the first time. So smug, so satisfied, so convinced of his own invincibility. The nondisclosure agreement—agreements, I remind myself, thinking back to the call I just took—make him untouchable and he knows it. More, he revels in it.
I’m not okay with that.
I’m not okay with any of it. Not what he did to Chloe and those other women. Not how he got away with all of it. And most definitely, not how he’s planning to run for Congress and beyond, building a life for himself making laws that he feels absolutely no compunction to follow.
None of that is okay.
Chloe might be strong enough to live with the past—and a future where Brandon never pays for his crimes. But I’m not. And I never will be.
Chapter 3
Ethan leaves early—a little while after we make love—slipping out of bed after a few minutes of cuddling with a kiss and a murmured I love you. He thinks I’m sleeping and I let him. Not because I don’t want him to stay, but because I do. Being separated from him for the last week has felt like losing a limb. Like losing myself. Now that I have him back again, there’s a part of me that wants to hold on to him. That wants to squeeze him so tightly that our bodies merge into one. That we merge into one and I can feel his love, his light, inside of me forever.
If he knew I was awake and watching him walk out, if he knew how empty I feel when he’s not with me, he would never be able to go, even to make the arrangements for our wedding.
And I need him to go, at least for a little while. I need to think. To figure out what my next move is. In some ways, it’s so simple. Ethan and me together. Forever. That’s my endgame, his endgame—and this time I’m not going to let anyone fuck it up. Not Brandon, not Ethan’s mother, not myself. When he showed up at my door last night, I knew that was it. Turn him away then or be with him forever. I love him, adore him, need him like I need air to breathe. There was no choice—not the first time I met him, not last night when he humbled himself before me, not now.
But that doesn’t mean marriage to him is going to be easy.
I don’t know how to do this. How to love Ethan when he’s so hell-bent on revenge. My past is…dirty. It’s dark and bloody and so painful that some days I can barely look myself in the mirror. I’ve lived the last few years by burying it. By ignoring it. By making a new life for myself, away from my family. Away from what happened to me.
Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest way to do things, but it worked.
I functioned.
I went to class, got good grades, landed one of the most prestigious internships in the world.
I survived.
Now Ethan has churned all that old stuff up and I feel exposed. Broken open. And while I understand why it needed to be done—why he needed to know about the rape and my family’s greed—that doesn’t mean that I want it to be a focal point of my life from now on. I don’t want to lay in bed at night thinking about it, don’t want to spend every day wondering what Ethan is going to do or when he’s going to do it.
Which means I have to convince him to let this go—to let Brandon go. The problem is, Ethan’s one of the good guys. Right is right and wrong is wrong, and he’s always on the side of right. Always. It’s who he is.
The guy who wears the white hat.
The guy who flies his employees to Vegas when forest fires force an evacuation from San Diego.
The guy who donates half his income to charity even as he works tirelessly to create products to help those who are suffering.
He’s that guy, and the problem is, that guy doesn’t understand—he can’t understand—that sometimes evil wins. Sometimes bad things go unpunished. Sometimes you just have to settle for what is instead of what you want it to be.
Ethan’s never settled a day in his life.
Except for me.
Except for us.
It’s a painful thought, one that has me rolling out of bed and reaching for the robe I dropped on the floor when I seduced Ethan back into bed a couple hours ago. If I get up, if I keep busy, then I won’t have to think about the words his mother threw at me with pinpoint precision when we were in Napa. I won’t have to think about the fact that he’s settling for me. Or that with my past and my family, I’ll never be good enough for him.
So instead of thinking about that, I walk to the bathroom, fumble the light on. It’s seven a.m. and normally I’d be racing to get dressed so that I’m not late for my internship at Frost Industries. But I quit that job when things blew up with Ethan for the last time and it feels weird to think about going back to it now. Somewhere in the middle of everything that happened last night, he asked me to go back. Told me that my job is waiting for me if I want it.
And I do want it.
I worked my ass off for that internship. It’s the key to my future. I know that. Just like I know that I should jump at the chance to get it back. But it feels strange to take it now. To know that the only reason I have the job is because of Ethan. Because of our relationship. No one else would be allowed to quit such a highly competitive internship and then just go back to it if she changed her mind.
At the same time, though, I really do want the job back. I really do want to work at Frost Industries again. In the short time I was there, I learned more than I ever did in my classes.
Blindly, I squirt toothpaste on my toothbrush, start to brush my teeth. But a quick glance in the mirror has me gasping, the toothbrush dropping into the sink with a clatter.
I have at least a dozen bruises. Probably more.
On my collarbone. On the slopes of my breasts not covered by the robe. On my wrists.
Round and purple, they stand out vividly against my pale skin. For a moment, I can’t begin to think what they came from. But then I remember the roughness of Ethan’s lovemaking. I remember the way his mouth was everywhere—everywhere. Nipping, sucking, biting, then licking the small hurts away. Again and again and again. At the time I was too caught up in how good it felt to realize what he was doing.
It’s not the first time he’s marked me with love bites—after a night in his bed, I always have at least a few. But this—this is more than just a few hickeys. This is Ethan branding me with marks of his possession. His passion.
His love.
I open my robe, let it slide down my arms to pool on the ground at my feet. And realize that that is exactly what Ethan’s done.
I’m covered with bruises. My shoulders, my stomach, my hips, my thighs, my back, my ass. Covered with his love bites.
Covered with his love.
The truth rolls over me and my fear and confusion fall away. He didn’t do this to hurt me, to prove his mastery over me. He did it so that I would feel secure. So that I would feel his love after the weeks of tension and torment. I still feel inadequate, still feel like I don’t deserve Ethan—I’ll probably always feel like that. But these bruises—rooted in love and possession instead of in a desire to cause pain—they ground me. Make me feel wanted. Make me feel needed. Tell me, better than any words ever could, that Ethan missed me as much as I missed him.
I trace my fingers across my collarbone to the hollow of my throat. I play with the bruise there for long seconds, loving the dark purple color of it. Loving the shape of it. Loving the memory of Ethan’s mouth pressing hot kisses against my skin.
I can feel my heart beating—fast but steady—beneath my fingers. It feels good. It feels real when so much of the last days have felt anything but.
I trail my hand down my right breast and over my stomach, following the path Ethan’s lips took last night. I close my eyes, let my head loll back on my neck. Give myself over to the feeling of being cared for. Of being loved.
Because these bruises are good. These bruises weren’t left by a guy determined to have his way no matter what I said. No matter what the cost. They weren’t left by a man who wanted to hurt me.
They were left
by a man who loves me. A man who wants to take away all the bad memories and replace them with good. A man who wants me to know all that I am. All that I can be.
It’s enough to silence the voices deep inside me—my father’s, his mother’s, Brandon’s, my own. Maybe not forever. Maybe not even for very long. But for today. For now.
After all I’ve been through, I’ll take it. I’ll take Ethan and my internship and the future that’s right there, just waiting for me to grab hold. I’ll take it all.
Everything else can take care of itself.
—
“Is it safe?” Tori asks an hour later, stumbling into the kitchen where I’m sitting at the table, sipping coffee and daydreaming of Ethan. “Does everybody have clothes on?”
“I’m the only one here,” I tell her. “And yes, I am wearing pajama pants and a sweatshirt.”
“Thank Christ.” She makes a beeline for the coffeepot and pours herself a large mug. I watch in amusement as she adds enough sugar to bankrupt a candy factory, then follows it with a quarter cup of cream before lifting the mug to her lips and downing half its contents in one gulp.
“How are you not three hundred pounds?” I ask in disbelief.
“Good genes and clean living.”
“Well, I won’t argue the good genes part, anyway.” The wineglass on the counter still holds the dregs of the two bottles of wine she drank last night.
“You should,” she replies with a snort.
I want to ask her what she means—it’s not the first time she’s made a derogatory comment about her family—but she’s got off-limits signs posted all over her when it comes to them. So I settle for bumping shoulders with her as I refill my own coffee cup.
She returns the bump, then smiles sweetly at me. With that smile, her short green hair sticking up in every direction and the remnants of last night’s mascara pooled under her eyes, she looks like a little kid playing dress-up. Dress-up in a punk rocker’s closet, mind you, but still dress up.
At least until the smile fades and she pins me with a look meant to bring better women than me to their knees. “Details. Now.”
“Ethan and I made up.”
“Believe me, I know. My room’s next to yours and the walls aren’t nearly as thick as you think they are.”
“Oh, God.” Embarrassed heat rushes to my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She waves airily. “Since I wasn’t getting any action last night, it’s good that someone was.”
I laugh despite myself. “Nice, Tori.”
“Hey, if you wanted nice, you probably should have picked someone else as your best friend.” She grabs a box of donuts off the counter and plops them in the middle of the kitchen table before settling into the chair opposite mine. “Just saying.”
“Yeah, well, it’s too late to worry about that now.”
“Damn straight.” She grabs a donut, then shoves the box toward me. “So what happened after I left yesterday? You need to give me the scoop before loverboy gets back.”
“We made up.”
“Obviously, you made up. Didn’t we just talk about all the reasons I couldn’t sleep last night?”
“Well then, what do you want me to say?”
“I want details. Did he grovel—I mean, with something besides that bracelet you’re wearing. Because even I have to admit that is some serious groveling in and of itself.”
I glance down at the heavy bracelet Ethan had delivered to me yesterday. The one he fastened around my wrist when I told him that I loved him. That I’d marry him. It’s as much a sign of his possession as the belly chain I wear around my waist—another gift from him.
“Don’t tell me how much it costs. I don’t want to know.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling,” she drawls in her best Sophia Loren voice. “I still remember your freak-out over the belly chain.”
When I don’t say anything else, she finishes off her donut in silence, all the while watching me with dark eyes.
“You look happy,” she finally says.
“I am happy.”
“That’s all that matters, then.” She drains her coffee, then pushes back from the table. “I’m going to take a shower, then head to the beach. Want to join me?”
“I can’t.”
She rolls her eyes. “Let me guess. Loverboy talked you into going back to work at Frost Industries?”
“I haven’t decided on that yet.”
“Then what’s going on? Is he coming back to sweep you off to some romantic getaway?”
“We’re going to Vegas.”
“Vegas? Really? I had him pegged for a private-island-off-the-coast-of-Greece kind of guy. I have to admit, I’m a little—”
“We’re getting married.” I say it fast, hoping it will have less of an impact that way.
No such luck. Tori stops in her tracks, eyes wide and mouth gaping like a fish as she tries to wrap her brain around what I just said.
“What?” she finally squeals before launching herself at me. “He asked you to marry him? When? Where?”
“Today. And I already told you. Las Vegas.”
She’s back to staring at me like I have three heads. “I meant when did he ask you. But what you’re telling me is that you’re flying to Las Vegas today? To get married today?”
“That is what I’m telling you.” I start gingerly trying to untangle myself from her embrace. It isn’t as easy as it sounds, especially when she’s hanging on for dear life and doing her best impression of an octopus with its prey.
“Oh my God. Oh. My. God. Ohmygod! You’re getting married. Today! To Ethan fucking Frost!”
I’m not sure which of those things she’s more incredulous about. Then again, I’m not sure which of them I’m more incredulous about, either. Based on the pain and confusion of the last few weeks, both seem equally far-fetched, no matter how much I love Ethan.
“When were you going to tell me?” she demands.
“You’ve only been out of your room for fifteen minutes. This was the first chance I had to say something.”
“No, the first chance you had to say something was two seconds after he said ‘Will you marry me’ and you said ‘yes!’ ”
“You weren’t here then.”
“Have you never heard of cell phones?”
“I was a little busy—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Believe me, I know exactly how busy you were. Still, you could have told lovebug to cool his jets for five seconds so that you could call me. Your best friend. Your maid of honor.” Her eyes go round with horror. “Oh my God. What am I going to wear? What are you going to wear? You can’t get married today. Tomorrow, maybe. But not today. I have to get my hair dyed. And—”
“Tori—”
“We need manicures. And pedicures. Facials. Massages.”
“Tori—”
“We can get them after we land in Vegas, but still, more than an hour’s notice would have been nice.”
“Tori—”
“I still have to pack—”
“Tori!”
“Don’t!” She throws up a hand and glares at me out of narrowed eyes. “Don’t you dare even try to say that I’m not invited to your wedding. Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. If you’re going to marry the most eligible bachelor in the country in a rushed ceremony in Las Vegas of all places, I am damn well going to be there to see it! Do you understand me?”
I think of all the reasons I can give her as to why it should be only Ethan and me. The fact that we’re still fragile after everything that’s happened. The fact that we need this time to be by ourselves…to just be. The fact that we want to guard what we have, that we don’t want to share it with the world yet, not after everything that happened when we weren’t so guarded.
But despite all those very valid reasons, the truth is Tori is my best friend and I want her to see me get married. She stuck with me through everything and, save Ethan, there’s no one I want at my wedding more.
“Yes! We’re going to Vegas, baby!” She squeals as she throws her arms around me and squeezes as tightly as she can. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes!”
She’s just started dancing her way down the hall to her room when my cell phone rings. It’s Ethan, of course. “Make that half an hour,” she tells me before I hear her bedroom door slam.
“Tori’s coming with us to Vegas,” I tell my fiancé in lieu of a greeting when I answer. “She’ll be ready in an hour.”
The fact that he doesn’t even hesitate before agreeing says everything there is to be said about the man I’m going to marry.
Chapter 4
My plane touches down in Vegas at eleven a.m. and within minutes I’ve got us in a limousine bound for the Atlantis. It’s the hottest casino on The Strip right now and it’s owned by my college roommate and close friend Sebastian Caine.
Chloe is curled up next to me on the seat, her head resting on my shoulder and her fingers entwined with mine while her best friend, Tori, is seated across from us, chattering nonstop about all the things that she and Chloe need to do before the wedding. The list is growing by the second, getting more and more complicated. Chloe doesn’t seem upset by it, though. Instead, she’s nodding along with everything Tori says, even laughing every once in a while at a particularly outrageous suggestion.
She sounds happy. She is happy, and I’m so, so grateful. There’s nothing I want more in the world than to make this woman as happy as she makes me.
And I am happy. Ecstatic, really. How could I be anything less when the woman I love more than my own life has agreed to be my wife? We’re getting married. Today. And then she’ll be mine, forever.
And still, I can’t relax. Can’t let myself enjoy this moment when something just doesn’t feel right. I try to tell myself it’s only the agony of the last week I spent without her—and the pain of the weeks before that as we struggled to come to grips with the mess that is our tangled pasts. And while that’s true, it’s not the only thing that feels off.