“So you’ve said,” he replies, his tone cavalier, his grip unwavering. “Are you trying to remind me, or yourself?”
“You didn’t even give him a funeral,” I say, even as acknowledging the need for one rips open the hole in my heart.
“I didn’t give Joey one either,” he points out. “Under these circumstances, there are no funerals.”
“Your father got a funeral—a man everyone hated. A man no one had a nice word to say about—he got a funeral. And Vince didn’t.”
“That was strictly a formality,” he tells me. “Would a funeral have really helped? Would it have brought you closure? You would’ve worn a black dress and cried amongst mostly strangers. Vince’s dad would’ve flown back, and you would’ve had to stand beside him. Vince would’ve hated that.”
“Don’t act like you care what Vince would’ve wanted,” I say, jerking again, butting back against him with my shoulder.
“Then don’t act like it would’ve fixed anything,” he flings back.
“I told you,” I say back, with more fire. “I told you some things can’t be fixed. I warned you in time for you to change your mind. I told you I’d never forgive you and you didn’t care.”
“I know,” he says, too easily. I don’t trust it. He peels the strap of my camisole down off my shoulder now, sending alarm coursing through me. Then he starts dropping kisses there again, and my heart kicks into high gear as he lets go his hold on me, freeing up his arms so he can brace his weight above me instead. He keeps kissing my body, along my collar bone, down my chest.
“Stop,” I tell him.
He does, but now he’s on top of me, looking down at me. Something’s shifted. I don’t know what or why and I have no idea how, but he’s just reclaimed his power. Just like that. Just by deciding to. I get the uncomfortable feeling he’s had it all along, and I only thought I did.
“Here’s the thing, Mia,” he begins, holding my gaze.
I can’t look away from him. I actually want to, but I physically can’t.
“If you’re going to love me, you have to love me. All of me. The good, the bad, the indefensible—you have to accept it all. And you always have. More so than even Meg. I know this is hard on you, and I’m sorry it had to happen.” He lowers his face to mine now, dropping a light kiss on my lips. “But you’re mine, and he was in the way. He threatened you. He posed too great a risk. I’m sorry it hurts. I’ve let you have space to mourn, but don’t misunderstand my affection for you.” He gives me another kiss, tender, to make up for his next words. “I care for you as deeply as I care for anyone, Mia, but I am not Vince; you can’t rule me.”
I swallow, feeling a little chastised. “I’ve never tried to rule you.”
“I know,” he acknowledges, nodding. “And that’s why this works. Don’t start now.”
I swallow again. Twice. Three times. There’s still a lump in my throat. He’s still hovering over me, and I don’t know what happens now. I’ve lost control. I don’t think I ever had any. I was his harmless little puppy, running around the yard, not realizing he had a leash on me and was just letting me tire myself out.
Goddamn him.
“So, my feelings don’t mean anything to you?” I ask, feeling a little wobbly. “I’m just an object? You don’t have to fit in any boxes, but if I leave mine, what then?”
“Of course your feelings mean something to me, Mia.” I close my eyes as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my sleep shorts and tugs them down. “I think I’ve proven that.”
“Which time?” I ask, a little shakily. “When you used my own words, spoken in private, to humiliate me? To hurt Vince? When you killed him, because I told you I wanted to stay with him? When you raped me, to see if you could make me hate you? Which time were you proving how much my feelings meant to you, Mateo?”
His eyes narrow, telling me without words he doesn’t much appreciate my rundown of his behavior.
I don’t much appreciate it, either.
“I’m gonna let that slide,” he tells me, like he’s doing me a favor.
“The truth?” I question, almost smiling. “You usually do.”
Dread slides through me as he yanks my panties down next, tossing them and my sleep shorts off the side of my bed.
“I don’t want to fuck you,” I tell him.
“That’s okay,” he says easily, as his hand snakes under my camisole, catching my breast in his palm, caressing me. I hate the way my body instantly responds to him. I hate the way my nipple hardens, triggering a wicked smile stretching across his frustratingly handsome face.