I don’t know how it happened. One second, I was in that bathroom alone contemplating all the ways I could jump off a bridge and the next he was there, knocking, coming inside, pinning me against the sink, kissing me,kissing me, in a bathroom. And the thing I can’t stop obsessing about is how much I liked it. How I loved his taste, his rough mouth, sensual and somehow both hard and soft all at once, his tongue tasting mine, exploring my mouth, not shy at all but boldly taking what he wanted. I keep thinking back to all the ways I could’ve gotten him off me, like telling him to stop, even once, but I didn’t.
Instead, Irode his hand, and I’m still utterly mortified.
I am not a filthy girl. I am not dirty, disgusting, or depraved. I don’t kiss men on the first date. I don’tride their handin the bathroom, either.
I am a Rowe, and I will act like one.
Carmine approaches. That devilish half smile melts something in me. I feel the iron in my spine begin to turn to jelly. Why does this man do this to me? I feel for the rings at my knuckles and take heart that they’d hurt very, very badly.
“Good evening, Miss Rowe,” Carmine says in a mockery of gentlemanly conduct. He kisses my cheek and lingers just a moment too long. “I’ve been thinking about you, filthy girl.”
“Don’t call me that.” The words come out automatically. My whole body is trembling now. I told myself I wasn’t going to feel this way and yet all he had to do was say those words,filthy girl, and suddenly I’m shaking. God, I hate him so much, it leaves bile in my throat.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you.” He sits down and orders a whiskey. “Frankly, I thought you decided to add one more priceless memory to that beautiful little brain of yours and let your family rot.”
“I thought that’s what I was going to do as well,” I admit and finish my martini. Probably not smart, but I order another one anyway. “Minus the memory bit. I planned on putting you behind me, never thinking about you again, and moving on with my life.”
“And yet here we are. To changing our minds.” He clinks his glass against mine and sips. “What made you call?”
“My father.” I stare at my drink and feel heat come into my cheeks.
“Talked you into it, did he? The guilt get to you?”
I clench my jaw. Why am I letting him do this to me? Carmine knows the buttons to press and he works me like a master.
“Let’s get something straight.” I face him and decide not to run from this anymore. I hate this man, and I think he hates me too, and we might as well accept that. I can do this, I can handle it. I think of my father in his orange jumpsuit behind that prison glass begging me to marry Carmine, and it lights a fire in my belly. The sins of my father, all on my shoulders. “I dislike you. I dislike you very, very much.”
“Noted. Thanks.”
“You are loathsome, Carmine. Ever since the moment you tackled me back in college, you’ve been nothing but a common nuisance. Now you’re lucky enough to have some leverage over me and my family at our time of greatest need, and you’re scum enough to take advantage.”
He inclines his head. “Yes, that’s all true.”
“You are beneath me. I will stoop down if that’s what it takes, but don’t you ever forget your place in this world.”
His eyes sparkle with a deep, inner rage mingled with a strange sort of glee, and I glare right back. He’s manipulating me and my grandfather and my father and everyone I care about, and he dares sit there with righteous fury. He’s forcing me into a marriage I don’t want, and he thinks he’s the one in the right. I despise his man, despise him so much it hurts, and I won’t pretend as though what’s happening is okay.
It’s not okay. It’s lightyears from okay.
“All right, filthy girl,” he says with that low, rumbling voice of his, sounding like he belongs narrating some pornographic film. The way he speaks, the way he drinks that stupid whiskey, it’s lascivious, it drips sin, it’s disgusting the way he flaunts it. “You’ve said your piece. You can keep your dignity intact and look down your noble little nose at me. You can cling to your dying blue-blood ways and think you’re better than me, all because some dead guy made your family’s money generations ago, likely doing the same things I’m doing now. You can believe what you want.” He leans forward, voice pitching lower. “So long as you’re mine.”
I say nothing. The sound of the bar moves around me. Glasses clinking, couples talking. I’m stuck in Carmine’s eyes. He looks at me like he wants to destroy me, like I’m a precious stone and all he wants to do is take a hammer to me, again and again and again, until I crack. It’s an impulse I don’t understand. I want to love and preserve beautiful things; he wants to dirty and destroy them.
“We’ll set ground rules before I agree to anything.”
He sits back and drinks. “Such as?”
“Separate houses.”
“No. My wife will live under my roof.”
“Fine.” I didn’t really think he’d go for that anyway. “Separate rooms.”
“No. My wife will sleep in my bed.”
I feel myself blushing. “That’s not an option.”
“The way I see it, you’re not in a good bargaining position. You need me more than I need you. Yes, your name will open doors for me, but I can survive and thrive without them.” He’s smiling, enjoying himself. It makes me want to kick him in the teeth. “What other terms do you have?”