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I slide the tray off my lap and get out of bed, stretching in the sunlight. I wish I could stay, but it’s not good for either of us. I hope Ivan can understand that and forgive me for leaving.
I do feel oddly regretful about this. I came into his house, ate with him, made love to him, and now I’m leaving like it was all just a cheap hookup with a guy I don’t really like. I feel like I used him, but I think we both just used each other.
“Thank you for all this,” I say, my eyes drawn to the clothes I wore yesterday, washed and neatly folded on a chair by the window.
I feel even more guilty now.
“It’s my pleasure, Lily,” he says, flashing a pearly white smile and brushing the curls from his forehead. “I just wish you could stay longer.”
“Me too,” I mutter, walking over to my clothes.
I get dressed as Ivan takes my empty tray back downstairs, and by the time he returns, I’ve splashed water on my face, repeated to myself a hundred time that I’m definitely not staying, and zip my leather jacket up all the way to my neck.
I meet Ivan in the hallway, going downstairs with him. My footsteps echo on the marble floor, bouncing up to the vaulted ceiling and coming back down at me like a swooping eagle.
Suddenly, I feel less safe. I’m venturing out on my own again, and there’s a group of people called the Red Hitters who want to ruin my life. I should probably buy a gun and learn how to use it. Dimitri always said I should, but I never did.
I guess I felt safe with him around, like I didn’t need a weapon. I feel the same way with Ivan, to an even greater extent, but that’s coming to an end the moment I step off his beautiful estate.
“I’ll drive you home,” Ivan says, slipping into a pair of black dress shoes.
I’ve never seen him wear sneakers. He’s always so formal, which is rare for a man these days. Most of the guys I went to school with wore dirty sneakers and hoodies all day, even if we went somewhere fancy.
Ivan, on the other hand, is dressed like he’s taking me on a date at the finest restaurant in Paris, but we’re not going anywhere special. I’m not even going to let him take me all the way to my house because I don’t want him knowing where I live. Something tells me he’d show up one night and insist on coming inside.
I’d be out of my clothes and under him again in a heartbeat.
No, I’ve taken too many risks already. Last night can’t happen again, or I run the risk of getting pregnant. I’m not on birth control, and condoms weren’t even mentioned before we had sex.
I suppose there’s already a chance I could’ve gotten pregnant, but it’s unlikely. People always make it out like one slip up is enough to have a baby, but most people try for months or even years before they manage to make one.
I think I’m safe as long as I don’t let it happen again.
Ivan’s hand finds the small of my back as we walk down the steps on his front porch, coming to a circular driveway with a black sedan parked on the jet-black pavement. It’s not the same car we drove here in yesterday.
I look at him curiously. “Is this also your car?”
He nods. “I have about a dozen just like it, and then a collection of sports cars in the garage around back. I could give you a tour if you’d like.”
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, though I try hard to suppress it. He’s still trying to convince me to stay. It’s actually rather cute, coming from someone who could just as easily overpower me and make me his bedroom toy for the rest of my life. I might even enjoy wearing the chains, as long as he did that thing with his mouth like he did last night.
I shake the filthy thoughts from my head, turning down his offer to give me a tour of his cars. “I’m sure they’re lovely, but I have to go. I’m supposed to be back at work in a few days, and there’s about a hundred things I need to do at home before then.”
“Not a problem,” Ivan says, stepping around the car and opening the door for me. “In you go.”
I climb into the leather interior, once again amazed by how nice it is. The leather is white with coconut brown accents, and everything is either shiny metal or wood – no plastic!
Ivan slides in beside me, starting the car with a push of a button. It hums to life, the powerful engine making very little noise until he presses on the accelerator.
“If you give me an address, I’ll put it into the navigation,” he says, leaning toward the screen on the dashboard between us.
My jaw tightens. “No need. I think you can just take me back to my car at the cemetery. It should still be in the parking lot there, assuming it wasn’t towed.”
To my surprise, Ivan doesn’t press me on my decision. He just drives us through the front gate, nodding at the armed guards as we leave. There are six of them now instead of two.
Ivan drives me to the cemetery without saying a word. The silence is oppressive, but I know there’s no point in starting a conversation. If anything, it would work against me because I’d be more reluctant to leave.
It’s better that it ends this way, in bitter silence. Sweetness is addicting, but that doesn’t mean it’s good for you.
