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“I’m sorry,” he said eventually. “I’ve been holding back, and that’s not fair to you. I know I’m a pain in the ass, but you’re the only good thing I have.”
“You shouldn’t apologize,” she said. He asked her to forgive him for something she had been doing, too. He gave her everything, had taken her to his prom, and she had gotten to wear a pretty dress and dance with a devastatingly handsome boy. It was her dream, a dream she had never thought possible. She felt inadequate sometimes, and she knew it was her insecurities eating away at her. But now . . . now she truly felt she didn’t. “Carmine, I have to tell you something.”
His fingertips stilled midpattern on her stomach. “Huh?”
“I think Nicholas knows about me.”
Carmine sat up quickly. “What are you talking about?”
“He knows I’m a . . . slave.”
His eyes darkened. “Did he fucking call you that?”
“No, he just knows—or he suspects—I’m not here willingly.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. He said he wanted to be friends, because he thought I could use one.”
“He wants to be friends? Yeah, right. That motherfucker wants what I have. He wants to take everything from me! Don’t you see that?”
She shrugged. Honestly, she wasn’t sure anymore.
* * *
The past month had been one of the most complicated of Carmine’s life, his love and anger at odds with each other. An epic battle brewed inside him, different sides fighting for control of his heart and mind. Everything pushed him over the edge, and what Haven had told him wasn’t helping him remain calm.
After she was asleep, he threw on some clothes and headed downstairs. The light was on in his father’s office so he tentatively knocked on the door, waiting a moment before opening it. Vincent looked at him from behind his desk. “You’re the last person I expected to see.”
“Why?” he asked, sitting in the chair across from him.
“Because you knocked. That’s not like you.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know myself anymore, so I guess I’m capable of anything at this point.”
He nodded. “Are you dealing okay?”
“I’m over that shit.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Vincent said. “It took me years to come to grips with it.”
“Well, I don’t have years. I don’t even wanna think about it, much less talk about it.”
“Okay, then.” Vincent eyed him peculiarly. “Is there another reason you came down here?”
“Yeah, it’s about tonight—”
“How was prom? Did you have a good time?”
Carmine groaned, irritated he cut him off. “It was fucking peachy, Dad. Now can I finish?”
Vincent waved him on.
“We ran into Nicholas, and he said something. He said he knew the truth about Haven.”
Carmine watched as his father’s expression shifted, a blank mask overcoming his face. Each second of silence grated on his nerves. Why was he just sitting there?
“It’s possible he knows more than he should.”
