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Chapter 29
As badly asI’d love to have Elena spread wide on the back seat of this rental SUV, I figure it’s maybe not the best idea so close to seeing her parents.
She seems to settle a bit more once we’ve survived the throng of paparazzi and news broadcasters, each anxious to be the first to sell the story of her return. They mock and call out to her, apparently unaware that it’s me at her side, her deranged captor, hidden beneath a thick scarf, knit beanie, and Ray-Bans.
Even though we had a brief discussion on the jet about what to say if she happened to catch any of the press questions thrown her way—nothing, preferably, and “no comment” if she absolutely needed to respond—I found myself filled with an inordinate amount of anxiety as we walked out of Logan, waiting for her to snap.
For her to turn to the cameramen and feed into the story, tell them I not only kidnapped her, but forced her to marry me and murdered her ex-fiancé.
All true, technically, but still. For some reason, she’s the only one who doesn’t hold any of that against me.
And it wouldn’t matter to the outside world that I murdered an abusive prick who probably would’ve tried to kill her once their marriage was final, especially after he found out she wasn’t a virgin. Nor would it matter that I was trying to protect her and extract myself from this world when I did it.
When presented with the bones of a monster, the general public will believe the story they’re told without digging any further.
They’re spoon-fed lies, and because they’re typically too stupid to think for themselves, no one ever questions why their soup tastes like poison.
“Ariana says Mamá is still hell-bent on having me come home,” Elena says after a long stretch of silence, shifting in her seat.
I glance at the bra—pink, matching those heels I’d kill to have wrapped around my waist right now—visible through the lace top of her dress, and make an unintelligible sound with my mouth, trying to downplay exactly how much I disdain her mother.
At this point, too much has happened between us for me to ever be able to break that part of my past to her. My history with Carmen Ricci will forever live in the grave she tossed it into, and I’ll live on regretting that it ever happened in the first place.
But like all deaths, the death of a relationship is permanent. The ending of all endings. Finality in its purest form.
I can only hope she lets it stay that way.
“Would you ever consider... moving to Boston?”
My eyes find Elena’s, wide and curious as she stares at me. Rubbing my thumb over my knee, I cock my head, pretending to consider it. “Full time?”
“Yeah, you know. Become a Bostonian. Pak ya ca in Havid Yad, and all that fun stuff.” She smiles, giggling at the exaggeration of her accent, a glimmer of something that looks an awful lot like hope shining in her gaze.
“Do you have a problem with Aplana?”
Her face falls, her smile freezing in place. “Not a problem, but....”
“Then I don’t want to hear about how badly you’d like to leave,” I snap, not processing the words before they’re spewing from my lips, landing on the seat between us with a dull thud.
Snapping my head forward, I pinch the bridge of my nose, blowing out a breath. My other hand snakes across the leather for hers, but she shrivels back, folding them in her lap. “Jesus, I knew coming back was a bad idea. Look, I’m not—”
“No, no. I heard you, loud and clear. I won’t mention moving again.”
When I look back over at her, I watch her push her nose higher in the air and pointedly look away.
“Elena,” I say, my patience wearing very thin. The SUV rolls to a final stop, parking on the street in front of the Riccis’ home, the red brick dull from years of sunlight exposure. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Really? The great Kallum... something Anderson, speaking without thinking? I thought you didn’t do that.”
I squint, smothering a laugh as she fumes, wishing it didn’t make me want to fuck her all the more. “Something?”
Her eyes narrow into slits. “I don’t know your middle name. Because, really, I still feel like I know nothing about you. And yet, you want me to stay with you on your tiny little island and never ask questions, like some kind of slave.”
You are the only one who knows anything about me.
“Asher,” I say quickly, clenching and unclenching my jaw. Undoing my seat belt, I slide across to her, grabbing the buckle on hers before she has a chance to unlatch it. Trapping her between myself and the door, I lean in, running my hand up her thigh, admiring the sleek feel of her unmarked skin beneath my callouses. “My middle name is Asher.”
“Kallum Asher Anderson,” she breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly, like she isn’t able to consume as much oxygen as she’s putting out. She drops her gaze to my mouth, making my dick lengthen slightly.
