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I remembered the feeling of tiptoeing through the back door and holding my breath just like it was yesterday, but it was in vain because sitting in my daddy’s chair was Kenny. His round belly was poking out of his white tank, sporting a stain down the front from where the whiskey missed his mouth.
When we locked eyes, I knew it. I knew what he wanted. What I’d been avoiding since the night he came into my room. I ran, but he was faster, trapping me under him as he pinned me to the living room floor. His whiskey-soaked breath promised to make me feel real good.
I was so scared I couldn’t move. My chest was pressed into the carpet with Kenny’s heavy weight on top of me, and I couldn’t breathe. And when I felt his disgusting erection dig into my back, I knew my nickname would soon come true.
One hand was down my pants, reaching around the front. The other hand was over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream. He bit me on the side of the neck just how a predator would with its prey. He forced my cheek to the carpet, the rough fibers rubbing my skin raw. I squeezed my eyes shut.
I thought of Daddy. Of how he told me to pray when I was scared…so I did.
I prayed that this wasn’t happening. That Kenny wasn’t unzipping his pants and telling me to be a good little girl. I prayed that my mom would come back to me as the loving mother she once was. I prayed for a miracle and prayed that this vile man wasn’t seconds away from raping me, but when I heard a guttural scream and my mother telling me what a dirty slut I was for seducing my stepfather, I knew I would never pray again.
My mom kicked me out—I was a harlot, a whore—and with nowhere else to go, I went to Lea’s. My only friend. She never married and didn’t have any kids, so she treated me like her own. When I told her what had happened, she insisted we go to the police, but I didn’t want to. I just wanted to leave. The day my father died was the day this place did too.
Lea lent me some money, and I hopped on a flight to LA where my grandparents lived. They missed my father terribly and had tried to reach out, but my mother had forbidden them to contact me. I just thought they didn’t care.
So I finished school and got a job waiting tables at a local restaurant, which was where I met Raffaella Mercino. She owned Models Inc., the hottest modeling agency in all of LA, and when she asked if I had ever modeled, I laughed in response.
Mom told me I used my looks for evil, but Raffaella showed me I could now use my looks for good.
I don’t think I’m anything special, but to this day, Raffaella tells me I’m one of the prettiest girls she has working for her. She said that’s because I have an innocent look about me, and all men want to break a good girl. Her analogy is disgusting and sexist, but hey, she seemed to be right because, in six short months, I was one of the most sought-after models.
I’m now twenty-five, but I suppose my looks haven’t changed all that much. My long, golden brown hair is naturally wavy. The California sun has brought out the blonde tones, which complement the deep blue of my almond-shaped eyes.
My upturned nose gives my look an air of arrogance, and my lips are full and pouty. Many of the girls I work with are certain I’ve had a surgical date with Dr. Hollywood, but they’re mistaken.
My boobs are bigger than most standard models, and so are my curves. I have an ass and muscular thighs and am proud of it. The yoga exercises I do religiously and the fact I run five miles a day keep my stomach toned. At five foot six, I’m short for a model, but I make up for that with the personality I bring to the runway. I suppose I’m not your “typical” model. I eat whatever I want, and I’m not afraid to speak my mind. I know that’s awfully judgmental, but I’ve been ostracized for being different by my peers. They’re the ones who told me I was weird for eating carbs without any regrets.
My childhood taught me you can be a victim or a fighter, and after what Kenny did to me, I refuse to be a victim again. I worked hard, made a name for myself, and focused solely on my career. So when I met Drew, you can imagine my surprise because now, it wasn’t only me.
Because of what happened in my childhood, I am still a virgin, though I’ve kissed a couple of guys and fooled around. I no longer consider myself religious, but I wanted to abide by that one rule of no sex before marriage. It was one my father firmly believed in, so it’s one thing from my childhood I’m happy to embrace in adulthood.
But tonight, everything changes because now, I’m a married woman.
Drew kisses the tip of my nose, carrying me through the villa. When we reach the master bedroom, he arches a golden brow. “Like it?” he whispers while I nod eagerly.
“I love it,” I correct, my gaze drifting to the king-size bed draped in crisp white linens.
Drew knows I’m a virgin, but he’s a gentleman, and he hasn’t pushed me. He respects my beliefs to wait until marriage. I would even go so far as to say he embraces it. However, I’m not stupid, and I know he’s not a saint. With his baby blues and golden hair, he doesn’t lack female attention.
With money and good looks, he could have any woman he wanted, but he chose me. So it seems fitting I start this new chapter of my life with a man who chooses me—flaws and all. On the outside, people see me as beautiful, successful, and fierce, but on the inside, I’m still looking for my place to belong. Which is why I said yes when Drew proposed—I finally found my place.
My friends told me I was crazy because I barely knew anything about him, but when you know, you know, and life is short. I don’t intend to waste a second of it.
“You can put me down.” I giggle, not sure why he’s still carrying me.
We left Los Angeles right after the wedding and flew to Greece. Drew was very secretive about where we were going, and now, I can see why. There is no way to describe this place.
It’s isolated, away from prying eyes. When we rode our boat in, I didn’t see a soul for miles. The beachfront is our private beach and isn’t used by anyone. No one can hear me scream.
When Drew’s bowed lips tip into a mischievous grin, it’s evident that’s exactly what he intended. “Okay.” He feigns a sigh, placing my bare feet on the plush carpet. “But only because I’m going to take a shower. Can I get you anything?”
I shake my head, still reeling that this is my life.
“Okay, babe, love you. I won’t be long. Why don’t you go downstairs and wait for me on the terrace? The view is something else.”
“That sounds amazing. I love you…husband.”
Drew draws in a victorious breath. “And I love you, wife.” I will never tire of that title.
