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Mia looks up from her strawberries and turns to her mom, blinking like she’s just woken up from a dream. “What?”
“For heaven’s sake, Mia. What’s going on in that head?”
My dick, I mouth, hiding my lips behind the glass of water I’m drinking. Mia can’t get me out of her head, and I’m hungry to know all the ways she’s picturing me screwing her. I want to make every single one a reality as soon as possible.
“I’ve been calling you for ten minutes. I need you to take all the decorations in the living room around to Isabel’s apartment and put them up.”
“I’ll drive her,” I say automatically, and Mia shoots me a suspicious glare.
“I’ll go by myself, thank you.”
“No, take Lazzaro with you,” Giulia says, reaching for her handbag. “I need you to finish quickly so you can come back here and make the punch for the party. The recipe is on the fridge. I’m going to pick up the food. Remember, everything needs to be ready by seven.”
Isabel is being discharged this evening, and Giulia is throwing her a welcome-home party. Mia takes the keys to her sister’s apartment from the hook, grabs the box of decorations, and follows me out to my car, dragging her feet.
As we drive, she gazes into the box of decorations. Cheerful, bright colors. Giulia made them herself. Her baby getting injured seems to have thrown her into a homespun, motherly mood.
“It was my birthday last month. Mom threw me a dinner party at home.”
My brows lift in surprise. “A party? Uncharacteristically thoughtful.”
Mia stares out the window with her arms around the decorations. “You would think so. No one wished me happy birthday. Uncle Roberto cut the cake in the kitchen and handed it out, not realizing there were candles or that it was my birthday cake. Mom was talking nonstop about her wedding to you, and she just accepted a piece and started eating it.”
It starts raining, fat drops of water hitting the windshield.
I picture Mia sitting at the end of the table, watching everyone eat her birthday cake like she’s not even there.
No one can hurt you like family can.
Just because you tell yourself it doesn’t matter it doesn’t mean you stop caring about that sort of pain.
“Listen to me. I’m eighteen years old and I sound like such a baby.” She shakes her head as she stares out at the rainy street. “I have to get out, Laz. I know you’re going to turn up at Peppers tomorrow night and try and keep me from dancing, but if you ruin my dreams then you really will break my heart.”
I grit my teeth and shove my hand through my hair. I knew she was going to say that. Saturday night has been looming closer and closer all week, and I’ve hated every minute that’s drawing her closer to getting back on that pole.
She shrugs. “But then, hurting me has been your goal all along, so now you know exactly how to do it.”
Tormenting her has been my cardio lately, sure, but for sport. This miserable, downcast Mia is never what I wanted. She feels like she’s circling the drain and I don’t know how to pull her back.
“You shouldn’t have to resort to something you hate in order to escape,” I say, my hands clenched on the steering wheel.
“Who says I hate it? I like being Tasha. Tasha is free.” Mia holds my gaze, but her top lip wobbles and her eyes grow watery. She looks away, blinking angrily.
At Isabel’s apartment, she puts the box of decorations on the coffee table, and we stare around at the neat and designer living room that’s decorated very much like Giulia’s house. Minimal. White surfaces. No soul.
“Why did you even want to help me with this?” Mia asks, rummaging around in the box.
I meet her eyes with a meaningful expression on my face. For no virtuous reasons, that’s for sure.
Mia flushes red. “Do you have no shame? No guilt over what we did?”
Sneaking around behind my partner’s back isn’t something I’ve done before or ever imagined doing. I wish I could say I hated this, but the only time I can breathe is when I’m around Mia. I’m struggling to care about what’s right and wrong.
“Shame isn’t in my vocabulary, Bambi.”
Mia lowers her eyes, and I can tell from her pained expression that it’s in hers. Her movements as she drags out some bunting are forced and angry and pain flashes over her face.
“You need to keep your hands to yourself from now on.”
