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“I know what we agreed to. I have a damn good memory. Now, answer my question. Am I your man or not?”
My eyes finally broke contact because I couldn’t look at him anymore. “No.”
His reaction was a mystery because I wasn’t looking at him. But I could feel his anger, feel the way it spread across the room like the heater had just kicked on during a winter night. The longer the silence continued, the more I felt pressured to speak.
“I told you I didn’t want to be with a criminal—”
“I know what you said.” He stepped away, turning his back to me as he approached the terrace.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. I’m used to it.”
It was like he’d stabbed me in the stomach. I remembered his story about the only woman he ever loved…and how he wasn’t good enough for her parents. She’d dumped him and married someone else. “It’s nothing personal—”
“Sweetheart, I’m going to enlighten you.” He turned back around and looked at me, and now his face was devoid of all emotion. “You think an accountant or a banker or a construction worker would have taken care of your business for you? You think any of them have the balls to handle a woman like you? You don’t want a criminal, but that’s exactly what you need, Laura. I’m exactly the kind of man you need. You aren’t better than me, sweetheart.”
“I never said I was better than you, okay? I just don’t want to end up chopped into little pieces like my mother—”
“And you think I’d ever let that happen to you?” he asked incredulously. “You know what else I did last night?”
I didn’t have a clue.
“I rounded up all those worthless assholes who touched you seven years ago, and I killed each and every one of them.”
All I could do was breathe. I was in such shock.
“You think a goddamn accountant could do that?” He walked to the dresser and pulled out a shirt, like he needed to take off somewhere.
“You don’t understand, Bartholomew…”
He pulled on the shirt, grabbed his phone, and prepared to leave the bedroom.
“Just listen to me, okay?” I didn’t want him to leave. Just the thought of his absence made me panic.
He stilled but didn’t look at me.
“I don’t like my father…because he’s more than just an asshole. I don’t like him because—”
“I know why.”
My eyes searched his face, waiting for him to meet my look.
He turned and locked his gaze to mine. “I know who he is. I know what kind of life you had growing up. I’ve known for a very long time. But the difference between your father and me is I actually give a damn about you.” He turned to the door to walk out. “And don’t pretend you haven’t figured that out.”
* * *
I waited for him to come home all day, but he never showed. I wasn’t sure where he’d run off to, especially when he was just dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He could have checked in to a hotel. Or maybe he owned another property here. The man was rich like my father, and rich men tended to use their money on homes they used once, maybe twice, a year. I got bored sitting there alone, so I went into the city to get something to eat, to enjoy an Americano at my favorite café.
I didn’t call.
He didn’t call. No surprise there.
When we came face-to-face, I wasn’t sure what we would say to each other. I suspected our relationship, situationship, hookup, whatever you wanted to call it, was now over.
And that hurt.
At sunset, I returned to his home and made my way upstairs to his bedroom. When I walked inside, I realized he had come back. The terrace door was wide open, and the colors of the sky were beautiful pastels.
