AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My eyes narrow. “He won’t, and if he does, I’ll make sure he never follows through.”
She doesn’t look convinced, not that I can blame her, but she doesn’t press the issue. We finish the car ride in silence, switching from busy city streets to winding rural ones flanked by massive trees as the twilight turns to early evening and the sun sinks down beneath the horizon.
The car pulls down a short path before stopping at a gate. We’re buzzed through, and Dara leans forward as the house comes into sight.
I’m used to this by now, but it’s interesting to watch Dara experience the Crowley mansion for the first time.
It’s an enormous Victorian structure with a fully stone facade and a gray slate roof. Multiple peaks, chimneys, dozens of windows, and more than one door stretch out across the front wall, with more disappearing around the side toward the back. The grass is manicured, the bushes trimmed to tiny little perfect globes, and the trees are pointed like picture-book drawings.
“Did you grow up here?” she asks, blinking rapidly.
“I did,” I confirm, smiling to myself, though I don’t have too many good memories from my childhood. “The house felt like it went on forever. I explored the grounds with my brothers, ran through streams, climbed trees. Except my room was always freezing in the winter and stifling in the summer. Sometimes it felt like too much space to get lost in.”
Easy to hide from adults. Easier for adults to forget you ever existed. For a little kid, that was hard to understand.
“I can’t even imagine.” She laughs bitterly. “Your garage is bigger than my childhood home.” She nods toward one of the outbuildings. “I bet it’s nicer too.”
“The Crowley family has been involved in Boston for a very long time,” I say, though I sense her tension.
Fortunately, the car parks, giving me an excuse to end this conversation. I’m comfortable with money and power, but I don’t like the way she looks at me whenever we talk about how much I have.
I get out and open the door for her. Dara remains tight at my elbow as we head up to the house. I start angling toward the side family entrance, but a staff member flags me down up at the top of the main stairwell. She’s young, a girl I don’t recognize, and gestures for us to follow. “Good evening, Mr. Crowley,” she says as we join her at the top. She opens the massive guest entryway with a flourish.
I hold back my annoyance. I haven’t come through this door in years. It flows into a massive foyer with a crystal chandelier and old wooden stairs polished to a beautiful gleam. Flowers, oil paintings, and heavy, blood-red rugs complete the over-the-top presentation meant to impress guests.
Family doesn’t come through this door.
What does it mean that my father set up this little display?
Dara looks awed.
“Ostentatious,” I whisper, steering her away from the staff toward a side hall. Dad might want to flex a little bit, but I don’t have to play along. “That entry is meant to make people think we’re richer than the Vatican.”
“Are you?” she asks, staring at me like she’s seeing a new man.
“The family might be,” I admit, my hand on her lower back. “But I’m not my family. I earn my own income.”
“Why?” she asks, letting out a sharp, crazed laugh. “If I had all this—” She leaves the rest unsaid.
When we’re alone, I stop her, pushing her up against a wall. She sucks in a surprised breath. I hold her there, staring into her face. “Listen to me, Dara. This house means nothing. The money means nothing. The power means nothing. My father is just a man. Do you understand me?”
“I’m sorry, but, uh, this money and power stuff meansa lot. I grew up in a two-bedroom. I ate expired meat at least once a month. The carpets in here are probably worth more than my parents made in their entire lives. If we had even a tiny portion of your wealth, our lives would’ve been so different. So much easier.”
“Once you start thinking that way, they’ve won.” I tilt her chin, getting closer. “You’re smart. You’re beautiful. Don’t let my father get in your head. You can handle this.”
She licks her lips. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” I say and kiss her.
I’m not sure why I do it. Maybe it’s to force her to start thinking more clearly, or maybe it’s because I want to.
Either way, her lips part, and her tongue touches mine as the kiss deepens, her taste flooding my mouth.
I grip her hips tightly. I want to hold her here, tasting her, kissing her for hours. My pulse doubles and a purr runs through my throat at the thought of pulling her into one of the dozens of empty rooms and having my way with her.
This is my wife, my girl, the mother of my child.
This is the woman I’m supposed to be with—so why does it feel like I’m breaking all the rules?
