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She watches me with her big eyes. “Don’t push her away. Give her reason to confide in you, not to do things behind your back. Carly is her own person. She deserves to make her own choices, even if they’re mistakes.”
Everything she says is true, but the protective side of me is too fierce.
“It’s just a date,” she continues. “You can’t lock her in a glass cage forever. She has to find her way in life.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Of course you can. At least meet the kid before you cast judgment. Invite him over. That way you can decide if she’s safe with him.”
I consider her words. I’m not the world’s greatest father, but I want what’s best for Carly.
“You can always kill him if he misbehaves,” she says with a hint of a smile.
It’s her way of telling me she accepted what happened this morning, not that I need her acceptance. I’m not worried about her ratting on me, either, because I know how desperately she wants to keep her brother alive. Anyway, it won’t do her any good. Magda practically owns the police force.
I sigh and wipe a hand over my face. “I have to discuss it with her mother.”
Hope lights up the somber depths of her eyes. “Can I tell her you’ll think about it?”
“Fine.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “I’ll think about it, and I’ll tell her myself.”
“Thank you,” she says, as if I just granted her freedom to date, which brings another nagging issue to my mind––Valentina’s virginity.
I won’t be able to hold off much longer. At some point, my control is going to snap. It tears me apart to even think about it, but soon I’ll have to face the decision I’ve been putting off for far too long.
* * *
When Valentina is cleaning upstairs, I send Marie out on a shopping errand with Quincy, and go through Valentina’s room. Except for a few pieces of clothing, a pair of flip-flops, and a change of plain, white underwear, there are raspberry-scented shampoo, body lotion, deodorant, and tampons in her closet. There are no cosmetics, jewelry, or shoes, not even a hairclip.
On the bottom shelf, I find a stack of text and notebooks. From the titles, I deduce they’re on veterinary science. Could it be that Valentina is a university student? It should’ve occurred to me earlier. She’s clever, driven, and ambitious. It makes sense that she’d want to further her education. As I’m staring at her neat handwriting, I’m struck by another foreign emotion.
Pride.
The pride I feel for Carly is her birthright, but this is different. This pride is earned. A piece of the ever-present coldness in me makes way for a pleasant rush of heat. Valentina wants to be a vet. She’ll make a brilliant, gorgeous animal doctor. This is why she needs the money. I finished an MBA after high school, and I know how much hard work it is. She won’t keep up this job and her studies. Not for long. The part of me that wants her to be happy wants her to have this, but I’ll have to find a way around Magda.
I’m enjoying the sensation of warmth in my chest too much to let it go, but when my gaze sweeps over her belongings, a new feeling dampens my pride. It takes me a while to place it.
Fuck me. I feel compassion. Big, empathic compassion. I always knew Valentina was going to play havoc with my body, but what the hell is she doing to my heart?
* * *
Valentina
“Which one?” Carly holds up a pink strapless dress and a blue one with a tight-fitting bodice.
I stop ironing to consider the options. “The pink one.” Gabriel will definitely object if she shows off too much of her figure.
She puts the pink one on the ironing pile and lifts her hair on top of her head. “Up or down?”
“You have a pretty neck. I’d say up.”
She all but skips from the scullery, leaving me with a smile. I’m glad Gabriel finally agreed to let her go out after meeting Sebastian and his parents. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to see Carly was smitten with the boy. He has all the qualities to make a schoolgirl’s knees weak, including playing for the school rugby team.
I finish pressing the tablecloth, hiding a yawn behind my hand. I’m exhausted. It’s a battle to keep my eyes open past eleven. Every night, Gabriel comes to me. My body has learned not only to respond to him, but also to need the pleasure he gives me like I need food and water. When my body hits the mattress, it starts craving him. I’m wet and aching before he even walks through my door. By the time he fondles and kisses me, I’m begging for release. Sometimes, he lets me return the favor. It’s always the same routine. When it’s me making him come, he leaves everything up to me. I find comfort and power in this, and I also find I need more. I’m ashamed to admit I want more from Gabriel than oral sex. I’m fantasizing about having him inside my body, feeling him rock a rhythm into me with his cock. I shouldn’t want this, not from him of all people. I crave what he does to my body, but I hate him for having this effect on me. I never wanted a man before or had erotic dreams, but now I wake up soaked and needy every morning, my senses super aware of him as he moves around the house. Last night, I was on the verge of asking him to fuck me, but my pride won’t let me. Maybe controlling me with powerful orgasms is enough for him, but it’s not enough for me. Not only did he make me a whore, he made me a greedy one.
