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She gasps, shock and hurt flashing in her eyes.
Not caring for that expression on her, I stalk to the bathroom and gather our belongings. She studies me as I shove clothes and toiletries into our bags. I want to come clean and tell the world about us. I want everyone to know what we’ve done. While I want to shout from the rooftops that she’s mine, she’d rather hide the fact that she gave her first time to me.
It doesn’t matter. Her first time was mine, and no amount of denial can ever change that. Her innocence always belonged to me. Her virtue was always mine to take. It’s been my rightful claim to stake. In a few months’ time, when I put a ring on her finger, there’ll be no question about what happens in our marital bed. The people from whom she wants to hide her improper secret will know. They’ll all know.
Taking her bag in one hand and mine in the other, I carry them downstairs and leave them with a bellboy while I check out. Sabella says nothing. She stands aside, looking shellshocked in the cold light of day.
Just before twelve, we exit the lobby. Ryan, his wife, and Colin, that pretty boy with the soft, white, piano hands whom Sabella calls her best friend, are outside. Ryan and Colin are loading bags into the trunk of Ryan’s BMW. Ryan’s wife, Celeste, looks the worst for wear with a pair of oversized sunglasses shielding her eyes. She’s sitting on a bench next to the entrance, her face whiter than porcelain, sipping green slush that must be some miracle hangover remedy in a takeout cup.
At the sight of her family, Sabella stops dead. She takes three wide steps to the side, putting a stretch of space between us. Celeste spots her first. She gives a weak wave and makes a puking face.
The action catches the men’s attention. Ryan and Colin look up simultaneously. When they notice me, they still. Ryan’s expression gives nothing away. Neither does his relaxed stance. Colin fists his hands and takes a step forward, but Ryan stops him with an outstretched arm across his chest.
Not taking his eyes off me, Ryan asks in a calm, almost curious tone, “What are you doing here?”
I look at Sabella, my smile mocking. “Will you tell them, or shall I?”
Panic streaks across her face. Her pretty eyes plead with me. I’m not immune to her feelings. Far from it. But when she begs, I can’t deny her.
I address her brother. “It looks like I’ll be breaking the news.”
Sabella hovers on the balls of her feet like a rabbit about to run. To me. To stop me.
Before she gives herself away, I say, “I brought Sabella’s birthday gift of course.”
Ryan regards me with a narrowed gaze and a half-smile on his lips, no doubt questioning my explanation.
To prove my statement, I take the key from my pocket and press on the button to unlock the doors. The alarm of the red Ferrari in the parking lot beeps, and the signal lights flash.
Colin stares at me with a slack jaw. Celeste sucks in a loud breath and sits up straighter. Ryan’s smile grows, but it’s not a friendly gesture. However, it’s not their reactions I’m interested in. I search my girl’s face. And I don’t like what I see there. Shock. Embarrassment. Anger.
“I had the car delivered here because I thought you may like to drive it home,” I say to her. “The papers are in the glove compartment.”
She turns to me, standing tall with squared shoulders. “I don’t want it.”
“Aren’t you going to say thank you first?” I taunt. “At least before telling me what model you prefer.”
She bites off every word. “I don’t want a car.”
I raise a brow. “Isn’t that an appropriate gift for an eighteenth birthday?”
“From my parents, maybe.” She lifts her chin in an unspoken challenge. “Not a Ferrari.” She omits the from you.
“Come on, Sabella.” I laugh. “Don’t pretend in your circles it’s not common.” I throw her the key. “Take her for a spin. I know you’re dying to.”
She catches the key more out of reflex than free will.
Her reluctance to accept my gift angers me. I close the distance between us, stopping short of her. “I thought you’d like it.” More mocking. “Is red not your color?”
Colin widens his stance, but Ryan lays a hand on his arm.
“It’s inappropriate,” she says through clenched teeth, her words meant only for my ears. “Too much.”
I don’t know why I don’t tell her that as my future fiancée a car is the least of her rights. Why don’t I tell her we’re getting married? Why didn’t I last night when I had the chance? Or a year ago, or the year before that, or on the very day we met? Because I know she won’t like the idea. I know she’ll resist. I know she’ll put up a fight. She told me so in not so many words when she threw my ring back at me. Nothing can spell it out clearer than pretending in front of the world last night didn’t happen. But hey, why prolong the war? I’ll deal with it when the time comes to walk her down the aisle. I’ll tie her up and drag her to the altar if I must.
