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“As long as you are with me, I don’t care what he does,” I tell her honestly.
“You still want me?” she asks, rearing her head back, looking at me like I am crazy.
“Why the fuck wouldn’t I want you?” She is everything I want and more. Why would this change anything?
“Because I’m a mess that comes with a cargo ship of baggage. I have no family. I grew up in trailers. I have no friends. I have a stalker who will continue to blackmail me until I die. Most likely at his hand…” she says, and I growl.
“How long has he been holding this over you? How long has this fucker been blackmailing you?” I spit out, angry not at her, but at that vile piece of shit that I left on the pavement.
“For years…” she admits. My hand continues to rub her back, keeping her warm, her body still shaking.
“Is he the person who was following you? The one who has you scared? Shit, he was the guy who planted his face in the car window when we went for our picnic, isn’t he?” I ask her, the puzzle pieces slowly starting to fall into place.
“Yes. He follows me everywhere. He followed me to Baltimore. He is everywhere I go.” I feel the fear rolling off her.
“He is not fucking coming anywhere near you ever again.”
“But he has the tape…” she whispers, her wet eyes searching mine.
“No one is going to see that tape,” I promise her as we approach our building, and the car drives down to my basement.
“How do you know? He will do anything for money.” Her eyes plead with me, and I hold her even tighter.
“Who is he? How do you know him?” I ask what has been on my mind since I saw them together.
“He is my foster brother.” She swallows, waiting for my reaction.She slept with her foster brother?Her answer leaves me with even more questions.
“Do you trust me?” I ask, gritting my teeth together. Now is the time. I will help her with this situation, regardless of what she says, but this is my last attempt. If she really doesn’t want me, then she will let me know, and I will walk away after I help her. I watch her swallow, but her eyes don't waver from mine.
“Yes. Yes, Eddie, I trust you,” she says with such conviction, there is no doubt. I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and my hand runs up her body. Cupping her face, I look into her eyes. I lean forward a little, rubbing my nose against her nose, taking a moment to just be with her. Reveling in our closeness, I take a deep breath and smell her familiar floral scent. Her hand comes to my neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at my nape.
“I fucking missed you.” I feel like I can breathe again.
“I fucking missed you.” She smiles a little, and I huff a small laugh.
“Good. Now let’s get inside. We need to talk.” Tony opens the car door, and I step out with her still in my arms, carrying her to my private elevator, then up to my penthouse where she will see the real me, and I will hear about the real her.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR - KATIE
As the elevator opens and he steps into his space, I am not sure what to look at first. The apartment I am staying in is luxe. This one… I have no words.
“Here, sit. I will get us some drinks.” He puts me on his soft white sofa, and I still.
“What's wrong?” he asks, concern laced in his face. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I say quickly, not sure what to do. I feel vulnerable right now. Raw. Not sure what I should or shouldn’t do. Reality starts to seep in that I now have to tell him everything. I look up at him, wondering if he can handle it. Keeping my hands in my lap, I sit on the edge of the sofa, too scared to move.
“What is it?” he says, looking down at me, trying to figure out what is wrong.
“You have a white sofa,” I say almost in a whisper, my body trembling.
“Yeah…” he questions, his brows furrowed. “And?”
“What if I get it dirty?” I ask, confused as to why he doesn’t understand this. I had a foster family that had a white sofa. I remember I sat on it and made it dirty, and they were not happy.
“I don't care. It is just a sofa,” he says, his face softening as he continues to watch me. I remain quiet, trying to get my body to relax. I feel like I have been bared wide open, my past filling my body again, everything I usually push down now floating to the surface as memories rear their ugly heads. “Pinkie,” he says as he squats in front of me. “I don’t care about a dirty sofa. I just care about you.” Leaning forward, he kisses my lips. I forgot how soft his lips are, how tender his touches. I feel my body relax instantly, and he pulls back, the kiss over too soon. “Relax. Let me get us a drink, then we can talk,” he says, his hands rubbing up and down my arm, soothing me.
“Okay,” I whisper and watch him stand again to walk over to his kitchen. I inhale a deep breath and take it all in. I feel guilty again. Guilt for bringing this mess into his life. Guilt for not being honest with him when I demanded it from him. Guilt for not being stronger, not handling my own shit. The guilt continues to swirl, mixed with adrenaline and nerves, making a sickening concoction in the pit of my stomach.
