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Just thinking about that possibility makes me fall so much harder for him. It makes me believe I might even have a chance.
Up close, he is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. There is just a slight amount of stubble on his face, just enough to shade his cheeks and jaw. His hair is slightly messy but in an artful way. I’ve never known anyone like him before. It still feels insane that he is inside my house right now, that he touched my face, complimented my baking. I keep pinching myself in the same spot on my palm until I realize it’s gone numb.
“So, Vincent,” Mom says, still using the saccharine tone that sends shivers down my spine. “How do you afford that Porsche out front?”
“Mom!” I protest. “That’s so rude.” But so typical of her. All she cares about are nice cars, flashy watches, and rich guys who treat her like shit.
“I’m making conversation,” she snaps. Her megawatt smile turns to bared teeth in a flash, but her mask is back on once she faces Vincent.
“It’s no mind,” he says gently, raising a hand to me. He gives me a lopsided grin, and my stomach does a somersault. “My family and I own a chain of dry cleaners, and I manage the eastern branches.”
“Which cleaners?” I ask.
He seemed too sophisticated to just manage dry cleaners. His gray sweater is lush and tailored perfectly, and he wears jeans that hug his legs, showing off his body. I guess it tracked, but who knew dry cleaners were so lucrative? Something doesn’t add up.
“Fontanas,” he replies, a slight Italian accent creeping into his voice.
Fontanas?That name seems familiar, but I can’t think of where I know it from. I can’t really think of much when Vincent is distracting me with his talking.
His voice is supple, smooth, like worn leather. I want to talk with him all night. I want to fall asleep listening to his voice.
“How is school, Faith?” he asks. My name catapults me back to reality.
His stare is intense as if he wants to devour me. I don’t know why, but it makes me feel really warm inside. I probably should be scared of it, but instead, I simply feel wanted.
“It’s going well. Next semester I’m taking a life drawing class.”
His eyes light up for a moment. “Drawing. Are you very artistic?”
“I used to draw a bit in high school,” my mom interjects. Leaning forward, she puts a hand on Vincent’s knee to bring his attention back to her.
She shoots me a glare, and I know what it means,go away. Mommy’s getting laid.
I purposely ignore her stare. She made me bake cookies; I’m at least spending a few minutes talking to the object of my stupid hormone-fueled crush.
“I am asking Faith,” Vincent says pointedly, removing my mom’s hand from his leg.
Is it wrong that I feel a jolt of happiness in seeing him do that?
“Well, yeah, I think so,” I say in a quiet tone. I love to draw, but I don’t usually show anyone, not that there is anyone to show my stuff to anyway. “I’ve been drawing on my own for a while, and I’m excited to get better at it.”
“I’m sure you’re already wonderful. What else are you studying?” He sounds genuinely interested. It’s as if he actually wants to get to know me more.
He’s leaning toward me and hasn’t taken his eyes off of mine. I’m not even sure he’s blinked. The guy’s more intense than I expected, but it doesn’t scare me. In fact, it only piques my interest. It makes me want to run away with him.
“Literature, mostly,” I reply.
He hums an approval, then takes another bite of his cookie. He finally looks away from me, turning to admire the Christmas tree. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. God, this man has my mind reeling.
I take the few seconds he is looking away to gather my thoughts. It’s a nice, quiet moment, so of course, my mother has to ruin it.
“Faith, sweetie, I think it’s about time you go upstairs and let us have some grown-up time,” she sneers, speaking slowly as if I’m a toddler.
I open my mouth to protest, but something about the ice in my mother’s stare makes me back down. It’s not worth it to fight her tonight. It’s Christmas Eve, so I might as well just go to my room and try not to hear the sounds of my mom screwing Vincent on the couch. I push to stand up, hanging my head while trying to avoid looking at them.
Ugh, of course, they are sending me away. He was only being nice to me because he wants to be with my mom. I’m an idiot for thinking otherwise. I’m nothing more than a teenager to Vincent, the child of a woman he wants to screw.
“No,” Vincent snaps to attention, his voice demanding and firm. He whirls around on my mom, glaring at her, and for a split second, I see something in his eyes I didn’t expect. Something feral, dark, and possessive. As fast as it appears, it’s gone, and I wonder if it was there at all. “I don’t want Faith to leave. I’m enjoying her company.”
