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“Thank you for last night. It was perfect.” She gives us a small smile. “Thank you for making my first time something I’ll never forget.”
My heart hurts saying goodbye. “It was our honor, Cupcake. Wherever life takes you, I hope you never forget your worth. Never settle, okay?”
She gives me a sad smile. “I wish it could be that easy,” she whispers.
I give her a lingering kiss on the forehead before stepping back. I don’t know what she means by that but it’s not my place. This was only meant to be one night and she’s not shown signs of it being more than that.
“Safe travels, Scarlett,” Emerson grunts, the soft side I saw last night gone. I’m not surprised and neither is Scarlett. She nods and gives him a half smile before walking to her cab.
With each step she takes, I feel like a piece of myself is leaving me. It’s crazy, I know. I just met the girl last night, but there's something about her, something that calls to my soul.
My hands wrap around the pen I carry in my pocket, and I do something I shouldn’t. Finding an old receipt in the other one, I quickly jot down my cell number as I walk toward her.
She’s getting in the cab when I reach her. “Scarlett.” She looks over at me, and I step closer so Emerson doesn’t see what I’m doing. “Here.” I slip my number into her pocket. “If you ever need anything, call me.”
She blinks at me in surprise a few times and nods. “Thank you.”
I smile, give her one last kiss on the forehead, and let her get into the cab.
“You okay, love?” Emerson asks, bumping his shoulder into mine and leaving it there.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
“Do you regret it?”
Without hesitation, I say, “Not a single bit.”
CHAPTER 8
2 MONTHS LATER
SCARLETT
I’m exhausted and have been for the last week or so, I think it’s the impending nuptials. I’m gonna be Mrs. Rossi this weekend, and I feel sick to my stomach over it. My final fitting for my dress is this afternoon, and I’m dreading it.
Tobin picked out my gown, and it’s hideous, not at all what I would pick if I were to pick something myself. I tried to negotiate that he got to pick my husband—and really my whole life—so I should get to pick my wedding dress, but he wasn’t having it. He did, however, let me choose my hair and makeup artist and the design, so I have Michael Starr flying in to do my hair and makeup, which I’m ecstatic for.
I’ve been following him on social media for years, so for him to be coming to do my wedding day look is insane. Money talks though, and Tobin has plenty of it, so I’m going to use it while I can. Michael’s artistic skill will be the only good thing about this wedding and marriage.
I’m marrying a stranger, and all Tobin will tell me is he’s Antonio Rossi’s son. Oh, and he’s at least a decade older than me. I don’t know if he truly doesn’t know his age, or if he’s choosing his words carefully so as to not give away that I’m about to marry some fifty-year-old man. This Rossi guy is a stranger to me since women aren’t allowed in men’s business, so I can’t even guess how old my fiancè is because I don’t know his father either.
Uncle Tobin has told me that he’s a brute, and I need to be on my best behavior throughout the marriage or my beloved will have no issue punishing me. I’m to be arm candy to this guy and even if he wants to step out on me, I need to be neither seen nor heard.
What the fuck?
I may not want to marry this guy, but I’ll be damned if my husband is going to cheat on me. He’s not sticking his dick in any other woman before coming home to me and doing the same, putting me at risk of a STD or worse. Absolutely not. If I have to be married to him against my will and fuck him so he can have an heir, so be it. But I’ll be damned if I’m to be made a fool.
Other women may let their significant others do that so they can have no-limit credit cards and nice cars, but not me. I’ve met those types at parties with Tobin and they’re talked about as soon as their backs are turned. Not me. I will not be a mockery.
“Miss Scarlett, your lunch is ready,” our cook, Margaret, calls over the intercom.
I stand and head to the intercom by the door. “Thank you, Margaret. I’ll be right there.” Slipping my heels on, I head downstairs to the kitchen, where I take my lunch unless Tobin is home. Then I eat in the dining room with him.
When I get to the kitchen, I sit at my spot at the small table and smile at Margaret. She’s been here with us as the cook since I was fourteen, and I’ve grown fond of her. Plus, sometimes she sneaks me sweets or soda, especially when I’m on my period and crave chocolate like those vampires on TV crave blood.
“Good afternoon, Miss Scarlett. I prepared your favorite pizza, but with the cauliflower crust so Mr. Tobin doesn’t get angry.” She sets a plate with a personal pan pizza on it in front of me.
“Thank you, Margaret,” I tell her and lean down to smell the ooey-gooey cheese on the top. She’s added extra since it’s my favorite.
