Page 15

LIA

I didn’t notice when Rhaim first pulled away, but I did wake up when I heard him talking.

I kept my eyes closed for as long as I could, afraid of being in the dark without him—but then when I opened them, ready to panic, I found the curtains still open, and now that my eyes were adjusted to the dark, the cityscape outside provided more than enough light.

Thank god.

I thought about creeping into the hall to listen in—but in what clothing?

And—what if Rhaim was doing some legit Corvo CFO shit at, oh—I looked around the room, searching for a clock or a phone—I found his and turned it on enough to see the time—five-a-m in the morning?

I set his phone back precisely where I’d found it—it was clear that his nightstand was the more ‘masculine’ side.

Which meant that…my neck craned back, and I quickly wriggled to the other side of the bed.

It wasn’t that I wanted to torture myself by looking at more of Isabelle’s stuff, so much that I wanted to know everything I possibly could about Rhaim, and seeing as this might be my only chance—I opened the drawers on her side, immediately.

I found reading glasses, hand cream, a high end vibrator—and then I realized reading glasses implied the presence of a book—and squinted a little further to find one, kissed by shadows at the far edge of the stand.

I picked it up—and it was a romance novel.

Because of course it was.

I clutched it to my chest and rocked back.

I’d even read the author before.

Then—I rocked forward quickly, holding the book evenly out, curious as hell to which well-written passage it would naturally fall open to—did Isabelle value well written sex?—when I missed my chance because a square bookmark fluttered out.

I picked this up off my lap, and realized it was almost like a polaroid—and—it was an ultrasound.

Of a baby.

Dated a few weeks before Isabelle died.

“Oh, Rhaim,” I whispered, my heart breaking for him, as I traced my thumb over the small curled up figure pressed against the image’s side—and when I moved my thumb, I realized the ultrasound also had the name of a doctor— the Doctor. Enzo Genziani.

Everyone in a certain sphere of my father’s life saw the same man, who wouldn’t blink at pulling out a bullet or sewing up a knife-wound.

Then I realized wherever Rhaim had gone—he was done talking.

I slammed the photo back into the book, carefully replaced it exactly where it belonged, and then rolled back to the precise spot I’d been in when I’d woken.

Rhaim came back into the room and stood by the bed watching me breathe for a minute—I could tell by the shadow he cast over me.

“You’re only pretending to be asleep,” he said.

I blinked my eyes open and sat up. “Who was that then?”

“A friend who brought you clothing and a phone. And who would never tell anyone that you were here—unless they were given several million dollars.” He was in wrinkled jeans and didn’t have a shirt on, and looked thoughtful, as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

I moved to lean against him, pressing my chest against his back—I wanted to touch as much of his skin as could for as long as I had.

“When do I need to go back to my apartment, Rhaim?” I asked, because if he told me the better option would be us, running away, tonight…it wouldn’t take much to convince me.

He leaned his head back to rock against me. “Depends on how angry you want your actual father to be.”

“Fuck him,” I growled. It was his fault things were going down like this.

“He’s even older than your new fiancée—and he’s trying to do right by you, the only way he knows how.” I stiffened with Rhaim’s betrayal, and yet he still added, “Really.”

“You’re taking his side?”

“No. I just don’t have the luxury of not thinking,” he said, then reached his hand back to run it into my hair.

“And now you’re calling me stupid?” I said, my voice going high—and his fingers curled against my scalp.

“Did I say that?” he asked. I shook my head no, and he relaxed. “You’re allowed to be pissed at him. But just merely being angry won’t get you anything you want in life. Not without a shit-ton of forethought behind it.”

I nodded, because I thought I understood. A little.

“If you run away from this wedding your father’s got planned, you’ll look flighty. Emotional. And they’ll use that against you for the rest of your life. I’m not saying you need to enjoy it—far from it—but I need you to be patient. And trust me.”

This time, I nodded more strongly.

But I was still mad—at everything.

And I wanted to kindle that anger—because once I left this apartment, it would be the only thing I had left to keep me warm at night.

That, and all of my memories.

I reached a hand around to place it on his stomach suggestively, feeling the faint trail of fur there and knowing where it led—and the action made Rhaim snort.

“Still hungry?” he asked, and I answered with the truth, whispering it into his ear.

“Always,” I said, with a hiss, as he turned to kiss me, hard, pulling my head down so his mouth could meet mine, even as his other hand took mine and shoved it into his jeans.

He kissed me hot and hard, not afraid of clashing teeth, or of biting, as I rose up behind him, pressing my breasts into his back, feeling my hips ache with blinding need—the same need he had, as I felt his dick rise beneath my hand—and then he pushed me away, fully turning to see me, breathing hard.

“You look beautiful in the shadow,” he murmured—and I realized here, with him, was possibly the longest I’d ever managed to be even partially in the dark.

Then he lay down, and unbuttoned his jeans—he wasn’t wearing boxers underneath, and so his cock rode up in a strong, proud line against his stomach.

“Eat,” he commanded—and I crawled down the bed to do so.