Page 16 of The Consequence of You (Heathley Academy #2)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ASHER

T he car journey is made in almost complete silence. Callie couldn’t sit further away from me in the back of the limousine if she tried. I make the most of the space, sitting with my legs spread and arm flung over the back of the seat.

The party is north of town, so it’ll take a good half an hour to get there. I can think of plenty of good ways to spend half an hour. This isn’t one of them, so I take my phone out and connect it to the limo’s stereo. Lana Del Rey’s Ride punctuates the air around us.

I sneak a sideways glance at Callie. Her tiny hands are fisted in her lap, and her shoulders are tense. Rossi clearly means a lot to her for her to agree to this.

She’s not a big socialiser. To an outsider, she appears to be a classic introvert, but based on the way she interacts with me, I doubt that’s the case.

She rarely attended parties at the academy in high school, and since we started university, I can count on one hand the social events I’ve seen her at.

I’m sure she only goes when our friends Grayson and Dahlia invite her along, so maybe she genuinely suffers from social anxiety.

A pang of guilt hits me as I look at her red dress. I tricked her into wearing it knowing full well the dress code tonight is black and white. Then I remember her rejection last week, and I push away my guilt. She deserves this.

Less than an hour later, I realise how fucking wrong I was. Callie might not choose to socialise much, but it most definitely isn’t because of anxiety. She’s a natural.

The instant we walk in, it’s obvious she’s the only one dressed in a different colour.

But instead of walking straight back out again, she shrugs it off and straightens her shoulders, like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

As soon as we walk into the large function suite at the hotel, the eyes of the room are on her, and she owns it.

From that moment on, she has men clamouring over each other to introduce themselves. Everyone tends to know each other at these events, and I may as well have introduced fresh meat into a room of circling sharks.

As each one introduces themselves, she bats her eyelashes, smiling coquettishly at them. She laughs at terrible jokes, feigns interest when they talk about stock market fluctuation, and deliberately flirts with them.

My plan to make her feel like I did last week has seriously backfired.

She doesn’t seem in the slightest bit uncomfortable.

And the worst thing? My dick seems to have missed that I blackmailed her to get her in this room, and instead, it’s doing its level best to get some of her attention on it rather than these men .

My mother and father keep glancing over, matching frowns marring their foreheads. I’m yet to introduce them to Callie, and I can see the cogs turning, wondering why I brought this girl with me. My older brother, Sebastian, heads over to us. He slowly runs his eyes over her as he approaches us.

The cunt.

He needs to keep his fucking eyes to himself. He takes her hand and kisses the back of it, before he catches my eye and winks. He’s always coveted my toys. Even when he got bigger, and he’d outgrown whatever I was playing with, he’d try to take it off me.

Prick.

I watch as he takes his time to let go of her hand.

Callie blushes a deep shade of red at something he says, and she giggles.

She’s fucking giggling . I take a deep breath to stop myself yanking her away from his roaming eyes, but when she eventually turns back to me, her face is blank, and I realise she was playing my brother.

I shouldn’t care either way, but knowing she isn’t interested in him makes me feel inexplicably elated.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she whispers discreetly a few minutes after we finish our meal.

It’s the first words she’s said to me since we sat down.

I catch her scent of sweet magnolia and jasmine as she stands.

It’s the same scent she wore the day we were in the nursing home together.

Like a Pavlovian response, my mouth waters.

Watching as she walks away, I can’t help but wonder what she’s wearing under that red dress. She might have disobeyed me with its colour, but her long nails are painted in matte black. All I can think about is stripping the dress off her to find out if her underwear is red or black.

Fuck me, what's this girl doing to me? I’d invited her here to pay her back for walking out on me that day, but the more time I spend with her, the less I want to punish her for it, and the more I want to ask her what I did wrong.

Wanting a replay of a sexual experience with the same woman is not a familiar feeling for me, but the fact it’s Callie Messina that is the exception, is fucking with me in a way I did not see coming.

Before I can second guess why, I see my parents are also watching her leave the room.

It’s all the reminder I need about why I brought her here.

I stand and follow her to the ladies.

She walks in and a few seconds after her, an older lady follows, but I jog towards her, stopping her in her tracks.

“Excuse me, this toilet is out of order. There is another one at the end of the hall.”

She takes in my smart dress and charming smile and takes me at my word. Thanking me, she hurries away. I slip into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. The click has Callie looking up from where she stands in front of the sinks. Her forehead creases.

“This is the ladies. What are you doing in here?”

“You disobeyed me earlier. I asked you to wear black, and you wore red.”

“We’ve been over this. You are not my boss. I can wear what the hell I want. And I wanted to wear red.”

“No. You wanted to disobey me. You hate red. You hate any colour that isn’t black.”

“Black isn’t a colour.” She smooths down a loose hair and brushes her long bangs out of her eyes, and for some reason, it makes me want to mess them up again.

“Stop arguing with me.” I growl .

“Stop telling me what to do.” She rummages in her small handbag, pulling out a lipstick. I watch as she carefully reapplies it, her actions slow and measured as the deep red gloss glides over her lips perfectly.

I’m only a few steps away, and can smell the strawberry scent. The sweetness contrasts her snarky exterior, and I imagine what it'd be like to lick it from her mouth.

Fuck, I need to focus on my plan. Not get distracted by her again.

I stroll over to her and take the tube from her hand. Opening it, I rub my finger across the applicator before smearing it roughly across my mouth.

“What are you doing?” Callie’s brow furrows in confusion.

I pull the bottom of my shirt out of my trousers and mess up my hair a little.

I turn to Callie and tug the ribboned bow on her dress.

Not enough to untie it, but just so it looks lopsided.

She freezes, and I grab her hand and yank her out of the door and back into the hallway before she can object.

We run straight into my parents.

Perfect timing.

I knew they’d follow me out here to confront me. Of course they wouldn’t do it in public.

“Asher James Alexander Pennington. What is the meaning of this?” My mother only middle names me when she’s really mad.

“This?” I ask, nonchalantly, as if I don’t know what she’s referring to.

“This.” She repeats herself, waving between Callie and I.

Callie tries to pull her hand from mine, but I grip it harder and pull her into my side.

“ This is my date. Calliope Messina.” As I say her name, my mother visibly pales. She’s heard the societal whispers as much as I have. She’d followed me out here to complain that my date’s dress is too loud, or too short or just too much, but this is more than she anticipated.

Her eyes narrow. If her friends knew her son was dating the daughter of a rumoured mafia boss, she’d be mortified.

“Messina? You’re not British then?” She sneers, curling her upper lip as though being anything else is utterly distasteful. I’m well used to my mother’s judgment, and yet hearing her direct it at Callie has rendered me momentarily speechless. Callie, however, doesn’t miss a beat.

“My nationality is British. If you’re asking about my heritage, it’s Italian. Well, Sicilian, if you want to be more specific.”

My father grips my mother’s elbow as she visibly shudders.

I knew what I was doing when I brought Callie here tonight, but I’d not been prepared for the shame that heats my blood at my parent’s blatant disapproval as it plays out in front of me.

My intention had been to rile up my parents, prompt them to throw out some disparaging words and as a bonus, have Callie experience what it’s like to feel not good enough for once.

But now it’s happening? I feel nauseated .

“What line of work is your family in?” My father’s steely voice echoes around the hallway, the high ceilings ensuring there is no way any of us miss the question.

“It’s none of your business,” I snap, stepping forward until my body is between Callie’s and theirs. They already know her name, but I won't confirm anything else. I’m not giving them any other ammunition to use against her .

Fuck knows why I suddenly care, but I do.

My mother addresses me directly this time. “We have a reputation to uphold, Asher. You need to stop acting out. Your legacy is important. We’re used to covering up your indiscretions, but there are hundreds of important people here tonight, and you’ve brought some … tarty looking-”

“Do not finish that sentence, Mother.” She looks stunned I dared to answer her back, but then my father steps in. “What your mother is trying to say is, her family are … criminals. It’s not acceptable. People will talk.”

Rage like I’ve never felt before courses through my veins at their bigotry.

I wanted to piss them off.

I deliberately chose Callie for that reason but hearing them say those disgusting things to her face is another thing entirely.

There's a pounding in my chest.

It can’t be my heart.

I don’t possess one.