Either way…
“Put your ring back on,” he commanded. “And do not take it off again.”
She didn’t acknowledge the command as she should have, considering the circumstances. Instead, she asked again, “What are you doing here?”
Victor signed back two words. Harsh and precise. “Happy Anniversary.”
Her eyes flared with the realization that they had stood before the judge in that town hall exactly one year ago.
Annoyance twisted Victor’s insides. He wished he’d been able to forget the date so easily.
He’d spent the last twelve months trying not to think of her. Telling himself that it was enough to leave her to rot.
That morning, he’d woken up optimistic. He’d deliberately packed the day with meetings in New York. And he’d dared to hope that their first anniversary would pass quickly without him even thinking about driving down to Rhode Island.
But he only made it to the afternoon before his willpower gave out. And now, here he stood across from her while Han handled the rest of his New York meetings.
“Why did you come here?” Dawn asked, her expression genuinely confused. “Why didn’t you wait for me at the house?”
That was a good question. Too good.
“I don’t wait,” he answered instead of telling her the truth—that he hadn’t been able to wait. That he was so obsessed with her, he had decided to come to her place of work when he found the house empty.
Speaking of which…
“Tell your co-workers you are leaving early.”
Her eyes widened. “I still have an hour left on my shift.”
He ground his teeth. She still didn’t seem to know her place with him. “Would you rather I write her a note? Tell her that your owner has arrived to fuck you?”
Dawn shot him a mutinous look. But in the end, she went over to the older black lady Victor had given his name to earlier.
“Marge, I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to leave early…”
There came some argument from the older woman. Apparently, Dawn was the only other person on shift until they closed.
“I’m really so, so sorry. You know I wouldn’t leave you in a lurch if I didn’t have to….” Dawn answered.
Eventually, the argument ended with Marge shaking her head and Dawn walking back to him. He savored her miserable expression, even as he greedily took in all the changes to her appearance.
She had taken out the braids she’d worn in college, but her hair still wasn’t the same as it had been in Japan. She’d manipulated it somehow, and it fell long and silky straight to just past her breasts.
She’d also lost weight. She was trim now, verging on willowy. Victor wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He’d found her compelling at any size. So why had she gone out of her way to shed so many pounds?
Perhaps it was to impress someone. Another guy?
It doesn’t matter, he told himself, tamping down the unwanted spurt of jealousy as they walked out of the bright orange building together. Even if she was attracted to someone else, there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Any guy she so much as touched would be dealt with in such a way that she wouldn’t dare to cross him again. In truth, it might be better if she had feelings for another man.
He wanted her to hurt, wanted her to suffer, wanted her to yearn uselessly. Just like him.
When he had pulled in earlier, he noticed the fleet Audi all his men drove wasn’t in the parking lot. And now that he was outside, he could see that his Audi was still the only luxury car on the entire block.
“Where is your driver?” he asked Dawn.
She regarded him a considering second, then to his surprise, she gave him a huge smile. “You know what, I’ve been working a lot on reframing and mindset lately, and I’m thinking things don’t have to be so difficult between us. So, hi Victor. How are you?”
He frowned at her aggressively cheerful question. He was terrible. He had tried and failed to resist coming down here for their anniversary. That was how he was.
“Where is your driver?” he repeated, giving his signs an even harder emphasis.
“I wasn’t due to get off work for another hour, and he’s not due home for another two. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, my bike’s right over there….”
She nodded toward a bicycle rack. There was only one bike attached to the rusty structure. But even if there had been ten, Victor would’ve known which one was Dawn’s. Her bike was painted a deep purple with neon yellow wheels. Also, the front basket was filled with a bushel of fresh flowers.
The flowers were a useless feature, to be sure. They made the basket unusable for anything else. But the colorful bike probably sparked joy in everyone who saw it. Everyone save Victor.
How long had she been riding a bike home every day through one of the more dangerous neighborhoods in Providence? Icy fury replaced his confusion about her missing driver.
“Operation Good as New—that’s what we’ll call it. This new dynamic of ours,” she declared as she pulled the bike off the rack. “You’ll probably have to wait for me at the house. It usually takes me about an—”
He snatched the bike from her before she could finish that sentence and started walking toward his Audi.
“Okay, I guess we’re driving then,” she said with a wry chuckle, falling into step beside him. She whistled when she saw his car. “This one’s even more lux than Yaron’s. As Byron still says, noice! So you finally learned how to drive. That’s great!”
He opened the trunk and threw her bike in without answering.
But Dawn didn’t seem to need him to answer to keep going. “New York license plates. Does that mean you’re living there now? Is that the real reason you didn’t want me to do my internship or attend med school in New York like I originally planned?”
Again, Victor didn’t answer.
The car ride home was very tense. But only for Victor.
Dawn prattled on, catching him up on everything that happened over the last year. All of her new hobbies, her weight loss journey, her shocked reaction when Nitra Mello announced that she was leaving RSW: College Mic Drop after just one season.
She spoke to him like they were old friends all the way home. Which they weren’t.
After they arrived at the house he’d chosen as her prison, Dawn welcomed him inside like he was a long-awaited guest.
“So this is actually great timing,” she said as they walked through the door. “I just finished jarring up some homemade kimchi, so I can make my mom’s spicy garlic pork bulgogi tonight. Plus, I got this great bottle of Riesling that I picked up at the Newport Wine and Food Festival. It was kind of expensive, and I was saving it for a special occasion, but now you’re here. Serendipity!”
She dropped her purse on a side table and headed straight to the kitchen without waiting for his response.
Apparently, she expected him to follow her now. He did after a few baffled moments, slightly more curious than he was annoyed. When he entered the kitchen, he found her bent over a wine refrigerator stuffed with bottles.
Why did one person need that much alcohol?
“Found it!” She stood and held up a bottle of wine with an elegant white label on it. “Do you know this one?”
He did, actually. Phantom had recently proposed that The Silent Triad acquire a floundering high-end Chinese baijiu distributor in order to launder more of their money in eastern territories. Of course, Victor had done his research into other luxury brands before agreeing to pursue a deal.
This particular wine was an umbrella brand under Wondrous Spirits, the Rustanov family’s multinational alcohol company. Victor had taken a particular interest in everything the Rustanovs did, because they had also started as mafia before becoming a legitimate business outfit.
He took the bottle from her and gave it an appreciative nod.
She beamed under his silent approval. “Just let me get two glasses, and we’ll have some while I make dinner—”
&nb
sp; She cut off when Victor walked over to the trashcan sitting to the kitchen island’s left and dropped the bottle into it unopened.
For the first time since she’d introduced her inane Operation Good as New plan, outrage seeped into her expression. “Why did you do that?”
He signed his next words slowly. “I am not one of your frat boys, willing to fuck you when you’re drunk. I want you fully aware.”
A satisfying flash of fear lit up her eyes. But she smothered it in the next moment under a smile. “Okey-dokey then. Water it is. That pairs with bulgogi too.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m not here for dinner. I’m here for punishment.”
She paused. Then with an equally serious look, signed back, “Can’t you have both?”
A beat passed between them. Charged and electric.
“No,” he answered. “I can’t have both.”
“I think you’re only saying that because you’ve never had my mom’s bulgogi,” she insisted with an irreverent grin. “Dude, it’s so crazy good. Tell you what, if you don’t like it, you can sweep the table and hate fuck me or whatever. When you think about it, that might be even better for you, because I’d be sooo upset that you didn’t like my dinner. Like…”
She made dramatic sobbing sounds. “I was trying so hard to impress Victor with my cooking, and he hated it! What a terrible punishment! This is so much worse than a regular hate fuck!”
Dawn broke off her hypothetical impression to give him a sympathetic look. “You know, I almost wish this bulgogi I’m about to make for you wasn’t so good. I want that vision to come true for you, Victor.”
A ripple of amusement welled inside of him, so unexpected it almost reached his lips.
“See, you’re already almost smiling super reluctantly,” Dawn pointed out with a pleased grin. She grabbed two wine glasses from the overhead cabinet. “Now, please sit down at this way-too-nice-for-me marble kitchen island while I make you an amazing dinner. You’re going to love it, I swear.”
With that promised, she filled the glasses up with water from the fridge. He noted that she put ice in her stemmed cup but not in his. Perhaps she remembered that he preferred it that way.
Somewhat bemused, he took the wine glass filled with water from her and spent the next hour watching her cook. Save for when she ran upstairs to change out of her work clothes into a pretty yellow skater dress, she chattered the entire time.
“Sorry for talking so much. It’s been a while since I had the chance to speak with someone my own age,” she admitted sheepishly as she put the bulgogi in the bowls she’d set out. “Yaron and all my co-teachers at Young Souls are parents in their 40s. And the kids only want to talk about Yo Gabba Gabba and who did what at school. This is so nice—speaking of nice, the weather’s been amazing. Want to sit on the front porch? Which is, again, way more front porch than one person needs?”
Dawn didn’t wait for his answer. She simply handed him their bowls, filled with meat, rice, and various vegetables, and said, “Okay, lead the way.”
She grabbed a third bowl before following him out of the kitchen, Victor noted. Who was it for?
He soon found out. After he set the bowls down on the porch’s little table, she kept on walking toward the carport at the end of the long driveway where her driver was now parked.
He watched the way the short skirt of her yellow dress whipped around her much thinner legs in the evening breeze. And something in his stomach burned, green and hot, as he watched her lean through the front passenger window to hand the driver the bowl of food.
Their voices floated back to him on the same wind playing with the skirt of her dress.
“Here you go!” she said. “Sorry I can’t keep you company tonight.”
“That’s okay. Was he mad about me not being at the house when he got here?” the driver inquired.
“Why would he be mad?” she asked. “He’s the one who showed up out the blue. Seriously, don’t worry about it. How was Yara’s pre-school graduation ceremony?”
“Cute. Long though. Her teacher could’ve lopped a good half hour off.”
She laughed. And they talked over a few more subjects. His guard actually had to be the one to say, “You better get back over there. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”
Rage burned inside of Victor, hot enough to reheat the food she was letting get cold while she chatted.
But if she noticed his mood change when she returned, she didn’t acknowledge it.
“Ready?” She asked, her voice even more cheery and bright than it had been before.
Yes, he was ready, Victor decided, his black heart hardening as he took his own seat.
Ready to teach her a lesson.
8
DAWN
Yes! Operation Good As New was working! I just might get through this anniversary without losing my mind.
I peeked across the table at Victor. He still looked so unbelievably handsome. It was hard to look at him directly without missing a few breaths. He wore one of those looks that were so popular these days, a short-sleeved black collared shirt with a dove-gray button-up vest. His tattoo sleeve made the outfit especially on-trend. Replace the ruthlessly sculpted hair with a man bun, and he’d be a shoo-in for the cover of Hipster Hottie magazine.
I guessed that this was as close as a guy like Victor got to a springtime look. But it was still sinister as hell. Which was why I could barely believe my plan was working.
When I’d come up with the plan to simply treat Victor like he was still the boy I knew in Japan as we were taking that death march out of the Young Souls daycare, I wasn’t sure it would work.
He’d been so cold when he showed up out of the blue. So bent on punishment, I wasn’t sure he’d let me joke my way into making us dinner. And don’t even get me started on him throwing away my expensive bottle of wine. I wouldn’t call alcohol a crutch exactly. But I’d been depending on it to get me through dinner with my openly hostile guest.
Luckily, Victor had finally relaxed, and now here we were, eating dinner across from each other, perfectly cozy.
Yes, sure, I was doing most of the talking. And, okay, he was barely responding when I asked him questions. So dinner conversation wasn’t exactly scintillating.
“How do you like living in the States?” I asked him between bites of bulgogi.
“Fine.”
“Are Han and Phantom over here with you, too?”
“Sometimes.”
“Where are you living in New York? The state or the city?”
Long pause as if I’d asked him a complicated math question. “The city,” he finally replied.
Seriously, it was like pulling teeth. But I took another glug of water that I wished was wine and kept on trying. “Cool, how do you like living there?”
“Same. Tokyo. Hong Kong.”
Wow, he’d gotten good at answering with just a minimum of signs. It made me want to ask him more complicated questions just to see if he could keep it going.
But I told myself to be grateful. At this point, I was pathetically happy that he was conversing with me and even sharing a meal. I knew eating in front of other people was a whole thing for him.
That had started out as an issue for us back when we were a couple. I’d noticed once that he never ate in front of me. And when he did, it was usually something like ice cream or soup—even when we went out for breakfast.
When I asked him to split an appetizer with me once during one of our secret dates, he’d agreed but had seemed uncomfortable and embarrassed. Like eating tako wasabi was a huge ordeal.
He’d chewed on the raw octopus covered in wasabi for so long. I’d been afraid that he actually hated the dish and had only agreed to order it because I’d asked.
The whole story came out when I told him he didn’t have to keep eating if he disliked tako wasabi that much.
“I have to be careful when eating this kind of food,” he’d confessed, his expression ashamed and embarrassed.
Apparently, the chance of choking and/or gagging went up a whole lot of percentage points when you didn’t have most of your tongue.
He’d sheepishly apologized for how long it took him to chew each bite. “I hope this doesn’t disgust you.”
“Are you kidding?” I’d answered. “My mom would love you. She’s always telling me to chew my food more.”
We had laughed, the awkward moment navigated. It didn’t matter, I told myself. And after that, whenever Victor and I ate together, I tried to chew as many times as he did. I’d trained myself not to swallow until I saw his Adam’s apple bob. That was how crazy I’d been for him.
I was all grown up now, no longer a ridiculous high schooler swept up in first love. But sitting across from him, I fell into that learned habit. And as we chewed together, it almost felt like my plan was working. Like we were different, for sure, but close to good as new.
I found myself weirdly glad that Victor had decided to drop by for our first anniversary. His presence was a lot. I mean, it didn’t matter if he could talk or not. He filled my head with so much noise. I could barely concentrate on anything else, including that weird restless feeling that still hadn’t gone away. It was like an engine, constantly revving somewhere in my distance.
Having him here to fill up my evening instead of the usual post-dinner despondency almost made up for the bottle of wine he’d chucked.
Plus, it was really lovely to eat at a table, sitting across from someone as opposed to standing in the carport with Yaron, who’d insisted he wasn’t allowed to leave his post.
“Tell me about your job.”
I blinked. Whoa, was the silent beast starting a new topic of conversation himself? He still wasn’t using a whole lot of signs, and his face was mad cold and impassive. But hey, he was communicating. I’d take it.
“You know, it’s a job,” I answered and signed at the same time. “I like it. The kids are fun. And they let me teach them sign language twice a week—that’s why I’m not as rusty as I was a year ago. I’m also teaching the nursery kids baby sign language, and a few of them are actually using it. Especially when they’re hungry, oh, you should see it. It’s so crazy cute!”
Victor: Her Ruthless Owner: The VICTOR Trilogy Book 2 [50 Loving States, Rhode Island] (Ruthless Triad) Page 5
