Tell Me You Love Me: A Novel

by S. Ann Cole

  He watches me for a long, long moment. “You like him, don’t you?”

  “What? I—no—I don’t—” I stutter, taken aback. “Of course, not. He’s just a tutor.”

  With a defeated sigh, he mumbles conclusively, “You do like him.” Another lumbering sigh, paired with a forehead rub. “The last time you were like this, defiant, erratic, tactical, you were sneaking around with Max.”

  What? “You…You knew?”

  “Of course, I did, ‘Rena. You’re my whole world. My lifeline. I know you better than you know yourself.” He stands and combs his hand through his short hair. “I just didn’t fight it because Max lives with us, is mature, and at least I knew he would move heaven and earth to protect you. Hell, he’s practically part of the family. It was either him or some other little shit who would end up knocking you up in order to have ties to the family.”

  My father might have known about Max and me, but he had to have found out a lot later. Max took my virginity when I was seventeen. There’s no way my father would be so chill about it if he knew that truth.

  Max and I sneaked around for five years before I broke up with him at twenty-two after I suggested we come out to my father and he refused. He didn’t want to lose his job. Didn’t want to fight for me. Little did he know that my father already knew and approved.

  Ha. I could’ve been pregnant with his son right now. We could’ve been happy. I loved him. Too bad he was too much of a vagina to own me.

  My father walks over to the wall of glass overlooking the city. “What happened?” he asks.

  “He was a coward.” I flip open the folder. “His fear of losing you was greater than his fear of losing me.”

  He doesn’t respond, but just stares out the windows.

  The folders contain pictures and reports on me dating back to over two months ago when I first visited Kholton’s house.

  We’ve been doing lessons for around three weeks now, and it irks me to admit I’m no closer to him now than I was six weeks ago. He insists on being professional, and even though I do manage to kick down the barriers from time to time and engage him in non-professional conversations, he still feels…far.

  I’m getting in with Naan, though. She’s a hoot. For whatever inexplicable reason, she is all for me getting knocked-up by her grandson. We’ve made a date for next week to brainstorm ideas on how to make this happen.

  “You study at home from now on.” Aaron’s decree halts my thoughts.

  I glance up from the folders. “I’m sorry?”

  With a grunt of displeasure, he turns, hands in pockets, and looks at me. “You like him. If I tell you not to see him, you’ll do it anyway. That’s you. When you want something, you bulldoze your way through every wall until you get it, and you never take no for an answer. You’ll lie, steal, and manipulate to get your way. I both love and hate that about you.”

  His chuckle is humorless. “You have set your mind on that man since the night you were kidnapped, and here we are, many months later. At this point, there’s nothing I can do to make you stay away from him. So, if he’s going to be around for a while, I prefer to have him where I can keep an eye on him.”

  “You mean where you can control us?” This is said in the calmest of tones, even though I am in total shock.

  Our home? Aaron Bentley doesn’t invite people into his home. Not unless you’re a close friend of the family or important business partner. Tutor or not, this is huge.

  Therefore, I don’t repeat the words or ask him if he’s sure, for fear that he will think twice about it and retract. Best to move the conversation along like it’s a done deal.

  “I’m offering this so you don’t have to lie to me. I don’t want that between us,” he tells me. Resting his hands on the back of his leather chair, he looks at me dead on. “Swear to me, ‘Rena. No more lies.”

  I push to my feet and round the desk to him. There’s so much worry and concern emanating from him, and this is why I hate being the only child. The pressure to not disappoint can be unbearable at times. I wrap my arms around him and hug him tight to me, head on his shoulder. “I love you, Daddy.”

  He exhales, long and deep, and pulls me closer to him. “I love you, too, my ‘Rena.”

  I close my eyes and breathe, relieved that I didn’t have to swear to him that there’ll be no more lies.

  Because getting struck by lightning is certainly not how I want to die.

  Eleven - Kholton

  “She’s early.”

  Monogamy has an angel.

  In just the same way the Angel of Death shows up in our lives with no room for negotiations, there comes a time in every player’s life when the Angel of Monogamy shows up and whispers ever so seductively, “It’s time.”

  I’ll tell you one thing, that shit is scarier than death.

  It took me a while to recognize the wretch when I first met Her. The confusion, the feeling of fright and terror, which I suppose is the exact same feeling one has when the Angel of Death shows up. A buddy of mine once said that death and monogamy are synonymous.

  I’m starting to believe there’s some truth to that.

  For one, my dick is broken. I’ve not been laid since Serena Bentley manipulated her fancy little ass through my doors. Pussies of all age, race, and elasticity has come knocking, of course, but I haven’t been able to get it up. For anyone.

  Except her.

  Every orgasm I’ve had over the past two months have been self-induced, while thinking of her. The sorceress.

  That’s when I knew. The Angel of Monogamy is here for my balls. And I’m scared shitless.

  I want my dick back, my virility, my ability to not give a shit.

  I don’t want this. I don’t want my thoughts to be dominated by a single woman. I want all the women. In different shapes, sizes, and hair color. Not just goddamn red. I’m not ready.

  But just as there are no negotiations with Death, there are no negotiations with Monogamy. I’m fighting a losing battle. Monogamy is here for me, and Serena Bentley is the Chosen.

  Currently, I’m in Naan’s suite at her retirement home. She’s brushing her hair in front of her vanity, ignoring me.

  From across the room, I glare straight into the mirror at her until she’s forced to look at me.

  “Glare all you want, Collin,” crows the spiteful witch. “I’m not telling you.”

  “I’m your blood,” I shot back. “You don’t even know her.”

  She works the brush slow and steady through her thinning hair. “I know enough.”

  “Naan, just tell me,” I beg. “What’s she up to? What’s she after?”

  Ever since Serena and Naan’s strange exchange on the rooftop terrace a few weeks ago, I’ve been on Naan’s case, badgering her to tell me what it was all about. In heat? Swollen vulva? What the hell did all that mean? And why would she allow a stranger to use her own flesh and blood?

  Naan sets the brush down and turns her mobility chair around to face me. “It’s not what she thinks she wants, Collin. It’s what she doesn’t realize she needs.”

  She navigates her mobility chair closer to where I’m propped on the arm of a chair. “It’s nothing for you to be worried about. Do you really think I would ever allow anyone to hurt you? It’s just…” She sighs. “If it works out, it will be the perfect chance to start over. Collin, who will you have when I’m gone?”

  I don’t want to think about her being gone. “Don’t say shit like that, Naan.”

  “I will say shit like that,” she defies, “because I am nothing if not a realist. I am going to die. One day, you’re going to get a call that I didn’t wake up. That I died of a heart attack, a stroke, or an overdose of orgasms after reading too much erotica. What are you going to do then, huh?”

  I cringe. Old age has done nothing to minify Naan’s foul-mouth and shamelessness. She’s been this raw for as long as I can remember.

  “I’ll survive.”

  She stabs me with her stare. “You n
eed to get yourself a wife and settle down, boy.”

  I laugh. “Sure. Soon.” As in, when my dick stops working. Then I stop laughing, because it has stopped working, hasn’t it? Joke’s on me.

  Naan pokes her long fingernail into the flesh of my forearm. “Find you a strong one, though. Someone who is a challenge. Not a doormat like your mother.”

  I love my mom, but I see no lies in Naan’s words. Mom’s docile and voiceless. She allows dad to make all the decisions, to walk all over her. Never stands up and fights for us, for me. She obediently does whatever he tells her to, without objections.

  He tossed me out on the streets, penniless, and she let him. Without objections. He stuck her own mother in a cheap retirement home and she let him. Without objections. After I took Naan from that horrible home and flew her here instead, he forbade her from communicating with either of us in any way and she let him. Without objections. It’s pitiful and embarrassing to watch.

  “Someone like Serena Bentley,” Naan’s voice kicks through my thoughts, her conniving gaze fixed on me.

  Here we go again. “What’s your obsession with Serena?”

  “She’s a nice girl,” she replies easily. “Gorgeous, too.”

  “And rich, right?”

  She purses her lip. “Well…that’s a bonus.”

  I scoff. Had Serena been anyone else, Naan wouldn’t give two shits about her. But she’s Serena Bentley, Aaron Bentley’s daughter. Why wouldn’t the idea of Serena and me together get her off? Naan’s a schemer. I’ve no doubt she’s who I got my unsavory skills from.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” I tell her, “but it’s not happening.”

  “Why? Because she’s too much of a woman for you?” She shakes her head. “You would rather run around with all these little pigeon heads who can’t hold your interest for more than a day?”

  “Yes, I would rather,” I affirm. “Now, can you tell me what you wanted to talk to me about? I’d hate to think you dragged me over here to talk about Serena.”

  She navigates her chair to the coffee table and takes a sip of her tea. “I spoke to your sister this morning.”

  I grunt. “Lucky you.”

  She gives me a look. “Don’t you want to know how she’s doing?”

  “Did she ask how I was doing?”

  I love and miss my family, but if they can shut me out like I’m nothing because that asshole decreed it, then so can I. I do want to know how they’re doing, but I refuse to ask.

  Naan doesn’t answer, which means Cammy didn’t ask. Just as I thought. “So? What is it?”

  “I think something is wrong,” she says. “Cammy didn’t say, for obvious reasons, but I could hear it in her voice. If my suspicions are correct, then your father is gravely ill. And if that’s the case…well, your life here in New York is about to end.”

  Well, shit.

  Brian’s on me like a nagging wife the second I walk through the door.

  “Dude, it’s been over a month. What the hell’s going on? What’re you doing with this chick?”

  I dump my satchel on the counter and grab a Diet Coke from the fridge. “Dammit, man. Wanna grab a ladder and climb off my dick for a sec?”

  He throws an apple at my head. “Wouldn’t be on your dick if you’d man the hell up and put Serena on it.”

  I shake up the bottle of Coke and set it on the counter, waiting for the fizz to settle. I like my soda flat. “Rule number one to becoming the best,” I say, lifting my glare to my hotheaded roommate. “Is…Wait for it…Patience.”

  Brian crosses his arms. “So, genius, what’s the plan here? Since you refuse to dick her, and you’re using a retirement home as the study base, how exactly do you plan on getting into Bentley’s museum?”

  I shake up my Coke again and set it down to fizz out some more. “Lemme ask you something. If your daughter got kidnapped, would you leave her running about the city again without a tail?”

  He scoffs. “Screw that. She’d have a permanent bodyguard.”

  “Ah.” I snap my fingers. “But Aaron’s smarter than that. Serena has a bodyguard, all right. But he’s a ghost.”

  Brian straightens. “You mean he knows she’s been seeing you?”

  “You don’t think I know by now when I’m being watched?” I ask. “They’ve had eyes on me since the kidnapping. Disappeared around the time I started tutoring her. But she has a shadow now. Spotted him more than once.”

  Brian nods, thoughtful. “Makes sense.”

  I grab my Coke and twist the top off. There’s no hiss. Perfect. “Now, I’m just waiting for the call.”

  He jerks up a brow. “What call?”

  “The call telling me the study location has been changed to the Bentley residence.” I take a sip of my perfectly flat Coke. “Aaron’s going to want me where he can monitor me, where he thinks he’s in control.”

  “Always make them think it’s their idea,” Brian muses.

  I jerk my chin in affirmation and take another sip of Coke.

  Granted, the plan could’ve been much further along had I simply seduced and screwed Serena, but that’s no longer an option. Because I know, without a doubt, that once I slide my dick inside that minx, there’s no turning back. That’s it. Game over. I’d be ringed and baby-daddied before I knew it.

  Sounds insane, but when I look at Serena Bentley, I see only one thing: The rest of my life.

  She’s early. Too fucking early.

  I’m not ready for the rest of my life yet.

  Twelve - Serena

  “You trying to start a war, babe?”

  “This thing itches,” Alaric gripes, pulling at his Spider Man getup. “I can’t believe I’m even wearing this. You’re lucky I love you, bitch.”

  I flip my compact shut and stick it in my clutch. “Quit whining. We wouldn’t have gotten in without costumes.”

  Peeved, he asks, “You had to pick a geek to be your baby daddy?”

  I laugh as I adjust my tri-colored wig. “Kholton is far from a geek, trust me. He’s just into this stuff.”

  “Annnnd we’re crashing this lame-ass party in the hopes that you get laid?” He tugs at his costume again. “That right?”

  I shoot him a look and he rolls his eyes.

  The truth is, I don’t know what I’m hoping for by crashing this party. But I need to see Kholton. He’s taken a personal week off, so we haven’t studied for a while.

  After days of stalking him via Instagram, I realized what the “personal week” was for—some big comic and anime convention in California. That’s what he blew me off for. Comics and anime.

  I mean, seriously? I’m trying to get knocked-up over here and he’s off living in a fantasy world. Ridiculous.

  For the past couple of days, his Instagram has been flooded with pictures of this crap. And girls. Girls, girls, everywhere. All the time.

  His last post is what tipped me off about this party. It features a photo of him and two girls outside LAX, with the caption:

  Boarding the shuttle back to the real world :(

  #boohoo #maytheforcebewithme

  Someone asked in the comments if he would be attending the SoHo after-party and he replied, “Wouldn’t miss it!”

  After digging around for information about this SoHo after-party, I learned it’s invite-only and costume was compulsory.

  Alaric and I weren’t on the list, obviously, but I am Serena Bentley. I didn’t even have to bribe my way in.

  However, I’m getting restless. We’ve been here over an hour and Kholton is nowhere in sight. The music is crap and Alaric is grumpy. Where the hell is he?

  I’m going to be pissed if this turns out to be a bust, especially since I forced Alaric into a spandex Spider Man suit and went all out with my Harley Quinn outfit. In ripped fishnet stockings, two-colored bumper shorts, studded belt, holey cropped top, the whole works, not only do I look bomb as hell, I feel bomb as hell.

  Sipping god-awful cheap Champagne, I scan the party. We’re in
someone’s penthouse, with a glitzy wraparound vista, two portable bars, and a deejay who sounds castrated. Excitable costumed bodies and plastic golden goblets are everywhere.

  “Listen,” Alaric starts before downing the contents of his goblet and swapping it for a full one as a cocktail waitress passes by, “if I have to be at this dumb geek party, then I’m gonna go find me a Mary Jane or a Robin Hood to give me a hummer.”

  I make a face at him. “You’re such a slut.”

  He gives me the side-eye. “Hey, don’t you judge me. I’m not the one tryna trick some poor schmuck into knocking me up.”

  “You shut your mouth,” I grit out, shooting my fist out at him.

  He dodges it with a laugh and backs off into the crowd. “Good luck!”

  Emptying my own goblet, I grab a new one from the nearest waitress. Where the hell is Kholton?

  Right on the tail end of that thought, I hear an excited shout of “Kholton! My man!” from the crowd. I choke on cheap Champagne as I straighten, searching for a head of stylish white hair. But I don’t find it.

  It takes me a while to realize why. His signature white hair is covered by a dark hood. He’s dressed as Green Arrow. A green leather eye-mask wrapped around his face. A head taller than almost everyone else in the crowd, he looks dark, dangerous, and one-hundred-percent bangable.

  A small group of people surround him as he bumps fists and doles out man-hugs. He’s clearly Mr. Popular with this crowd of geeks.

  From my clutch, I get out my cellphone and type a quick text to Alaric.

  Serena: He’s here. Sticking to the plan. Signal the deejay.

  Alaric: *thumbs up emoji*

  When I look up again, two Wonder Women are already crawling like cockroaches all over Kholton. I swear he’s like a freaking vagina magnet.

  I tuck my phone away then snatch up my Harley Quinn bat from where I’d rested it against the wall. Then I maneuver to the kitchen, which has a long, marble-top island.