But doing it with Prue, someone so wholly new to it, or any kind of play at all, was something beyond amazing. For fuck's sake, she hadn't ever even had anal before. I was pretty sure I'd never met a woman closing in on her thirties who was as hot as she was, as in-demand as she must have been with men, who had never given that a try. But she hadn't. And everything had been new for her. But sex was the one place she didn't seem to be able to hold on to her guards, her insecurities, her practicality. She just let all that shit go.
So over the weeks of slowly slicing away the layers, seeing what was underneath, feeling myself slip into the spaces to ease the sting, I started to see it was different. She was different. I was different. We were different.
It wasn't that Prue was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. It wasn't that she was the smartest or the funniest or the most open sexually. It was the unique combination of shy and extroverted. It was her sharp tongue and her soft, uncertain words. It was her confidence marred with her insecurity. It was her unique set of skills. It was the way she said my name. It was the way she baked with Prince blaring and the way she championed for her ridiculous as fuck TV show. It was the way she snuggled in close when I hauled her against me. It was the way she always took a deep breath as she did so, like she was trying to breathe me in. It was the way she lifted her chin when she didn't like an instruction. It was in her practicality mixed with her impressive amount of silly. It was in the fierceness in which she loved her father, in her loyalty to him despite what he had put her through.
I wasn't delusional. I wasn't an easy man at times to get along with. I looked for faithfulness, devotion in the people around me. And I had yet to find a woman who possessed it quite the way Prue did.
Maybe that spoke to me in some way.
Maybe it gave me hope that I had never known I had even craved before.
My mom and dad had a shit relationship. They fought. They hauled insults like normal people tossed casual conversation. They raged and loathed and stuck with each other out of sheer need of survival. It didn't instill in me any urge to settle down, to look for that, to even believe in love.
But the way my uncle and Mandy were, yeah, that was the shit of those Disney movies Prue liked so much.
Maybe, without my realizing it, a part of me had taken that in and buried it deep.
And something about Prue surfaced it, dusted it off, tried to make it shine.
At first, I fought it. I resented it. I took that out on her in ways that had to have confused her, thrown her off, fucked with her understanding of what was developing between us.
Fact of the matter was, I was an observant man. It was hard to run a casino without being.
As such, I knew immediately when her feelings went from resentment, fear, and a base animal attraction to more. Much more. It was in the way she watched me. It was the way she read into everything I said and did. It was the way she melted into me when she was given the opportunity. It was in the softer way she spoke to me. It was in the disappointment every time I tried to drive a wedge. It was in the way she fucking forgave it every time.
Taking her away was my attempt to see how she was, how we were, outside the confines of my house, outside of the functional, though not fully healthy, routine we had fallen into.
So the morning we woke up and packed to head back home, I knew what was going to happen.
But then there was her sad hanging between us, making her cuddle in during the flight, but pull away as soon as we landed. The entire ride back to the house was silent. And as soon as we got back, Aaron showed up, fucking bad timing as always. I had to deal with him and Prue disappeared. By the time I got back upstairs, she was in her own bed, passed the fuck out.
The tear-stained cheeks didn't exactly escape me either.
Unsure why she chose her bed over mine, and figuring for some reason I wasn't privy to, she needed space from me, I went to bed in my room, tossing and fucking turning without her there.
--
The next morning, after Matt and Prue went off to the store after Prue expressly asked to go with him, her eyes still sad, her shoulders slumped, I got a knock on my office door.
"Mack Marlow," one of my men told me, making me sit up stiffly in my seat.
Mack.
I looked down at the calendar on my desk, shocked to notice it had been a month since he went in. It had felt just like days.
"Boss?"
"Yeah, send him in," I said, waving a hand despite the vice grip that wrapped itself around my intestines.
Mack walked in a minute later, in a suit as usual, looking a sight more serious than I had ever seen him before.
"Mack," I said, nodding at him as he closed in on my desk.
"Let's not bother with pleasantries," he said, his voice dark, lethal.
"Look, I get you're pissed. But it was in the best interest not only for you and me, but your daughter too."
"I'm not talking about treatment. We all know that was long overdue, St. James."
"Then what is it?"
"You seriously think there is any God damn universe in which you could possibly deserve to put your hands on my daughter?"
"Mack..." I said, shaking my head. How the fuck he got wind of what was going on was completely beyond me, but I intended on finding out where I had a leak, that was for damn sure.
"No, Byron," he cut me off. "Don't. Don't you dare try to tell me it's none of my business or insult me by trying to convince me it hasn't taken place. I might be a lot of things, but I'm not stupid. And I get that Prudence is a grown woman and she can choose who she wants to be with. Normally, I don't step in. And, let me tell you, she's dated who I am convinced were the most bland and boring men this world has to offer. But those were her choices, so I kept my opinions to myself. But not this time. Not you. You can't have her."
"I don't think you under..."
"Don't. Just don't. I know what kind of man you are, Byron. I might like to sit at your tables, but that doesn't mean my focus doesn't drift elsewhere. I've seen you down on that floor, every single night leaving with a different woman. And I get it. You're a man. You're successful. You're busy. I get it." He fisted his hands on my desk, leaning half over it, and it was the only time I had seen a side of Mack that wasn't fun and jovial, charming, and carefree. This wasn't Mack, the gambler. It wasn't even Mack, the ladies man. Hell, it wasn't even Mack, the down on his luck fool. This was Mack, the father. I'd never seen something so fierce in my life. It was right then that I learned where Prue got it from- her loyalty, the strength of her love. She got it from her father. "But. Not. My. Fucking. Daughter," he enunciated carefully, making each word its own sentence.
I sat back, keeping my tone calm, knowing what I was about to say wasn't going to go over well. "I can't undo what has been done, Mack."
His eyes closed for a second as he exhaled hard. When his eyes opened, they were fire. "End it."
"Look, I know she's your daughter and you want to prot..."
"I've done a shit job of taking care of her. Her entire life has been stunted by her taking care of me and my problems. Now, Prue being Prue, kept those cards close to her chest. She's the best God damn bluffer I have ever come across. But that night in your office, she laid it out and I saw all the ways I have failed her in her life. So I took the opportunity to go away and fix it, get my head and life straight, be a better man... for her. I won't fail her again. Letting this little... fling... go on, that would be me failing her yet again. You aren't good for her. You'll do nothing but hurt her, Byron. You know it and I know it. She deserves so much fucking better."
At that, a clear image of her sad, lost face that morning flashed across my eyes. It hadn't lessened, let alone gone away. She was unhappy. And, somehow, I had a part in that. When she came into my house, she hadn't exactly been happy, but she hadn't been wholly unhappy either. On the trip in Florida, I had seen a hint of happy. But it was gone. And I had no fucking idea what I ha
d done to make that happen.
I knew myself. I knew that, while my intentions toward Prue were good, that my actions might not always make that clear. I was a dick without realizing it at times. She absolutely deserved better, but I was probably too selfish to let her go just because it was right.
"You're out of your mind," I heard Prue's voice say, coming in from the front door, plastic bags from the shopping trip rustling.
"Prue," I called, watching Mack before looking toward the doorway to see Prue move inside.
Her eyes went to me immediately, as they always did, before they shifted. She stopped moving instantly, her mouth falling open, her perfect blue eyes going wide. "Dad?"
"Dear Prudence," he said back, all the viciousness out of his voice. His face had what seemed to be a tentative smile and I guessed that was likely due to the emotional ordeal that had been their last encounter.
Then she flew at him.
Fucking flew at him.
She hit him bodily, sending him back a foot as their arms went around each other.
And the smile that was on her face threatened to fucking split it.
It was then that I felt the sliver of doubt slip in.
What the fuck did I really have to offer her?
"Why didn't you call?" she insisted, pulling back to look at him.
"I thought it was good for the both of us to get some space. Me, to work on myself. You, to be able to live your life a little."
"How did..." Prue paused, shifting her feet uncomfortably. "How did everything go?"
"How about we talk about that back in your apartment? This old man is road weary. Could use to take a load off and have some amazing Prudence Marlow concoction."
"But, Dad, I kind-of have to stay..."
"Go," I said, before I could talk myself out of it.
"Go?" she asked, head snapping in my direction and I saw the hurt in her eyes. And it was like a knife through the gut.
"Yeah, babe, go," I repeated, ignoring the searing through my middle, convincing myself it was best.
"Byron..." she said, shaking her head at me.
"I'll let you guys have a minute," Mack said, kissing Prue's temple, giving me a hard look, then making his way to the door.
"Prue, you know it's the right decision," I said when all she did was stare at me.
"Actually, I don't know that," she surprised me by saying.
"Prue, your dad needs your support," I threw the knockout blow.
"Byron..." she tried, but I could see she was losing her will to fight. I could tell she always felt unsure about me, about how she fit into my life. It wasn't hard to convince her that she was disposable like all the rest. Despite that being as far from the truth as possible.
"What could you possibly get from being with me?"
EIGHTEEN
Prue
Myself.
That was the first thing that popped into my head.
I got to be myself with him.
I mean never, as in ever, had I ever been caught dancing around or singing loudly to music around my exes. I was always hyper-aware when they were around and sort-of tailored my behavior accordingly. Byron had caught me belting it out to Prince, which wasn't that bad. But then he had walked in on me dancing around singing a song for Disney's Hercules for God's sake. And I hadn't felt mortified. I hadn't wanted to run screaming.
With him, I fought for the TV shows I wanted to watch instead of just falling in line to watch whatever the person I was with wanted to watch.
I submitted to him in bed and let him do things I never thought in a million years I would be comfortable with.
I let him in about my father, about some of the things that had happened over the years.
I shared.
I was generous with myself.
And, what was even more unusual, I took.
I took what he gave to me and often demanded more. Without fear. Without embarrassment.
For maybe the first time in my life, I got to be fully myself with another person.
That was what I got from being with him.
Loving Byron was the first thing I had done in my life that was completely, entirely, selfishly for myself. It was the only decision without an asterisk and a footnote detailing every escape clause, every reason it might not work, every excuse I could use to sabotage it before it even got a chance to begin.
And he was brushing me off?
That warm, blooming feeling in my chest withered, replaced by a frost that actually made me shiver at the intensity of it.
I should have known.
I had known.
All those times I was convinced I was just an itch, just a whim, just an easy distraction for a busy man. All those times , I knew. Why I had tried to convince myself otherwise was completely beyond me. I was smarter than that. So what if he said some of the right things? Any man who was trying to get something from a woman could throw the right words together to convince her she was something special. So what if he took me with him on a trip? Again, convenient, uncomplicated, easy sex.
God, I was so stupid.
"Right," I said with a nod, choking back the sob that felt like it was inching its way up my throat. "I'll go pack."
With that, I turned and made my way to the door, doing my best to make it look like I wasn't running. But I needed to get out of there before the tears slipped over, which they did as I walked into the hall. Matt and my father were standing there, talking easily, like old friends. It was a quality I always admired about my father; he could always talk to anyone.
Matt's gaze swept over to me first, taking in the tears as I made my way to the stairs. "Honey..." he started.
"I'm packing," I snapped back, ducking my head and charging up the stairs.
Five minutes. I just needed five minutes to get myself together.
I went into my room, dragging my bag out of the closet and stuffing a few stray items inside. I grabbed all the fancy lingerie, the dresses, the heels, everything Byron had ever bought me, and carefully laid it out on my bed as I swatted unwelcome tears from my cheeks. Finished with that, I grabbed my stuff out of the bathroom, deep breathing, and pressing a cold washcloth to my face.
I couldn't walk down there with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks.
I might have felt like something inside had cracked open, but I'd be damned if I let Byron see that. Or even my father for that matter. I mean... seriously. What would he think of me if he knew I got involved with the man who had threatened his life? Christ, he would probably think I had some kind of Stockholm Syndrome going on and insist I get some help.
Five minutes later, eyes clear, shoulders back, bag dragging behind me, I made my way down the stairs to find all three men: my father, Matt, and Byron, standing in the foyer in what seemed like a stony silence. Matt looked at me like he wanted to say something, but couldn't in mixed company. Considering he had been the one to see me crying, I figured he wanted to console me in some way. Byron looked blank, like a shudder was down over his eyes. My father was a mix of relieved and worried.
"Alright, I'm ready when you are," I said as my father moved forward to take my bag. "I'm assuming you took a cab here, right?" I asked and he nodded. "Good thing I still have my car then," I said with a false smile. "It was nice getting to know you, Matt," I said and a flash crossed his eyes.
"Don't worry, honey. I'll be calling you about some more desserts, okay?"
"Looking forward to it," I said, genuinely meaning it. He might not have been the most loquacious person I had ever met, but he was good company. He was a genuinely good guy. I half-cursed myself for not getting involved with him instead of Byron. I turned to him, lifting my chin slightly, forcing my features to be neutral, "Mr. St. James," I said, not trusting myself to say anything more, terrified my voice would crack if I even tried.
"Miss. Marlow," he said back in the same tone, giving me a chin jerk.
"Alright then, off
we go," my father declared with a smile, snagging my hand and pulling me with him. "Dear Prudence," he said as we pulled out of the driveway, an action that made my heart constrict in my chest. "I have so much to talk to you about. Have any great recipes you want to try out for me?"
I didn't.
But I would find one.
Because that was what was expected of me.
Besides, I could use the distraction.
So we drove back to my apartment that I had painstakingly put together. And I found it almost... empty. Yes, it was full of things I had carefully considered, but none of it meant anything. I used to feel like it was a safe place, a comfort zone. But I guess I maybe grew out of it. "Pizza or Chinese, honey?" my father asked as I went to my room to deposit all of the contents back into their usual places. The sooner I got back into the groove of things, the better. It was the middle of the week, but I was going to call my bosses at the bank back and see if they could fit me back into the schedule the following Monday. On the plus side, my rent was paid up for three months. So any money that came in could be socked back away for a rainy day.
"Pizza is fine," I called back a little distractedly as I pulled something out of the zipper compartment of my suitcase. It was the "do not disturb" sign we had on our hotel room door almost nonstop when we were in Florida. I hadn't been sure why I snagged it, making sure Byron wasn't around to see me do such a silly thing, but I had. I should have left it behind with all the clothes on my bed in his house.
But a part of me was glad I didn't. It was the only thing I had, aside from the handwritten recipes he'd given me, a chip from Mandy's, and the achy, hollow feeling in my chest, that proved that something had ever existed between us.
"Mushroom and onion?" my father called back and I felt myself smile a little.
Familiarity, there really was a certain amount of comfort and happiness in that.
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