Disgraced

by Natasha Knight

  I regretted it the moment I did as text messages loaded one after another on my screen. All from Alexi. Each one more pissed off than the last. I only read the ones I couldn’t clear away fast enough, ignored the rest, and sent a quick text to Damon, telling him where on the beach I was and that I was switching off my phone. I then lay back, put my hat over my face, and closed my eyes.

  When I woke up, it was to the feel of someone rubbing sunscreen on my back.

  Startled, I sat up to find Damon by my side, smiling.

  “You were burning.”

  “Oh,” I looked around, remembering where we were. “I fell asleep. What time is it?”

  “Four o’clock. My meeting ran over.”

  “Four? Wow. I’ve been out for hours.”

  He moved behind me and began to rub my shoulders, arms, and back with sunscreen.

  “How long ago did you get the tattoos?”

  “I’ve been getting them over the last year and a half. It’s a process. You like them?”

  “They’re very beautiful. Did it hurt much?”

  “Like a motherfucker.”

  He laughed. “You used to be so sweet.”

  I liked his teasing. He capped the sunscreen and looked out at the sea.

  “You know what I want?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “I want to forget everything just for the couple of days we’re here. I just want to enjoy this. Forget New York City, forget the club, forget everything for a little while.”

  “We need to talk about it, Lina. You can’t put it off forever.”

  “I know, and we will. Just not yet. Please.”

  He looked at me like he was about to tell me no. I stood and held out my hand.

  “Swim with me?”

  We spent the next few hours swimming and lying in the sun. Although tentative around each other, I don’t think either of us wanted to spoil the mood between us. It was just as I’d thought. Like we’d stolen time, just a few days, and we both knew it.

  After swimming, we went back to the hotel. As I climbed out of the shower, I heard Damon talking. I wrapped a towel around myself and walked out of the bathroom. He stood by the window, hand in the pocket of his pants, his hair still damp from his shower. When he heard the bathroom door open, he turned around, smiled, then put a finger to his lips. In the next sentence, I heard him say his brother’s name. He was talking to Raphael.

  I tiptoed to my duffel bag and fished out the skirt and tank top he’d packed for me. When I stripped off my towel, I watched him from the corner of my eye, noticed that it took him a full minute to turn his back and continue his conversation. He wanted me, but he’d fight it. Maybe it was selfish, but I didn’t want to make it easy for him.

  Once dressed, I went into the bathroom and combed out my hair. I’d dyed it darker when I’d moved to New York. I liked the near black. It set off my eyes. I’d already picked up some color from the afternoon on the beach, and the bridge of my nose was a little sunburned, but I looked healthier for it. And I felt better. I knew it wasn’t the sun’s warmth that caused the latter. It was Damon’s.

  A few moments later, he hung up the phone.

  “You didn’t mention me,” I said, keeping my eyes on the bathroom mirror as I combed out my hair and towel dried it.

  Damon appeared behind me. “Not yet. But—”

  “I know.” I turned to him. “It’s not right, and I will tell Sofia myself. Just give me Florida.”

  He nodded and looked me over. I did the same. He wore a blue T-shirt and jeans, his tan even deeper since this afternoon.

  “How are you more tanned than me?” He’d spent not half the time out there as I had.

  He smiled “You’ll catch up tomorrow. Although”—he paused and ran a finger over my nose and cheeks—“pink becomes you.”

  I looked at my reflection in the mirror and made a face. “I hope it doesn’t get gross and peel.”

  “I have a feeling you’d look beautiful even shedding skin.”

  I met his gaze. He held mine a moment too long and had to drag his eyes away. He cleared his throat.

  “Ready?”

  “Just let me get my purse.”

  We walked out and grabbed a taxi. Damon had a restaurant in mind, and it took about fifteen minutes to drive there.

  “This is cute.” I looked around the small village-like shopping center.

  “Coconut Grove. There’s a tapas place I want to take you to. You like Spanish food, right?”

  “I like all food.”

  He didn’t hold my hand, but his fingers brushed my lower back as he led the way to Two To Tango, which was vibrating with life. Most of the restaurant tables were full both inside and out. People were laughing and talking, and Top 40 music played from the speakers. The hostess confirmed his reservation and walked us to one of the outdoor tables, where misters kept the patio cool. I sat down and looked around. Had he chosen the place for the food or to make sure it would be so loud and so busy that dinner wouldn’t be an intimate affair?

  “Like it?”

  “Love it.” But I’d have preferred to stay in the hotel room and order room service.

  Damon ordered a beer, and I ordered a frozen margarita. The waitress asked for my ID. Damon gave me a look, but I opened my wallet and took out one of two driver’s licenses, the one that said I was twenty-two. She glanced at it and said she’d be right back with our drinks.

  “Lina?”

  I tucked it back into my wallet. “It’s not a big deal. Just a drink. It’s frozen, there’s not much alcohol in it.”

  “You could get in trouble if you got caught.”

  “Are you going to lecture me all night?” I asked with a smile on my face.

  He acquiesced. “No.”

  Neither of us spoke, reading our menus instead, and when the waitress returned with our drinks, we ordered and sat back.

  “Being in New York City, has it made a difference for you? Has it solidified your position one way or another as far as the church?” I asked out of the blue. I didn’t care that this wasn’t the most private place. I had limited hours with Damon. I wasn’t about to waste them. “Do you think you’ll go back to seminary? I mean, are you happy?”

  There are moments—and they’re rare—when a truth so visceral forms itself into words, and you find your voice speaking those words, and it’s like you’re hearing them for the first time yourself, even though it’s your thought, something that’s been rattling around in your subconscious forever, something that makes you incredibly uncomfortable. Those last three words—are you happy—as soon as I said them, I felt my face crumple a little and my heart sink. My eyes filled with warm tears.

  I masked my emotions and forced myself to watch Damon as he considered my question. Considered my reaction to it.

  “Happy is hard, Lina. I’m content with many things. Having my brother back home. Working together with him on the house. Seeing him happy with your sister. Knowing I’m going to be an uncle very soon. Those are all blessings for which I’m grateful daily. But am I happy? I guess I’d have to define happiness for myself before I can answer it.”

  “It sounds like a long way around to saying no.”

  “Might be.”

  The waitress appeared with our food, plates and plates of tapas that she stacked on our table. My stomach growled at the sight and scent, and I picked up my fork as soon as she left. When I turned to Damon with my mouth full, I found him watching me.

  “You’re very different from when I first met you four years ago.”

  “I was sixteen.” I chewed. “And ignorant of so many things.” I didn’t stop chewing and quickly forked up a shrimp marinated in garlic. I’d come to terms with the oblivion I’d lived in most of my life. Understood why Sofia had kept certain things from me when Grandfather had made that arrangement giving her to Raphael as if she were a thing to be bartered and traded. That was past, and I could leave it there.

  “Ignorance is underrated,�
� Damon said.

  “I agree. It was easier then. Before.” We ate in silence for long, awkward minutes. “You never called me afterward. When I went back to Philadelphia.” I’d given him a note, telling him how much I’d enjoyed the day we’d spent together and asked him to keep in touch. I’d foolishly written down every possible way for him to do that. Thinking about my eagerness now embarrassed me.

  “How could I?”

  He broke off a piece of bread and handed it to me.

  “You were sixteen, and I was going to become a priest. You can see how there might be a conflict. The church doesn’t need any more of that.”

  I knew that. But I’d been dumbstruck by Damon. “I grew up locked away in an ivory tower. You were the first man in my life, apart from Grandfather.”

  “Speaking of Marcus Guardia, what did you mean the other night? When you said there was one thing you hadn’t told anyone about your grandfather?”

  His abrupt change of subject took me by surprise. I put my fork down, everything suddenly so serious. So heavy.

  “Whatever it is, I promise I won’t turn you in,” he said when I couldn’t speak.

  He chuckled at his own comment, but it took me a minute to understand what he meant. He was referring to my joke—that I could go to prison for tampering with evidence.

  “I can’t tell you that, Damon.”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Ask me something else.”

  He watched my face, his expression serious, considering, perhaps deciding whether or not to pursue this.

  “When are you going to tell your sister the truth about the last year?”

  I hadn’t expected an easy question. There weren’t any, not really. “Once I’ve figured out how to fix things.”

  “Lina—”

  “Damon, I just need time. One day. Two.”

  “I’m not asking about the club or what’s going on there. I’m asking about the fact you’ve left Chicago. That you’re not in the city you’re supposed to be in, not to mention school.”

  I raised my hand to get the waitress’s attention. “Can we have another round of drinks, please?”

  Damon sighed beside me as the waitress noted the order on her electronic pad. He reached under the table to squeeze my hand.

  “And the dessert menu,” he added.

  I smiled at him.

  “I hear the mud pie is delicious.”

  “Sure thing,” the waitress said as she cleared our dinner things.

  “I’ll give you Florida,” Damon said once she’d gone.

  I turned my hand around so my palm was inside his and intertwined my fingers with his. He didn’t pull away.

  8

  Damon

  When I’d decided last night to give Lina Florida, subconsciously, I was giving it to myself too. The space of two days out of time. Out of reality. There’d be a price to pay, I wasn’t fool enough to believe otherwise, but I did it anyway. I just hadn’t yet decided—no, that wasn’t it—it wasn’t a decision. I just hadn’t yet considered what that time would be filled with. I knew what I wanted, and it was weak to ignore the truth, but I wanted to give us Florida.

  I had meetings most of the following day. By the time I got back to the hotel, Lina was just coming out of the bathroom.

  “Hey,” she said, momentarily startled as she wrapped her hair in a towel. “You surprised me.”

  I looked her over. She wasn’t trying to be modest, and although I didn’t think she calculated some grand seduction, I knew what she wanted. I wanted it too, but we couldn’t have it. I’d be taking advantage, and I couldn’t do that. Last night had been hard, though. I should have asked for a second room, or at the very least two beds, when we’d checked in. The request had been on the tip of my tongue, but the girl had just given me the keys. I’d thanked her and taken Lina up to our shared room.

  Sleeping next to her last night—fuck—I’d been hard the whole night and probably gotten about two hours of sleep, only finding relief in the shower in the morning. She’d worn one of my T-shirts to bed, and when I’d climbed in, she’d curled into my arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. And I hadn’t pushed her away. I’d held her, smelling her hair, her skin, feeling her in my arms. Liking the feel of her there.

  And all the while I’d lain awake, she’d softly slept.

  Shaking off the memory, I held up a bag.

  “What’s that?”

  “I saw it at a boutique nearby and thought it was your color.” I handed it to her.

  She looked at me with a strange, almost confused look on her face. Slowly, she took the bag and sat down with it on her lap. I suddenly got the feeling it had been a very long time since anyone had given her a gift. The thought of it bothered me. Upset me.

  Lina slowly drew the dress out of the bag. It was a pale, antique pink, knee-length, crocheted dress, simple and old-fashioned and very pretty.

  “Wow. It’s beautiful.” She touched it delicately. “Really beautiful. Thank you.”

  “There are shoes to go with it.”

  She pulled the box out, opened it, and smiled. “Pink sandals. I never in my life thought I’d own pink sandals.”

  She stood and, dress in one hand, sandals in the other, she kissed my cheek.

  “Thank you, Damon.”

  Fuck. What was I doing? “You’re welcome.” We stood for an awkward moment. “I thought we could get something to eat at one of the restaurants along the beach.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll get dressed.”

  I thought she’d go back into the bathroom or at least wait for me to turn away, but instead, she set the shoes down, handed me the dress, and stripped off her towel, tossing it onto the bed. She stood before me naked, cocking her head to the side while I tried to breathe.

  “Don’t you want me to wear it?” she asked, suddenly coquettish.

  I cleared my throat and handed her the dress. “Yes.”

  She slipped it over her head then turned her back to me. “Zip me up?”

  Glad she had her back to me, I adjusted the crotch of my pants, stepped closer to her than I needed to, and lifted the hair off her shoulder to expose her back and neck. I ran my finger over her spine, watching as the little hairs stood on end in my wake.

  I zipped her up. “Be good,” I whispered in her ear.

  She shuddered and glanced over her shoulder at me before slipping on the sandals and turning to face to me.

  “How do I look?”

  “Perfect.” My throat felt tight, making it hard to speak. The contrast of color with her tattoos and tan was striking, and I suddenly wasn’t sure I wanted to take her out at all.

  “I just have to brush my hair, and I’m ready,” she said, breaking the mood before disappearing into the bathroom.

  When she emerged a few minutes later, she’d clipped her wet hair up and put on mascara and lip gloss. Minimal. The opposite of how much she’d had on that night I’d made her wash her makeup off. The night I’d taken her over my knee, pulled her panties down, and spanked her.

  The night I’d tasted her. Let her taste me.

  Fuck.

  If I’d thought last night was difficult, tonight was going to be impossible.

  I took her hand and walked her out the door, pushing the button to call the elevator and waiting.

  “I’m trying very hard to do the right thing,” I said without looking at her.

  She touched my cheek, drew me to face her. She didn’t speak, not with words, not at first, and her eyes were hard to read. Or maybe I just didn’t want to read what was inside them.

  “I won’t help you, Damon.”

  “There’s a part of me that doesn’t want you to.”

  The elevator doors opened before anything more could be said. Before anything more could be done. Another couple smiled widely at us, the woman greeting us. Awkwardly, Lina and I stepped into the elevator and rode down, her in silence, me trying to be polite. I held her hand, unable—unwilling
—to let it go.

  Florida. I could give us this. Couldn’t I?

  This sin.

  What price would we be made to pay? And could I ask God to punish me? Only me?

  What would this cost her?

  I was older. I was supposed to be the responsible one. I knew better. I should stop. I should release her hand, force her to tell me the truth, do what I said I’d do. Figure out what was going on, and help her. Get her out of the trouble she was surely in, and let her go.

  Let her go.

  But all I could do was hold her hand and feel her beside me. Because I couldn’t deny this thing between us. Not anymore.

  We strolled down the boulevard busy with couples and groups and settled on a Japanese place for dinner. We were seated in a quiet booth at the back.

  When the waitress came, I ordered a bottle of wine. Lina raised her eyebrows. While we waited, we sat back, each of us watching the other.

  “Sushi?” I asked, finally opening my menu.

  “Fine.”

  “Anything particular you’d like?”

  “Anything you order is fine.”

  The waitress returned, poured our wine, and took our order, which was the platter for two. Neither of us were interested in what we ate tonight.

  “You’re not making this easy,” I said.

  “I told you I wouldn’t help you.”

  “This is wrong.”

  “Only because you want to make it wrong.”

  “Lina—”

  “I’d never been spanked before the other night.”

  “Stop.”

  “I liked it.”

  Fuck. Was I going to be able to stand up and walk out of here at some point? My dick already strained against my jeans.

  “I’m not sixteen anymore, Damon, and you’re not celibate.”