by Helena Maeve
I was almost sure.
Marissa sat back in her chair. “You scared of him?”
That shifted my attention away from her father’s cold green eyes. Marissa was watching me intently. I could all but see the wheels turning in her head. No longer was I just the object of her father’s mid-life crisis. I had become a freak in my own right. Part of me took pride in the promotion. The rest was horrified.
“He’ll be in prison until he dies,” I replied, trying to imbue my voice with certainty I didn’t particularly feel. “He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
“How did you like Aurelia?” Carmen interjected. Her smile was perfectly affable, her attempt to change the subject was as blunt as a dull hammer. I guess introducing her daughter to the offspring of a serial killer went above and beyond the remit of a ‘cool mom’. “She wouldn’t stop raving about you after you left.”
“I don’t remember doing anything to deserve it.” Other than keeping my mouth shut and letting the fashionable Aurelia fashionably steer the conversation as she pleased, I hadn’t made any meaningful contribution.
“You speak her language,” Carmen assured me.
“French?”
“Fashion. Although it’s true, I’ve never met a bigger Francophile. She’s been talking about moving to Paris for years.”
“I don’t recommend it,” I said.
“Oh?” Carmen seemed taken aback. “Why not?”
“Too many Americans?” Ashley suggested. He was leaning forward, both elbows on the table, and I could feel his leather shoe brush mine. Was that supposed to be some kind of warning? Shut your mouth or you’ll regret it?
Our relationship didn’t work like that, whatever leeway I allowed him in the bedroom.
“Too little stability. It’s a great city for falling in love, but there’s a reason everyone moves to the suburbs once they’ve tied the knot.” I flashed Carmen a smile. “Bradley wouldn’t last long, I’m afraid.”
“I love Paris,” Marissa interjected. “I’m going to live there someday.”
“After you’re done with school,” Carmen agreed.
“There are fashion schools in France, too,” her daughter protested, but there was no heat in it. I had the sense that this was a rehash of an old argument—one they could revisit again and again without feelings getting caught in the fray. I tried to imagine doing the same with my grandparents and nearly burst out laughing. No was no with them. Pushing and prodding only yielded sharp reprimands and a reminder that I was in their care, not the other way around.
“I hear Milan is nice,” I said softly, throwing my hat in the ring.
“But French food is better, right, Dad?”
Ashley made a noncommittal sound, which Marissa seemed to take for acquiescence. “Dad dropped sixty pounds since he moved there—that’s, like, thirty kilos or something. You should see pictures. He’s like a different man.”
I didn’t know that. Ashley had never mentioned weight loss and, to my knowledge, he had a perfectly healthy appetite. I knew he went jogging every morning after I left for work, but I’d never given much thought to his motives. I hadn’t considered that it might be part of the mid-life crisis trifecta—a new look, a new country, a new woman.
He wouldn’t meet my gaze, so I assumed I was right. Tonight was teaching us all sorts of things about each other.
I said little else for the rest of the evening. My ire was spent and I had a feeling I’d pushed the envelope as far as Ashley would allow. I told myself I didn’t dread the drive back, but didn’t quite believe it.
We parted ways outside the restaurant. Carmen and Marissa took the first cab that stopped at our summons, leaving Ashley and I alone on the curb. I shivered, but not with the cold. The rain had stopped while we were eating. Steam billowed from the sewer grates, misting my vision.
“If you’re pissed off, just say it,” I grunted, hugging my sides. “The passive-aggressive bullshit doesn’t work with me.”
“Nor with me.”
A rustle of cloth drew my attention. I turned in time to see Ashley strip off his jacket and drape it around my shoulders. My indignation paled fractionally, overtaken by surprise.
“I want you to know I don’t appreciate what you did tonight,” Ashley said as he withdrew. “Marissa is not a pawn. If you use her against me again, we’re over.”
“If? You’re giving me a second chance?” What kind of father are you?
Easy question, I thought. He was the non-sociopathic kind.
Ashley jerked up his shoulders. “I’m not blind. I know you’ve had a tough week. But the buck stops here, Laure. I have no desire to be your punching bag, much less drag my family into the ring.”
“Your compassion is astounding,” I drawled, hating myself all the while. I was better than that. I could do better. He just made it so tempting to snap.
I nearly cowered under the heft of his pitying stare.
“If you genuinely think I don’t empathize…” Ashley trailed off with a headshake. I could read the hurt in his expression before the grille of his indifference fell into place. “You know how I feel about you. How much I care. If that’s not enough and you expect more, then perhaps you should consider whether you want to be in this relationship at all. I’m not going to change. And I don’t think you know how.”
A yellow taxicab eased by the curb a couple of feet away. Ashley gestured with his hand. I hesitated for a moment before trudging toward the car with a block of lead lodged in the pit of my stomach.
What’s twenty-nine years old, fifty percent poison, and good at digging its own grave?
Answer… Me.
* * * *
The king-size bed was wide enough that even if I rolled over end over end, I was still too far to touch Ashley. I gave up on sleep. It was coming up on three in the morning and I couldn’t even blame jet lag for my insomnia. Ashley’s spine was like a wall in front of me. I fantasized about poking him with a finger until he turned, but I couldn’t think of what to do after that. I could wake him up and—what? We could have another fight? We could put the final nail in the coffin of our budding relationship?
I kicked off the sheets and sat up. The suite was drenched in shadow, but we were in the heart of the city, so light still peeked through the gaps between the drapes. I scrubbed a hand through my hair. Ashley’s last volley ricocheted inside my skull like a stray bullet.
Lying beside him and feigning sleep did no good, so I left the bedroom altogether. I found no solace on the couch in the sitting area next door. I briefly contemplated tugging my shoes on and going down to the bar for a drink. It was probably closed, though, and I didn’t want anyone to see me like this—makeup-less, my hair a mess, in my pajamas. I padded over to the window and leaned against the sill. The glass was a cool compress against my forehead, but I needed fire to burn away the ugliness inside my brain.
And why stop there? My DNA was part of the reason I behaved the way I did, so let’s scrap that as well. If only I could remake myself from scratch, maybe I’d be worthy of a normal relationship with a normal partner.
“Laure?” Ashley yawned. “What’re you doing up?”
I spun around, heart lodging in my throat. “Christ, you scared me. Don’t ever do that.” I didn’t do well with people sneaking up on me. Or people touching me without my explicit say-so. Or people apparently confronting me about the reality of my character.
My boundaries were fifteen feet high and topped with barbed wire.
Ashley held up his hands. He looked groggy, his shirt askew and his thinning hair standing up in tufts over his ears. “Sorry… I didn’t know where you were.”
“Don’t worry, I haven’t run away yet.”
He thinned his lips into a not-quite smile. “I didn’t think you had.”
We fell silent, neither of us appearing to know what to say after that. I had some idea, but I was fast rediscovering the wisdom of keeping my mouth shut and thinking before I spoke.
Ashley caved
first. “View’s nice, isn’t it?” He gestured to the window as he approached. I followed his gaze to the plethora of billboards, the tangle of street lamps and cars darting down deserted streets at an hour when even New York City finally slept. “Reminds me of Paris,” he added.
“Paris is never this quiet.”
“It has its flaws,” Ashley agreed, “but you learn to love those, too.”
“Or you move out to the suburbs.” I wasn’t sure we were still talking about the city, but I didn’t dare meet Ashley’s gaze for fear of being disappointed.
“Maybe it’s just a matter of getting a change of perspective. A different vantage point… Like how seeing the city from the top of the Eiffel Tower is nothing like seeing the Eiffel Tower from the banks of the Seine, but both give you a pretty great view.”
He radiated body heat, so close to me that I could practically taste his skin. I resisted, digging my heels into the carpet because I didn’t want to take the easy way out. I’d screwed up. I had to find a way to deal with it that didn’t involve running or letting Ashley offer me absolution.
My resolve crumbled when he pressed a hand to the small of my back, palm deliciously warm through the thin fabric of my cotton tee.
“Don’t. I don’t want you—brushing this aside,” I bit out.
Ashley froze, but his bemusement was practically audible. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not your job as my dominant—or whatever—to make this better.” I pressed my knuckles into the marble windowsill, a cold shiver rippling through me. “You’re right. I wanted to put you in a shitty position tonight and I used your kid to do it. I’m the evil stepmother from stories…” I shook Ashley off when he made to pull me into his arms. I needed distance. “I’m serious. You get to be angry about this.”
“I was.”
If only he didn’t sound so indulgent, I might not have let guilt spin into aggravation once again. I rounded on him with a scowl. “So what, now that I’ve gone weepy on you, you’re going to call it even?”
Ashley arched his eyebrows, but didn’t bite. “How do you think I should react?”
“I don’t know!” However normal people reacted to normal rows in a relationship. Did they throw things? Scream and swear? My experience with romantic stumbles was woefully lacking. I usually cut my losses well before I got invested enough to care about having an all-out dispute. Even with Javier—whom I’d liked and still missed sometimes—I’d taken the first available exit and never looked back.
“Do you regret what you did?” Ashley asked me softly.
“Yes.”
“So you probably won’t do it again.”
I nodded, but with a kernel of doubt at the back of my mind. “How can you be sure?”
Ashley shrugged like it was obvious. “I can’t. But I want to believe you, so I will… It’s called having faith.”
“Your loss, dude,” I snorted grimly. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” Or maybe he did. He’d come all the way to Kansas to see me out of jail, hadn’t he?
I dropped to the couch and covered my face with my hands. “What are we doing here, Ashley? What’re you doing with me?”
“Dating you. Hopefully.”
“You know, I get wanting a little spice in your life after someone as well-adjusted as Carmen… But there are interesting women out there who don’t come with a history of violence.”
“You have a history of violence?” Ashley quipped.
I glared at him through my fingers. “You know what I mean.”
“Not really, no. I’m not interested in you because I get off on your trauma. You lived through some shitty stuff—and okay, fine, maybe that’s colored the way you look at relationships,” he allowed. “But I can deal with that.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“You don’t get to make that call,” Ashley pointed out, crouching beside me. His knees creaked. “Oh, that’s hot. You’re dating Pinocchio.”
I laughed despite myself. “We should get back to bed.” I didn’t particularly feel like moving, but Ashley deserved a good night’s rest. I refused to be the reason he didn’t get it.
We slid beneath the sheets and shuffled closer to the center of the bed, where the mattress dipped a little. Our knees brushed. Ashley made no move to pull me into his arms, which I both appreciated and despised.
“So Paris has been good to you, huh?”
Ashley arched an eyebrow, silently prompting me to explain.
“What Marissa said, about you getting in shape…”
“Ah.” He dropped his gaze, the curve of his smile striking me as more absentminded than anything else. “Depression will do that to you.”
“You’re depressed?” I couldn’t banish disbelief out of my voice fast enough to keep it from ringing out.
“I was. About a year ago, when I lost my job at Le Monde…”
“You never said.”
“I try not to dwell.”
“Something good came out of it, though.” I walked my toes up his calf, relishing the twitch of muscle beneath my foot.
“Maybe… Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and I don’t recognize the guy looking back. You ever feel that way?” His gaze found mine and held, the whites of his eyes almost glowing in the darkness.
“Sometimes.” More than I cared to admit. “You know… You’re going to get hurt if we keep this up,” I murmured, my voice little more than a whisper.
Ashley’s reply was a shrug, cavalier to the last.
* * * *
Fifth Avenue improved on closer acquaintance, even if all I could afford was I checking out shop windows and displays without buying anything. It was early o’clock—I didn’t know precisely how early since I’d left my watch at the hotel and couldn’t be bothered to check my phone. Early enough that traffic was a mess and commuters were rushing in and out of the subway like a stomping herd in the savannah, anyway.
I wove through the crowd with my paper cups of coffee and slipped into the hotel feeling if not accomplished, then at least more at peace than I had all night.
The elevator dinged when it reached my floor. I left the jazzy, shiny cage for the winding corridor and swiped my key through the reader. Ashley was sitting up in bed and scrubbing at his eyes when I stepped through the door. He held up the Post-it I’d left on my pillow, the hotel crest well and truly visible at the top.
“I didn’t want you to worry,” I said. “I bought coffee.”
“We could’ve ordered room service.”
“And paid five bucks for a cup of coffee?” I scoffed. “No way.” I kicked off my shoes on the way to the bed and stripped off my trench coat before I reached the edge of the mattress. I didn’t pay attention to where it fell, only that I didn’t get my foot tangled in the belt. In my head, this part went smoothly and there was nothing to impede my sexiness.
In reality, my pulse hammered against my eardrums and my palms were sweating around the cardboard cups.
I had the foresight to set the coffee down on the bedside table before I leaned over and kissed Ashley hard on the mouth. He was too stunned to react, much less stop me when I pulled away. “I screwed up. I’m sorry. Wanna make up?” I got it out, just like I’d practiced, albeit with a touch more trepidation.
“Are you sure—?”
I kissed Ashley again as I reached for the buttons on my shirt. They caught beneath my fingertips, my shaking hands useless in the face of complicated fastenings. Fortunately, Ashley was there to help. Between the two of us, we jettisoned the Anne Fontaine shirt to the floor, soon followed by my jeans and underwear. Ashley covered my body with his. I’d had a script in mind—something about going down on him—but my thoughts evaporated when I felt his hard cock against my belly.
“I need you to be very sure,” he murmured. He wasn’t asking about sex.
I nodded. “I am.” I let him hook my knees on his shoulders, my hips arching off the bed as he fumbled for a condom. One of these
days, I told myself, we’d do it without. I’d go on the pill as soon we got back to Paris. We’d get tested.
Then Ashley was inside me, filling my cunt in one swift, agonizing stroke, and my world narrowed to the place where we were joined. It wasn’t like the last time. Ashley didn’t tease, didn’t goad me into following rules I didn’t fully understand. When he took my hands, it wasn’t to pin them down to the bed, but to wrap my arms around his neck.
“Hold tight,” he growled, his gaze intent on mine. So I did.
I might have yelped as he hoisted me up into his arms if it weren’t for his lips pressing harshly against mine. He slid in deep, balls nestled against my buttocks as he seated me into his lap. I lost all sense of direction, all perspective. My thighs shook as he kissed me. I curled my toes behind his neck, but I had no anchor.
The angle of his cock was perfect and perfectly maddening all at once. I couldn’t move if he didn’t want me to. Frustration boiled over in my chest before slowly leaching away. This was what it meant to surrender, I realized suddenly—not rules and taunts, not even the label we put on the things we did together. I trusted him to take care of me and Ashley rose to the occasion.
His biceps corded against my ribcage as he lifted me an inch or two, then slid back in again. Sweat drenched our bodies as though we’d run a marathon. It was the most delightful exercise I’d ever known.
“I’m not gonna last,” I choked out, licking salt off my upper lip. I didn’t care if my lipstick smudged or if my hair was all messy. The vulgar, wet sound of our bodies sliding together in a sloppy rhythm was the hottest thing I’d ever heard.
Ashley kissed my calf then bit that same patch of skin. I relished the sting. “So come,” he urged. “You want my permission?”
Until he said it, I didn’t realize I was thinking it.
I nodded, a shiver of want coursing through my body. I needed to hear him tell me it was okay. I needed his approval like air.
I’m well and truly fucked.
“Come for me,” Ashley breathed, pulling me down hard onto his pelvis. The tendons in his neck drew taut as he buried his dick deep inside me, flushed skin darkening to crimson, and I tipped over the edge with a fractured noise.
