“If she knows she can go at any moment's notice, she will leave and never look back. What Natasha and I have together is too good for me to let her just slip away. I just need time to make her remember and see through the large hiccup we have come across.”
Ion nods thoughtfully, and that’s how we leave it, with a good luck and keep in touch. I am free to go back to Miami where Natasha awaits me. Will this be the day that I change her mind? Daring to hope is a dangerous thing, and I might as well let hope go and let the chips fall where they may as I do my best. It’s all up to her now, to accept the way I am showing her I am not the man she thinks.
***
By the time I get back into Miami, it is time for a late dinner, and I plan on seeing if I could possibly have it with Natasha. That would make this exhausting day that much better. I keep my suit on, the one I wore to the meeting, and I go to the dining room to see that Natasha is, in fact, sitting there and waiting for her dinner to be served. I turn to one of my men and whisper to him, giving him an order that all non-essential doors be locked. I do not want her escaping me the minute she sees that I am here. I want a chance to start this over again somehow.
When it becomes clear to her that I am going to stay and she is not going to be allowed to leave the room, Natasha stands up and moves to the other end of the table, a table made to seat 24 people. She has been quite good at avoiding me for many days now, staying locked up in her room or hiding in other rooms of the house when she knows I am coming. I almost would take her harsh words over this. This makes it impossible to make amends or show her anything about me.
The food comes out, smelling delicious, and I call one of my men up to me, knowing I have to fix this. I tell him that he needs to remove sections of the table until it is small enough for four. He begins to do just that, holding back on Natasha’s food until she finds a new seat right across from me. It is the closest I have been to her since she left my hotel room in Seattle to go to work the very day that everything changed for us forever.
I want to get back to what we were developing. I was certain I was falling for her and her for me. There is no reason other than the way she is holding this back that we can’t continue. I will just have to learn to be more honest about who I am.
I look up at her as she chews her food and notice, not for the first time, the scar that runs along her jaw. It is the only flaw this otherwise perfect beauty has. Now that I know who her relatives were, I wonder who gave it to her. “How did you get that scar?” I ask quietly. I don't want to upset her.
She sips at her wine before locking eyes with me. “It is in my past, and I’d rather not discuss it,” she tells me plainly. It is the first hint that I get of her history, one that may not be as spotless as I would have imagined when I met her.
I reach out and trace the scar with my hands, amazed as she closes her eyes and lets me touch her. It’s the most progress I have made with her since bringing her back to Miami with me. “I want to know who hurt you,” I practically whisper, letting my hand go.
Those hazel eyes fly open, and I am shocked and not happy with the hurt and anger I see there. “Do you mean besides you?” I watch her get up from the table and leave me here alone. I may not have expected it, but I should have. She has always been full of wit, which she can use against me when she is upset.
CHAPTER 8
“…And that’s how you know you really love them: you forgive. Even if they didn’t apologize.” - Forgiveness
Natasha
I pick up my phone, the only thing here that is truly mine, and I go out the white doors that lead to the pool. It is a gorgeously manicured area; palm trees, and other plants making it look like a tropical oasis. But, it looks rarely used. That is how most of the house feels other than the den and the bedroom where I stay, which only feel used because I am here. I know that Anton has an office in this place. I think it is probably the least lonely room in the house, but I don’t want to venture in there knowing that’s where I will surely find him. I don't know if I am ready to find him.
I have on the most modest thing I could find for sunbathing, a one-piece black suit with a pair of shorts over it. I sit down on one of the chairs where I can just relax and look up at the clear sky. Miami is so different from Seattle where it is always cloudy or raining. There is a certain beautiful melancholy to it. Here, there is always sun, always a reason to be in as little clothing as possible. That is what had made it a fun trip for Bethany and I and exactly what makes it less than ideal for being trapped in a large house with a rich and powerful monster.
I hate this. I will be the first one to admit it. I hate that this place makes me feel the most alone I have been in years. Knowing that I am the last of the Constantin’s makes me feel even more that way. Despite all the house staff and goons, it just feels empty. “Maybe if I am lucky, some alligator will come up from the water to the house and eat me,” I joke into the emptiness surrounding me.
What I hate the most, though, is being so close to Anton, having gotten close to him in the first place. It leaves me stuck in this strange limbo that I do not know the way out of; either by sin or repentance.
I was so used to the way he held me and possessed me, the way his lips felt when they were on mine. I remember how our bodies would just mold together after a night of intense sex. These are the things that make it hard to deny him any contact with me, even though he is not the man I thought. He is practically holding me hostage and showing his true colors behind closed doors when he thinks I don't know, don't see, and don't hear him. I can't let it get to me.
But I miss all of it. I miss the way we drove each other crazy and the way it just all seemed to fit like puzzle pieces. I hate that I am in love with him.
But, I am.
I juggle my phone in my hands and wonder how much longer I will be allowed to keep it. I need to use it to keep up pretenses, or to get out of this mess. Either way, I am afraid, afraid to tell anyone anything because I don't even know how to get the words straight in my head much less out of my mouth.
I dial a number I know by heart, my best friend who I oddly have not seen in a very long time. We usually see each other at least once a week if not more. She is probably wondering where I am and what I am up to at this point, even if she figures I am with Anton. She answers enthusiastically, and I smile to myself. This is my one reprieve from everything I feel. The only catch is I can’t tell her that I am not okay, that I am not supposed to be here. I can’t bring myself to drag her into this mess with the Clans when it could lead to her destruction. What kind of friend would I be then?
“You’re in Miami, aren’t you?” she asks, knowing that Anton was in town not too long ago. She is so intuitive for someone who people look at and assume, by her body type and hair color, is dumb. She is not at all.
“Yes, that I am,” I admit. “I am sorry I didn't tell you. It was a last-minute thing, and things have just been kind of crazy since then.” None of that was a lie at least. “How are you?” I ask her.
“No way, Tasha! You are not going to change the subject to me like that. I am just fine, but I want to know how things are going in Miami with your alpha male.”
I give a little laugh. I wish this was something I could just be gushing to her about, the simple trip to see my boyfriend I want her to believe that I am on. The truth is, I don’t even know when I will be allowed to go back, if I ever will go back to Seattle. This sunny environment doesn't feel like home, especially with the Clan business looming over me like the shadow of a monster.
“It’s all going okay,” I tell her. I don't have the heart to give a full on detailed lie. She will see right through me, and it doesn't feel right anyway. I am okay, not my best, but I am okay. That is what matters and what she needs to know.
“Okay then, you can be tightlipped all you want now, but when you make it back I am going to find you and extract all the details from you,” Beth says into the receiver, a cute threat. I smile at the thought of getting b
ack to her and spilling all. It is a dream that may get me through this yet.
I am about to say something else when I feel hands on my shoulders and jump out of my skin with a loud gasp.
“Sorry,” I tell Bethany, looking behind me to see that Anton is standing there, having snuck up on me. I didn’t even know if he was home. “I have to go for now. Anton just snuck up on me. I will call you back later.”
“Yes, you will!” she tells me with a laugh just before I hang up; before a cold chill hits me despite the heat of the Miami air.
“I need you to hear me out, please,” Anton asks me before I can tell him to go away or snap at him for even being out here when he knows I don't want anything to do with him. He may be a lot of things, but I don't think he’s stupid.
“Well,” I say unamused, waiting for him to get on with whatever excuse or horrible thing he has to say next. I don't know why he bothers if I am just a prisoner or a prize to him. He doesn’t have to make me like him or forgive him or anything.
“I am sorry for what I had to do. I did it for everyone's safety. If I had left it alone, what else could he have done?” I took that part to be rhetorical. I could not imagine Jan hurting someone without a reason, even within the Clans. It just didn't make sense, but that ship has sailed.
“I can’t handle you both ways, Anton. I am done with it. You can either treat me with the respect I deserve and maybe stand a chance of me not hating you, or you can treat me like the trophy that I am to you,” I inform him. I see his eyes go dark and then a wave of shock coming over him. “That's right. I hear things. I heard you speaking with those damn goons of yours about me being a trophy, Anton. You think I don't know, but I do know. And yet, every time you try to get to know me, to have dinner with me, to apologize, it’s like you are a different man. I may be able to breed their next leader for Clan Constantin, but as far as I am concerned, I have nothing to do with the Clans right now. I shouldn’t be treated like I do unless you are cutting off the other side of yourself and everything we had before. Know what you're doing if that’s what you choose.”
CHAPTER 9
Sometimes I’m not angry, I’m hurt, and there’s a big difference. - Curiano.com
Natasha
Another few days have gone by, days where I have yet again been alone, though I see him everywhere. He makes it a point to insert himself in every bit of the tiny life I am living here where all I do is wander around the house all day or sit and watch TV. I guess, on occasion, I make use of his large gym room, keeping in shape and taking out my anger on the equipment. I feel like I am stuck in time, even though it’s passing me by. Before I know it, it will be fall. My summer will have been drained away by this melancholy place where I am stuck inside, instead of enjoying the sun with my bestie, or anyone else that matters.
I am sitting at the table eating lunch. I have tried many times to get Anton’s schedule down enough to avoid him at mealtimes, but he changes it all the time. So, I just eat when I am hungry and sometimes get lucky.
I hear his footsteps and instantly know Anton is on his way in. He has certain heavy steps, authoritative and fitting for his large stature. I don't look up to acknowledge him. I don't want to give him the satisfaction, because I still don't know which person he is choosing to be. That in and of itself should be my answer, but I have always held my head high and thought the best of everyone. Old habits die hard.
“Natasha,” he says, demanding me to look up at him now that he is in front of me. He holds my gaze, and I try to find something redeemable there. I try to find anything, but he is unreadable at the moment. “We are going to a party tonight. I laid a dress out for you to wear on your bed,” he says matter-of-factly, like it is as natural as breathing for him to be telling me what to wear. Lucky for me, he has good taste.
I finish the last bite of my lunch, chewing slowly enough to make him annoyed and impatient. It’s the only kind of true power I have to torture him; that and keeping a distance for as long as possible.
I get up from the table, and I notice how he does not try to help me up or push my chair in after me. I am left to do it myself. It makes me interested in what I am going to be getting myself into tonight. It may be my worst night here yet.
I go into my room, knowing that he is following right behind me, practically breathing down my back. He stops at the door as I go in to take a look at the perfectly pressed, likely brand new, dress on my bed. At first, all I see is the white, but as I get up close, I am in shock and dismay.
It’s a gorgeous dress, I will give him that, but it is completely see through. The white is sheer lace that has leaves going all over the dress, except that they wouldn't cover my breasts or any of my lower regions fully. There is little point for them to be there other than for decoration. I hold it up to my body to test it out, and I do see that it will cover my pussy, thank goodness, but literally, it will show everything else. All my assets will be on display. This has to be a joke or a test, right?
I turn to him and look him up and down as he leans into the doorway so casually even as I am holding this ridiculous excuse for a dress. This is something you wear on a private date with someone you want to tease, to look sexy as hell for. This is something I might have worn for him after we met, but this is not something I can put on my body now, after everything that has happened, especially when I know I am going to be in public.
“Are you serious about this?” I ask, calmly at first. I am hoping he is proving a point, making a cruel joke to get my full attention. I will give in if it ends this would be dress debacle. When he doesn’t answer, I probe him again. I hate being ignored, but then again, that is probably how he's feeling. Shit, what did I get myself into here? “You really want me to wear this?” I take it up to him and show him the dress just in case it puts some sanity back into that brain of his.
“Yes,” he answers. His tone is even, and he doesn’t move a muscle. He is completely serious and unphased by taking a look at the dress in front of me, what it will and will not cover. He really wants to take me around like this?
“Everyone will be able to see everything, Anton. I have curves, I have a body, and this isn't going to cover up shit,” I warn him, threaten him. Shouldn’t that bother him, make him jealous? Even if I am a trophy at this point, he shouldn't necessarily want all of me laid bare, literally.
“That’s the point,” he says flatly, and I openly gawk at him. What is he playing at? This can’t be real. This feels more preposterous than my boyfriend killing my uncle, if you ask me. If he ever really was my boyfriend. “You are a trophy to be shown off, right?” he asks, throwing my words right back at me. I should have kept my pretty little mouth shut. Fuck that, big mouth. I know I have a temper. I know that I have probably not made this easy on myself, but I was really sure that would inspire a change in the way we are doing things around here, that he would change back into he-man I had been falling for, and I wouldn't have to worry about all of this anymore.
I huff and throw the dress down onto the bed, crossing my arms over my chest so he knows that I am aggravated by how he is behaving. When does this end? It has to end, right? “I am not wearing it,” I tell him. It's that simple. Let’s see what he says to that.
He takes two quick strides to close the distance between us. At first, I wonder if he is going to kiss me. I am sickened and surprised by the part of me that still wants that attention from him. But, he cups my neck instead and backs me into the wall. “I wasn’t asking if you wanted to wear it,” he tells me, whispering through gritted teeth. He is totally serious and completely dangerous right now. “You will wear it because you do everything that I say,” he reminds me unkindly. “No questions asked.” I dare to look up into his eyes, and then I look back at where I threw the dress onto the bed.
I don't want to wear it. I can’t wear it. It's not that it isn't beautiful. It is a gorgeous dress, an exquisite piece of fashion, but I know what people will think of me when I walk into some party with Anton wearin
g that dress. I know what his goons will think when they see me in it. I know what they will all think I am.
I am desperate. I cannot allow myself to go out wearing that. “They’ll all think I am a whore if I wear that, Anton,” I mutter to him, dropping my eyes downward. I am trying to be humble and reasonable. This is too far. He needs to know it’s too much.
“That’s exactly what you are,” he tells me, and I choke on his words like a searing hot poker down my throat. I don't know if he realizes the cruelty of what he just said to me. He knows so little about my past, about this scar on my jaw. Maybe I should have told him while I had the chance, but how would I ever trust him with that information now.
I look at him again, and yet, I don’t see Anton. I see someone else entirely. I thought I was done with that man, with the flashbacks and the pain he caused me. I thought I had dragged myself out of the hell he had left me in to burn, but I guess I was so wrong about that. Instead, the flashbacks come to me so fast. I am lost in the memories, and I can’t claw my way out.
“You are such a fucking whore Natasha. Why did I ever love you?” he says as he pulls out his knife, bringing it up to my jawline and making a slash. I bleed out and cry on the floor, unable to do anything else. I know it will scar. I know he won't let me get help, get stitches, do anything. This is not the first time he has hurt me, and I doubt it’s the last. I want it to be, though. I don't know how to leave. I don't know how to get away. I know my father will just call me weak, which is what I am, He won't care. I think of my uncle, Jan. Will he help me? I don't know, but I have to try.
“Stop fucking crying, you bitch!” he screams at me, his knife still in his hand. I get up off the floor, my feet slipping in my own blood. I reach out to him to catch my balance, but he moves his arm away and laughs as I fall back down, my arms barely catching me. “Yes, fall to your knees just like the whore you know you are. That's where you’ll always belong. By the time you’re 30, you’ll have bruises there.” He spits on me, and I feel the phlegm catching in my hair. Will I be allowed to shower to get that off, to get the blood off? I really don't know. Part of me wishes he had hurt me worse so I could lay there and pretend to be dead. That way, he would leave me alone. I could change my identity or something.
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