It’d be really great if I could compartmentalize everything…
Starting now.
“Hey, champ.” Dad ruffles True’s head and works his way to my mom, kissing her cheek. “And how’s Little Miss?”
Little Miss. The nickname I’ve still yet to outgrow even at twenty-two.
“Good.” I take a seat halfway down the table, sandwiched between Waverly’s spot and my other sister, Honor.
The doorbell chimes and several of us crank our necks to glance out the window.
“Who’s here?” Honor crinkles her nose.
“Not sure,” I mumble.
“Oh!” Mom wipes her hands on her apron and leans around us to peer at the driveway. She runs a smooth palm over her hair and tucks it behind her ears as she unties her apron. “It’s Cortland.”
“Cortland travels on Mondays.” I stand up, brows angled and unsure if I should work my way toward the door or not, but within seconds, Mom has beaten me to it.
My father catches my glance and nods toward the door, silently telling me to greet my suitor.
I can’t forget to feign excitement whenever he’s near, though it’s excruciatingly difficult when all I feel is a sick, heavy dread in the center of my chest when I see him. I slap a smile on my face and tiptoe to the foyer where my mother is gushing over something in her hand.
She turns to me and holds it out. “Look, Bellamy. I mentioned to Cortland last week that my favorite gold locket had cracked. He took it to his cousin who happens to own the jewelry store on Outpost Avenue. Had it fixed for me. Isn’t he the sweetest?”
Cortland grins like a harmless boy scout, his gaze traveling back and forth between us.
“I thought you were traveling today? The northeastern territory?” I ask.
“I stuck around town today,” he says. “Took care of a few local places. Swapped territories with my brother, Corbin. He’s been itching for new turf anyway. Think we might make it official. Besides, I’d like to be around more to get to know my future wife a little better.”
My insides twist like they’re caught in a vice grip. I loved that he traveled, and I loved that I only had to see him twice a week. The fact that he’ll be local now means he’s going to find every opportunity he can to come over.
“Have you eaten yet?” My mother extends the invitation I saw coming three seconds ago. Sometimes I think I know her better than she knows herself.
“Oh, I don’t want to impose, Mrs. Miller.” He answers her but looks at me.
“We’d love to have you.” I lie through my teeth and a close-mouthed half-smile. “I’ll set another place at the table.”
“You’re practically family,” my mother says, taking him by the arm and leading him away. “You’re always welcome here, Cortland.”
Minutes later, we’re scrunched at the table, side by side, our arms touching but our postures perfectly respectable. At one point his hand slips off his knee and onto mine under the shield of the tablecloth, but my fingers twitch and rise up to my hair, out of his reach.
He shoots me a glance, but I ignore it, so he spends the better part of the next several minutes kissing up to my father and showering my mothers with compliments galore.
My sister, Waverly, watches us from across the table with stars in her eyes, staring like I’m lucky to have found someone our father approved of.
If she only knew.
Halfway through dinner, I lose my appetite. It just up and walked off, along with my attention span and my thoughts, which are one million percent focused on my new job.
Well, Dane, if I’m being specific.
“Isn’t that right, Bellamy?” My father’s voice yanks me out of my otherworldly daydream.
“Beg your pardon?” If I pretend I didn’t hear him, I might be okay.
Cortland and my father exchange glances and share a light chuckle together like they’re a couple of old pals bonding.
“Your father said as a child you were addicted to chocolate ice cream. Said you wouldn’t do anything unless they bribed you with it,” my khaki-outfitted suitor says.
“Oh. Yes. That’s right,” I exhale my words along with a handful of relief. “As a small child, yes.”
Dad sits up and dabs his napkin across his mouth. “You two have been courting now for, what, a couple of months?”
“Seven weeks,” Cortland says.
My mothers all grin and tilt their heads like he’s some romantic dreamboat.
“I think it’s time you two spent a little one on one time together,” Dad says. “Why don’t Jane and I run you down to the local ice cream shop. We’ll keep our distance, but this will at least give you two a bit more time to talk.”
Wonderful.
“That would be great, Mr. Miller,” Cortland says. “I’d love that. Bellamy?”
“Can’t say no to that.” I force another smile and drop my fork against my plate. This night needs to end. If I could blink and be in my bed alone right now, that’d be amazing.
Aside from seeing him at Bible study each Wednesday, Cortland comes over on Saturdays. He usually dotes on me for a little while and then ends up helping my father with things around the house. After that we finish the evening with a board game in the family room.
He hasn’t had an opportunity to touch me or kiss me or pin me in weeks, and he wears the expression of a sexually frustrated man aching for a chance to take me to bed and have his way with me once and for all.
That is, after all, his ultimate goal.
That also explains his territory switch at work. He wants to spend more time here. He wants to fast-track the courtship.
“Shall we head out?” My father’s plate is empty, and he motions for my mother to grab the keys to the car. “Cortland and Bellamy?”
Waverly, Kath, and Summer rise up, clearing dishes and starting dinner clean up. I’d give anything to be washing dishes right now.
***
The backseat of the car is dark, and Cortland’s hand twitches on his knee. His stare is penetrating, and I’d give anything for my father to turn around for a second and see the way he looks at me when he doesn’t think anyone will notice.
My father pulls up to the ice cream emporium and shifts his Buick into park. “All right. I’ll let you two skip ahead. It’ll be like we’re not even here.”
Yeah.
Right.
He’ll be watching our every move like some crazy, stalker dad.
Cortland walks me straight up to the cash register where he orders a scoop of chocolate ice cream in a dish for me and a scoop of mint chocolate chip for himself. He doesn’t even give me a chance to browse the fifty other available flavors, and I hate that he ordered for me.
He declines waffle bowls, which are only a fifty-cent upcharge. I’m not sure if he’s cheap, or he doesn’t think I need the extra calories. Either way, I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to eat ice cream, and I don’t want to be with him.
“Here you are,” he hands me a pink spoon and a small dish of chocolate ice cream. We find a spot in the corner, a little table for two with two connected swivel chairs. The hard plastic is just as uncomfortable as the turmoil boiling beneath my faux-façade. “Chocolate. Your favorite.”
Chocolate was my favorite when I was, like, five.
“Thank you.”
“This was kind of your father,” he says, using his skilled tongue to lick green ice cream from his spoon. His tongue used to be pure magic. Now it’s a dangerous weapon. “Maybe this’ll open up more opportunities for us to hang out solo? Like really solo.”
I shake my head. “Never. He won’t allow that.”
“Psh.” Cortland scoffs, as if to say, “I’ve got this. I can handle Mark Miller.”
“You don’t know my father very well. He’s crazy protective of his daughters’ virtues and the family reputation.”
I realize how utterly ridiculous I sound considering months ago I had no problem hopping in the backseat of a car with a random guy fro
m church and doing everything but…
And the only reason I never had sex with Cortland was because neither of us had condoms, and I’m not on the pill, and we weren’t about to risk being seen trying to obtain such things.
I stare at deceptively handsome Cortland and can’t help but wonder if he’d be relentlessly pursuing me if I’d given it up already.
He probably wants to screw me just as bad as I want freedom.
Only one of us will win.
“This is my way of protecting your virtue, Bellamy.”
“What are you talking about?”
The door jingles and we both crank our necks to see my father walk in and head up to the counter. Mom is still out in the car. This whole thing is bizarre. He doesn’t make eye contact with us, which I’m sure is his warped way of doing us a favor by pretending we’re strangers.
He’s here, but he’s not.
We wait for my father to walk out with two banana splits before another word is spoken.
“What were you saying a minute ago?” I refuse to drop it. I want to know how the hell he thinks he’s protecting my virtue.
“Because you’re damaged goods.” He says it like he’s stating a scientific fact.
I shove my spoon in the center of the melting mound of ice cream in front of me and shove the cup away. “Excuse me?”
“Come on, Bellamy.” He cocks his head, flashing a perfect smile. “You know what I mean. You’ve…you’ve been touched. You’ve done stuff.”
“Yeah. With you.”
“Yeah, but if another guy knew? I don’t think he’d be cool with it. A guy might get the impression that you’re a loose girl.”
What is this, the 1950s?!
“What about you?” I cross my arms over my chest. “What does that make you?”
His lips pucker as he stifles a laugh. “It’s different for guys. You know that.”
I rise, unwilling to tolerate another minute across from that imbecile.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.
“Throwing this away.” I grab the melting cup of chocolate grossness and trudge to the nearest trash receptacle, chucking it just hard enough not to cause a scene.
Cortland stands up and walks over to me placing his hands on my shoulders and turning us so our faces are away from the watchful eyes of my parents. “Keep sweet, Bellamy. Don’t make a scene. Remember, they’re watching us.”
He turns behind us before glancing around the small ice cream shop.
“Follow me.”
“Where are you going?” I ask.
He says nothing, but I follow him to a small alcove behind the front of the shop because what other choice do I have?
“I’ve been dying to get you alone for weeks,” he says, the second we’re hidden from view. His lips press into the flesh below my jaws, and his greedy hands slip over my breasts taking squeezing handfuls.
“What are you doing?” I push him off me with what little resistance I have against his sturdy build.
He pushes his whole body into me again, ignoring my obvious discontentment with his behavior. “Don’t you miss this, Bellamy? You, me, backseat of my car. I miss your taste, your scent, those lips wrapped around the best part of me.”
Cortland’s hips jut into mine, and I feel his hardness through the fabric that separates us.
“You’re so addictive,” he moans.
I inhale a mixture of frigid air, dairy smells, and Cortland’s cheap aftershave, but right now I’d give anything for a whiff of Dane’s cologne. He smells like fine soap and expensive leather and top shelf whiskey and the kinds of things I’d never dreamed about until I met him.
“Soon,” he breathes into my ear. “Soon, we’ll be married, and I can have all of you, all the time.”
That’s what you think.
“We’ve only been courting for seven weeks officially,” I say. “I’m not on some fast track to getting married. I still need to decide if you’re right for me.”
“The decision’s been made, sweetheart.” His hand runs from my right breast down the s-curve of my hip before settling on my backside where he gives it a commanding squeeze.
I fight the wave of tears that threaten to consume me. Powerlessness has never been a good look for me.
“We should get going. My dad’s going to wonder where we went.”
Cortland nods toward a drinking fountain. “Just tell him we went to get some water, and you had to use the restroom and I waited for you out here like a gentleman would do.”
“You’ve got an answer for everything.”
He thinks I’m teasing, and he smiles like he considers himself some brilliant bastard.
***
“Goodnight, Bellamy.” Cortland stands a careful distance from me in the driveway of the main house. “I’ll be over again tomorrow.” He glances at my parents. “Of course, if that’s okay with Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”
Mom claps her hands against her heart, her face twisting into a ridiculously pleased expression.
“Absolutely, Cortland.” Dad stands with his hands on his hips, nonchalantly asserting his dominance over the entire situation the way he always does. “You know, it’s about time we meet your folks. Why don’t we plan a big dinner this Saturday afternoon? Weather should be good. We can grill out. Eat outside. Would be fun.”
“Oh, yes,” Mom agrees. “I’d love to meet your mothers.”
“Sure,” Cortland says. “My parents have met Bellamy at Bible study, but I know they’d love to be able to sit down with you all and forge a closer bond.”
He speaks my father’s language better than anyone else I know.
The three of them all turn to me, like they all share one brain.
“Yes,” I say, offering up a fake yawn. “That sounds wonderful. Well, I don’t know about you all, but I’m beat. Going to head up now. Goodnight, Cortland.”
I give a quick wave, since we’re not allowed to touch or kiss or hug, and head inside with a grateful heart: grateful that this night is finally over.
EIGHT
DANE
“How was your evening?” I bump into her, of all places, outside the elevator. She’s early today. Thirty minutes.
She grips the straps of her shoulder bag tight, and I motion for her to go on first. I am, all things considered, a gentleman.
“It was good.” Her words have no flavor to them at all. They’re blanched and bland. She stares straight ahead like she’s in a fog. “Yours?”
“My night was wonderful. Thank you.” I press the button to the fifteenth floor and lean against the railing. A faint perfume fills the small box we share, and I drag her scent into my lungs without her so much as noticing. Gardenia. That’s what it is. Only it’s not as heavy. It’s mixed with something else a bit lighter and complementary.
I love it. It’s subtle and elegant and doesn’t scream for attention like so many of the obnoxious fragrances women wear these days.
The doors ding and separate, and I motion for her to leave first. When she exits, she waits for me to walk next to her.
“I take it you did some thinking last night?” I state the obvious because obviously she wouldn’t be here today if she changed her mind. I slip my key into the double doors that lead into the reception area. It’s just us two for at least the next twenty minutes. I normally use this time to clear my head and prep for the day, but today I’ll make an exception.
Besides, she was extra early today.
For me.
To please me.
Her master.
“Absolutely,” she says. “I’m fired up now more than ever.”
I lick the curve of my lower lip as I try not to show the intense amount of pleasure I get from hearing her say such a thing.
“Excellent. I’ve got a conference call at eight-fifteen, but after that, I’ll make sure Marlene blocks out my schedule so we can continue your training.”
She slips into her office, and I head to mine and wait.
> And wait.
And wait.
My fingers drum the wood top of my desk, reaching distance from my phone, and when it finally rings, I clear my throat, let it ring three more times and answer.
“Yes, Bellamy?”
“What is all of this?” She’s breathless, and my only regret is not being there in person to see her face.
The effect wouldn’t have been the same, though.
“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” I tease.
“The boxes, Dane.” Her words are rushed, jumbling into one another. “These, these things. Are they all for me?”
“Every last item in those packages was hand-selected for you by my personal shopper.”
My subs only have the best. Red-bottomed shoes. Designer jeans. Red-carpet worthy party dresses. French-tailored suits for the office. Italian leather purses and belts. A collection of high-end cosmetics that would make a makeup artist jealous.
“These things, they’re too expensive for me,” she says. “I-I can’t take these. I can’t accept these…”
“You can and you will. Now stop blathering and come to my office. I’d much rather you show me how excited you are.” I go to hang up, but instead pull the phone back to my ear. “Oh, and Bellamy. Bring the pale pink box with the black satin ribbon.”
A minute later she raps on the door.
“Come in.”
That’s good. She’s learning fast.
Bellamy carries the pale pink box and curious expression on her pretty face.
“Go ahead. Open it.” I fold my hands across my stomach and sit back as she takes a seat across from me.
She sets the box across her thighs and tugs on the end of a ribbon until the knot loosens. When she pulls the lid off, her eyes trail from the neatly folded velvet negligee to me and back.
“What’s this?” She lifts it up like it’s made out of china and not crushed velvet the color of a lustrous midnight. Her cheeks flush instantaneously. “You want me to wear this for you sometime?”
“I want you to wear this for me now.”
ARROGANT MASTER Page 7
