I feel a furious blush coat my cheeks, but I don’t break his stare. I’ve given him enough already to feed his ego, and the complicated fact that I still let him fuck me last night by the Christmas tree.
I need more self-restraint here.
“What else?” I press, moving on to make it look like I’m not affected in the least by those words.
“Loyalty.”
I perk a brow. “Can you give me something interesting if you’re not going to answer my first question?”
“Christmas.”
I mindlessly beam at that because Bobby liked summer holidays where he could walk around almost naked. “You do?”
He takes another bite of the cherry pastry. “I do.”
“Is it the atmosphere? I don’t think it’d be the music. I don’t see you singing along to Holly Jolly Christmas, but?—”
“I like it because you like it,” he replies simply. “It’s your countenance that makes the holiday enjoyable.”
I immediately frown. “But…”
My next words choke themselves out and die because, from what I understand, he was only with me to…
“But, what?” Bronte presses, rubbing his fingers together to get any remnants of the pastry off his hands.
I don’t want to elaborate.
I don’t want to keep bringing up that I’m stupid and didn’t notice that my boyfriend of two years wasn’t fucking me at Christmas and our birthdays, but his twin brother.
“I need to get dressed,” I advise, getting to my feet so I can get my mind together for our outing today. “No more large donations while I’m gone.”
“I took over my father’s shipping company when he died.” He looks up at me, keeping a respectful stare on my face and not my body. “That’s how I can afford the million-dollar donation, Daydream.”
I nod, but can’t help but ask the question, “No mob connections?”
He rocks his head. “No mob connections.”
Well, there’s that.
I make a quick and clean exit from the living area to the bedroom, take a quick shower, wash my face, and brush my teeth before I pick out what I’m going to wear.
Then my phone goes off with a little ping.
Picking it up off the bed, several emails are already showing up on my screen, all from mystudent loans.
Congratulations! You paid off your debt!
No.
No, I didnot.
“Bronte!”
He doesn’t respond, and I don’t make an effort to get him either.
This is excessive beyond what is deemed appropriate.
It’s too much, and a sluggish wave of anxiety begins to fill my veins.
