“Scarlett, darl—“ my father began.
“Se você quer seus olhos, você manterá suas mãos para si mesmo.” The grip I had on the delicate crystal felt brutish. It might just snap.
Cold child.
Is he hers?
Bitch.
That was the sentiment amongst the models.
My mother wanted to gasp. I know she did. As usual, she resisted, playing her part well, sipping her champagne to hide her embarrassment. She didn’t have most of the language, but she knew the tone well enough to gather the point.
In a dramatic sweep of silk, I held my head up higher and took the steps as if I were floating up them.
I had my pride.
Once in my own space, I sat at my vanity table, crossing my legs, tapping one in time to my irritation. After a few moments, my temper evened, and the pulse that had been drumming in my ears faded to nothing, allowing the music to fill the empty spaces of the room.
Looking up, I wished that the ceiling had been made of glass, so I could stare at the stars. Wishes… Of all the places that I longed to be, the abandoned house was the first on my list. A five-minute drive would have taken me there, but this place felt worlds away from that one.
“Tell me,” Brando whispered, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
Oh, now he wanted to know what she had said. It was eerie how we could do that though. He said the words and I instinctually knew what he asked of me.
Still, I refused to look at him. “She wanted to take you to her bed.”
“What did you say to her?”
I sighed in defeat. “If you want your eyes, you will keep your hands to yourself.”
He had the audacity to laugh at me. My head whipped to his, my eyes lowered to slits, and the drum pounded in my ears once again. The scowl on my face made my forehead tight. I crossed my arms and tapped the foot even harder.
“You have a mean temper,” he said, coming closer. He bent down on one knee beside me, one hand resting on my leg, ceasing the tap. He went to take my hand, but I refused. He gave me a look that brokered no deal. “Don’t.” One word. A command. Lowering his head, he placed a soft kiss on each of my knuckles.
Though my hand was his, I scowled at him even harder. But he was looking up at me with the most guileless eyes; the weight of his stare felt like a burden—heavy enough that a silent sigh escaped my lips. Moments passed between us in the quiet space, except for the melodic music floating beneath the door.
“We fight.” My voice came out on a breath, so soft. “Then we love.”
He searched my eyes for a moment, his hardening, revealing none of their intent. “Yeah. We do. It’s who we are. You’re mine, Scarlett Rose. You love me. You hate me. You love me. But there’s no room for indifference. I won’t allow it.”
He removed his hand from mine, cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking the edge of my lips, almost tracing their shape. Closing my eyes, I leaned into his warm embrace, breathing in the scent of his skin so close to mine.
No, I hadn’t been wrong. His scent had been in the air; now it was all consuming, absorbing into pores and running under skin. Right where he belonged. Rushing through my blood.
“Patience, Scarlett.” He moved in even closer, his breath warm against my face. My lips parted to breath him in. “You have to have patience. Give me the pleasure of watching, of seeing, of knowing that the most beautiful woman in the room is mine. This is all new to me too. The reaction I have to you.” His hands trembled ever so slightly against my skin, and when his mouth met mine, it was in a soft caress. “I can’t control it.”
A chill ran over me at the same time heat infused skin. “You don’t have to,” the words were out before I could stop them. A man built in the reflection of Brando Fausti was not a man who thrived on the loss of control, of his own will, but somehow, I had broken his barrier and took his world and made it ours. There were times when I felt how much he wanted it, as though it were a visceral thing in the room with us, claiming our love for its own. Other times, I felt the same feeling, though flipped upside down. He raged against the surrender, as though it were an internal battle that he had to win.
I can’t control it.True. But another spin on this was that he enjoyed wrestling it into place, keeping it locked behind bars, until that moment came whenhedecided to surrender to it. Watching me translated into delayed gratification for him.
He watched me for some time, doing just as I had predicted. I couldn’t open my eyes to meet his stare. Not now.
I fiddled with the cool fabric of the gown. “Ace and Travis?”
“Tell me who you belong to, Scarlett.”
“You,” I breathed out, no hesitation.
