I nod. “Basil told me she’s arranged for a bucket of squid ink in my face when I step out of the car. Right before our official photos.”
Basil had confessed minutes after I accepted his invitation. Just a sweet guy whose rented family home is part of the Impaglia’s property portfolio and doesn’t really understand how he got tangled in this mess.
“There’ll probably be something worse waiting if I make it inside.”
I close my eyes, storing up solace from Damien’s embrace, knowing this will probably be the last time I feel this connected to anyone.
Then I step away.
“Why are you going along with it?”
Because I have my own plans. Because after a year of her torture, I deserve my revenge.
But what comes out of my mouth is a simpler truth. “Because I want to hurt you, and if hurting myself is the only way to do that, that’s what I’ll do.”
I lift my chin and Damien cups my neck, hooking me closer. “So, you do believe me. You know I care about you.”
He sounds so satisfied. So pleased with himself, my control frays along the edges. “You think you own me. It’s not the same.”
“We own each other.”
“No, we don’t. And you don’t get to control me. Not any longer.” My voice wavers and I stiffen my shoulders. “You don’t get to decide who I talk to or who takes me to the school dance.”
He laughs. “Sure, I do.”
“Fine.” My anger flares. I throw the ticket and card in his face and he doesn’t flinch, letting them fall. “You’re right. We’re made for each other.” My mouth twists into a vicious line. “Except my happy-ever-after comes to an end after the senior dance, and you just used your last turn on a quickie against a desk. Hope it was worth it.”
The change is immediate. Damien’s mask cracks, something raw and desperate breaking through his indifference. His jaw bunches so hard the muscles jump beneath his skin. “Don’t.”
The single word is strangled, nothing like his usual controlled tones.
“Don’t what? Remind you that your clifftop intervention didn’t fix me?” The power surges, intoxicating as his composure shreds.
His hands cup my face with a gentleness that contradicts the violence in his expression. In whatever broken way he’s capable of feeling, my words have wounded him. I can’t swallow past the lump in my throat.
“You’re not dying unless I let you. Or have you forgotten who’s got your pills?”
“They’re prescription.” My arms are folded now, hiding their continuing tremor as I lie. “The moment I left Bryan’s; I got a refill.”
“Then I’ll lock you up. I’ll watch you every second. I’ll—”
“Your father would love that, wouldn’t he?” I wrench away from his hands, fumbling in my pocket for my phone and cueing up the recording I hear on repeat in my head.
Fuck I love you.
Even the tinny speakers can’t undermine its power. “Do you think he’d appreciate this? Or should I play this to Chelsea?” My laugh cuts through the air, far too high-pitched. “Maybe an email to both?”
He glances at the phone, but where I expect anger, he’s puzzled.
His hand steadies mine and presses replay. The recording starts over from the beginning, triggering my memory with its obscene noises while his gaze stays glued to the screen.
Finally, he presses stop.
“You’ve had this since last Wednesday?” His thumb strokes my cheekbone, the gesture overwhelming in its tenderness. “You had it on Friday when Chelsea came to our music class? Why haven’t you used it?”
Under the intensity of his gaze, I can’t remember. “I was waiting for the right time.”
Damien gives a soft snort, resting his forehead briefly against mine before releasing his hold. “You’ve missed the boat there. I broke up with Chelsea on Sunday, just like I told you I would. My father already knows.”
