“Can we go?” she asks, one hand already on the door. “Please?”
I hold up a finger. “Why are we here?”
“To visit my Aunt June. She broke her leg falling off a bike.”
“And who are you?”
“Elizabeth Mills. A first year at the Fashion Institute.”
I point at myself. “Me?”
I expect her to blush, but she just smiles coolly. “You’re my father, Anthony Mills.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
I fold her arm underneath mine as we walk to the hospital. I don’t want to touch her but she’s shaking like a junkie. She leans into me, and I try not to breathe in her scent. Like sweet nectarines and moonlight.
The outside might be fancy, but the inside of St. John’s smells the way all hospitals do, like disinfectant and microwaved beef. Heads turn as we make our way to reception, men and women staring at January. Unavoidable. I could have made her wear jeans and scrub her face, but the girl’s too good-looking. Nothing short of a potato sack would have helped and that would have been even more noticeable.
“Five minutes,” I mutter in her ear. “Then we’re out of here.”
“Yes, dad.”
“Morning,” I say to the bored-looking woman behind the front desk. “Anthony Mills. My daughter and I are here to visit June Mills.”
I pulled the name off Bobby’s scouting notes. Some old girl we can pretend to be visiting if Parker’s still checking the guest register.
“Ms. Mills is on the third floor,” the receptionist says. “Sign in then take the elevator to the left.”
I scribble a fake signature on the guestbook then steer January to the lift. She sticks her heels into the ground. “Can’t we buy Auntie flowers?” She gestures at the stand beside reception.
I grit my teeth. “Fine.” I get a bunch of stupidly expensive yellow roses and January does a decent job of looking bored as she picks her nails at my side. She should really be on her phone, but I’m not giving her one. She can buy something when she gets to where she’s going. It’ll be safer that way.
“Here,” I say handing her the roses. “All yours.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. “Thanks,dad.”
As we make our way to the elevator, I think of her father, Nicholas Whitehall. He gave in to cancer without stopping his viper of a second wife from doing whatever she felt like after his death. He knew what she was, warned her not to meet with Parker, but he never took steps to protect his daughter.
If I was January’s father, I’d have sold off my foreign properties and tied up the money in trust funds the stepmother couldn’t touch. I’d have sent January to a Swiss boarding school to grow up in the snow and soft skies. Made sure she came into millions as soon as she turned eighteen. But that’s rich idiots. Always thinking nothing can hurt them, even once they’re dead.
When we’re in the elevator I hit the button for the sixth floor. Teresa Calderoli is in room 612. As the elevator moves, I hear January’s shallow breathing and think about her sprawled in bed, my tongue between her legs. She was under me, moaning and seconds away from coming. All I had to do was plant my cock inside her and end it. But I couldn’t take her virginity. I don’t know why. Only that I’d have cut my dick off before I slid into her.
Maybe she’ll fuck a man as soon as she lands wherever she goes. Get rid of the thing that everyone wants. Maybe she’ll even fall in love with the guy. Some nice, normal guy who vows to protect her and give her the safe little world she craves.
I’ll still find her. I’ve tasted her cunt and watched her dance. I was the first man she offered herself to. We’re joined now. As long as she’s alive, she’s mine.
We exit at the sixth floor. January walks too fast up the hall. I yank her shoulder, make her slow down. She’s crying already. Tears splashing onto her slutty pink dress. I turn my face away. I can’t stand women’s tears. We pause outside room 612.
“Five minutes,” I repeat.
Her eyes are fixed on the door. “Of course.”
I grab her chin. “Your Zia looks bad. She might not be conscious. You scream or make any noise, I’m coming in there and shoving my hand in your mouth.”
She looks me right in the eyes. “I promise I’ll be quiet.”
I release her. “Then go.”
