19. CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
C ARLY
The announcement stuns me silent.
It’s all I can do to keep from gaping like a fish, but I restrain the urge because Micah already warned me that his grandfather finds over-expressiveness to be uncouth and unladylike.
Something tells me this man finds a lot of normal behavior uncouth and unladylike but that’s beside the point.
I’m supposed to be on my best behavior here.
But the reveal nearly breaks my decorum.
Especially when I see Micah’s expression and it feels like something reaches into my chest and squeezes.
He looks like someone slapped him across the face.
He’s full-on gaping incredulously at his grandfather, in a way that suggests he never expected the older man to share that piece of information. His eyes are shocked and hurt. He even makes a choking sound.
And Mark Landing regards him with a stern glittery gaze that seems almost like a dare. As if to say, “Yes, I said it. And what are you going to do about it?”
Suddenly I’m filled with outrage.
I know all about parents picking on their children and poking at their insecurities to amuse themselves. My mother used to do it all the time. Every time she wanted to establish some power over me or simply use me as an emotional punching bag for whatever slight she’d received, she would come to my room and start provoking me with insults. Fatso. Ugly. Those were the usual culprits, juvenile but effective.
And after she left, I would always sit there and cry and wonder what I did to deserve it.
She would also have that same vindictive gleam that I see in Micah’s grandfather’s eyes now. And Micah might not see it, and might think his grandfather “isn’t that bad,” but it’s his affection for the older man that blinds him.
I see Mark Landing for what he is though–a mean old classist bully.
“Tainted?” The word slides out of my mouth, hard as steel. “You think his blood is tainted because he was adopted?”
His grandfather raises his eyebrows. “You don’t look surprised. So he told you?”
“No, he didn’t. But he wouldn’t need to. It wouldn’t have mattered to me anyway and I would never call him ‘tainted’ because of it.”
The man takes a sip of his coffee. “Maybe, but your parents might if they find out the truth about his parentage.”
“Grandfather,” Micah’s voice is different. I’ve never heard him like this before. Hoarse. A little shaky. Restrained. “Enough.”
But the man keeps going. He doesn’t even spare Micah a glance as he continues talking to me. “My daughter-in-law used to do a lot of charity work in inner cities. At first, I encouraged it, because that kind of publicity was good for the family name. Plus, it kept her mind off her endless miscarriages.
“And then one day, she went to a foster care center where a sick one-year-old boy was brought in. He was the son of one of those riffraff that sleep on the city streets and his parents couldn’t afford to take care of him anymore, so they’d left him on the doorsteps.”
“Grandfather,” Micah begs again. He doesn’t like this story. He doesn’t want him to tell it.
But the man continues as though Micah never spoke. “For whatever reason, my daughter-in-law decided to take him in. Maybe it was because she had just found out she couldn’t have any more children, or maybe she was just too religious and saw Micah as some kind of sign. She always did pray for another son. Or perhaps it was because her first son wanted a brother. In any case, Micah was soon adopted, and we’ve raised him as a Landing all his life. And he is a Landing in everything but blood, understand that. But to be fair to you, I also want you to know that you will be getting a Landing with tainted blood.”
“That’s bullshit.” The words explode out of me, shocking Micah’s grandfather into a wide-eyed stare. “It doesn’t matter who his parents are, his blood isn’t tainted and you don’t get to say that to him. You think you’re better than him because you’re a Landing by blood? How do you even know? Who says your mother didn’t get knocked up by some two-bit asshole boyfriend of hers and just passed you off as your father’s kid.”
The shock explodes all over the old man’s expression.
“Carly,” Micah says, but I’m too heated to stop.
“Blood doesn’t make you better than him. It doesn’t make him tainted either. I’m sure you think you’re very nice people and pat yourselves on the back for adopting a poor, sick child, but it doesn’t count if you’re going to throw it in his face every chance you get. It isn’t his fault that his parents couldn’t afford to keep him, nor is it his fault that they were drug addicts or whatever you think they were. And while we’re on the topic, why do you assume they were bad people simply because they were homeless? It would be one thing if they were abusive to him, but you didn’t mention anything about it. Tons of people are homeless not for any faults of their own, but that’s because so many cities are run by selfish, egomaniacs like you who can only think about bloodlines and power while everyone else rots underneath their feet. And for you to complain about homelessness as though it wasn’t partially the fault of people like you is frankly laughably hypocritical–”
“Carly!” Micah barks this time, loud enough to alert the people at the next table. “Enough.”
I finally turn to watch his eyes glittering in anger.
“We’re leaving.” His chair scrapes across the terrazzo, and he takes my hand.
“Yes, that’s probably for the best,” his grandfather says tightly as Micah practically drags me out of my seat, and marches me out to the car. We get in and, he doesn’t say anything, simply turns it on and starts to drive.
I’m silent too, seething at what just happened.
What an odious old man.
It’s good we left. I didn’t know how I was going to endure and stomach a meal while listening to all that bullshit about homeless people from a man who’d probably never struggled in his life. Not to mention what he called his own grandson. Unbelievable. No wonder Micah is the way he is.
I’m surprised he didn’t turn out worse actually.
I’m so worked up I can’t even think straight. God, it’s a good thing this relationship is fake, because I can’t imagine how insufferable it would be to have to join that family and listen to that bullshit more than once.
As we finally get back to the hotel, Micah passes the car key to the valet without a word and storms up the entrance steps. We take the elevator up with the same stony silence. He doesn’t take my hand again as we head down the halls to our hotel room.
Finally, as he closes the door, he turns on me.
“Why the fuck did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Say all that shit to my grandfather?”
I blink. “You mean when I defended you?
“I didn’t ask you to defend me,” he shouts. “All you had to do was play the role. Smile, agree with whatever the fuck he says, and be the sweet blueblooded granddaughter-in-law. Was that so hard?”
“Are you kidding me?” I yell back. “Are you actually mad at me right now?”
“Yes! Because of you, I might have just lost the only chance at getting out of my father’s trap!”
“Because of…” I laugh incredulously. “Oh, grow up, you jerk. You crazy asshole, your grandfather was probably never going to give you that loan. He’s toying with you, don’t you see that? He enjoys kicking you around. You talk all this big talk about how you hate that your dad is trying to control you and yet your grandfather is doing the same thing and you’re somehow okay with that?”
“Who said I was okay with it? I was handling it. I don’t need you to defend me like I’m a little boy.”
“Noted! I’d be crazy to ever defend you again.” I head to the door, only for him to snatch my arm and pull me right back.
“Where are you going?” he asks heatedly.
“Anywhere but around you.” The words hiss out of my mouth as I stare at his glittering eyes. It fills me with such wrath.
Oh, I hate him so much. I can’t believe I tried to stick up for him, can’t believe that I thought he was hurt by that “tainted blood” comment. Scratch that, he was hurt by the comment. And now he’s trying to take that hurt out on me.
But I’m no one’s fucking punching bag.
“I don’t need this,” I tell him. “I have a bunch of shit going on in my life, serious shit. I don’t need to be here playing this game with you.”
“And yet here you are.” His voice is quieter now, menacingly so, yet somehow also sultry. A different kind of heat is starting to pulse between us.
Shit.
It’s always so annoying how quickly anger can turn to lust.
I start struggling to get out of his hold even as my body betrays me.
“Let go.”
“You drive me crazy,” he says, as though I didn’t speak. “Absolutely crazy. What am I going to do with you, Carly Huntley?”
He sounds like he’s talking more to himself as he pulls me closer, his breath passing over my lips.
“Don’t you dare—” I snarl. But he does.
He seals it with a kiss.
I wish I could say that I fought him. And to be fair, I bite his lip at first, punishing him for his audacity. He jerks back for a second.
Only to smile and kiss me again.
Crazy jerk.
Maybe it’s the smile that did it, or maybe I’m crazy too. Because I kiss him back.
Asshole.
I rip his shirt off savagely, driven by a primal need to possess him. I don’t know what comes over me. A second ago, I hated him. I still hate him.
But for some reason, I can’t get enough of him.
Maybe it’s because as his lips devour mine, as his taste floods my mouth, I can’t forget the look on his face. That shattered, hurt look when his grandfather called his blood tainted, the way his eyes avoided mine for just a second as though he had something to be ashamed of.
He has nothing to be ashamed of, except for the fact that he’s an asshole. But even that isn’t enough to stop me from kissing him.
His lips bruise mine in their passion, but I give back as good as I get. As his hands grasp my ass, I lift my leg and curve it around his ass, pushing his throbbing cock against my pussy. We both groan at the sensation bolting through us. He thrusts hard and I close my eyes and nearly sob, a violent ache centered in my pussy now.
“Carly.” He whispers my name against my skin and then pulls back for a poignant second. His dark emerald eyes gleam, a question in their depths. I know what this is. He’s giving me a chance to put a stop to this, to pull away.
To tell him to get lost.
And that’s what I absolutely should do.
Right after I’m done fucking his brains out.
I grasp his hair and pull his lips back to mine.