16. Liv
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LIV
I t would be considerably easier to pretend Saturday night didn’t happen if it weren’t for the many, many bruises all over my skin. I look like I’ve been mauled by an army of mosquitoes. And also, the fact that I can barely move without feeling him inside me on Sunday.
In the changing room of the studio, I take a selfie of my neck, arm, and torso in my red ballet leotard and angrily send it to Callum.
Me: How am I supposed to explain this to my teacher??
I have a sheer, black warm-up top that I put on, and don’t remove even when I’m sweating three hours later. A couple of hickeys are on display, and I do get knowing grins, but no one points it out. It’s not like I’m the first to come to class with that type of mark. It’s just the first time for me.
By the time I’m back in the changing room, I have my reply: a picture of Callum Noble on a horse, dressed in a tight polo shirt. I can’t miss the clear three straight lines running through his tanned skin, angrier than any of my bruises.
Yeah…I’m not in a place to complain.
Callum: I told everyone my favorite doll got possessive. Feel free to do the same.
Me: *middle finger emoji
He’s so freaking infuriating .
Callum: The guys would love to meet you by the way.
I stare at my phone for the longest time.
Me: Meet me like Hawk and Sebastian did? I bet they would.
Callum: Let’s not pretend you didn’t love every moment.
I flush, fully intending to pretend just that, but another message follows the first.
Callum: Dinner tonight?
Me: …?
Callum: It’s that time when people ingest sustenance.
He’s fucking impossible.
Me: The last time you took me out for dinner you had a highly indecent proposition in mind.
Callum: Indecent with a side of twisted. That’s me. The guys and I have a reservation at 6 at the steakhouse on South Main. Feel free to extend the invitation to whoever.
He sounds like he absolutely expects me to come, which in itself should be enough to make me want to not show up…except I’m intrigued.
He wants to have dinner, in a public restaurant, with his friends. It’s… I can’t decide what it is.
Weird, for sure. Inappropriate, given that he was having dinner with his girlfriend and her parents days ago—though he insinuated they had an open thing. Disturbing, in the sense that I should have shot it down right this second. Even if he and Camilla have an open thing, I have no intention of being the other girl in any trio.
But, for all that…I want to go.
Before I can question myself, I send a text to my sister, Bella, Lucinda, and Astrid. If I’m doing this, I might as well have four pretty buffers. Not that their presence stopped what happened at the art gallery.
No men’s toilet for me, I tell myself. I’d better pee before I go.
After ballet, I have a study period I spend arguing with my debate group about the necessity of the monarchy in modern-day Anderia—gleefully supporting the nope side—and then I only have time to run home to drop my stuff and change. I showered after ballet, so I just remove the band top I wore all day, and replace it with a fresh one, patently refusing to pick anything nicer.
I know the steakhouse on Main; it’s close to campus, so I’ve eaten there a couple of times, and ordered takeout more often than I can count. Even Annalise would agree that jeans and a T-shirt is perfectly acceptable there.
I make it at ten past, and my eyes immediately find him, seated at the head of a long table, an empty seat to his left.
Grace is already there; she and the other girls made it clear wild horses wouldn’t stop them from having dinner with Callum and his polo pals.
One glance around the table, and I know why.
Not a single guy is anything less than a fucking ten. There’s a tall and gorgeous Asian flirting with Lucinda; Sebastian, seated so close to Bella she might as well be on his lap—though she is engaged to a bloody prince. Another guy stands out, because he reminds me of both Sebastian and Callum: dark hair and light eyes like theirs, a similar mouth. He’s certainly older than me, but I’d be hard pressed to say by how much. Twenty-five? Thirty? No clue.
The last is very well known. The heartbroken heartthrob who lost his fiancée when Bella’s sister broke off their engagement—and left the country, to boot. Only Less Valmont doesn’t seem the least bit heartbroken now, laughing his ass off at something Grace just said.
Callum stands as I approach, wordlessly pulling out the chair next to his, bringing it to the head of the table along with his, rather than the first seat on the long side.
“Hey,” I say awkwardly.
He presses his lips to my cheek as I approach, and throws his arm over the back of my chair once we’re both seated.
I don’t need a mirror to know that I’m beet red.
“Are you gonna introduce Liv, or should I?” Sebastian says, raising an eyebrow.
Callum rolls his eyes. “Everyone, Liv. Liv, you know that asshole, Caden is his brother, Less is our…second cousin twice removed?”
“From your mother’s side, yes, I think so.” Less Valmont nods.
“Are we doing the whole familial relation thing again?” Caden, the older guy I don’t know, sighs. “It’s awfully tiresome. I mean, you guys are first cousins, we are second and third…”
Callum wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, please don’t enlighten my girl on how inbred we all are, man. And this is Declan Huxley—Hux for short.”
That name, I do recognize. “Aren’t you a professional soccer player?”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re a fan?”
I snort before I can help it. “No, but my father never missed a game.”
He smiles. “I can send you a ticket for him.”
Yeah, I don’t think so.
I haven’t spoken to my father since I moved out. I have no reason to reach out, and he hasn’t either. I don’t expect he will at any point in my life. And the thing is, I really don’t mind. I feel more kinship with Grace after two weeks than him after close to two decades.
“Pass, but thanks.” I manage a smile. “We aren’t close.”
“How about your mom?” Hux asks.
That’s the most natural question in the world, and one that always tends to follow those about my dad. “She’s dead. Wasn’t much to write about either.”
“Ha!” Caden snorts.
Meanwhile, Hux leans across the table to shake Callum’s hand.
“What am I missing?”
“Nothing, clearly,” Sebastian says. “No crazy mother of the bride or bossy in-laws, and hey, a terrible father so you’re a freak in the sack with daddy issues. You’re pretty much the perfect passage, baby.”
“That’s rude !” Bella swats his arm.
“Definitely true, though.”
“Anyway, we’re not together,” I’m quick to add.
And for some reason, the guys actually laugh their asses off—all of them, Callum included. Meanwhile, Grace’s jaw drops to the floor, and the rest of the girls are just as shocked.
“We’re not!” I insist. “You have a girlfriend.”
“I have a fake girlfriend, love,” he replies, “And a real pain in the ass who took a month and a half to text me.”
I stare at him. “A fake girlfriend.”
He shrugs. “We were in high school when our parents started to hint at looking for engagement prospects. It was handy to pretend to have someone—but Camilla and I have an agreement that ends the moment we want it to.”
“A fake girlfriend ,” I repeat, shock giving way to irritation. “And you didn’t think to let me know?”
The asshole has the audacity to shrug again. I want to murder him, and my hands are free this time, so I wrap my fingers around his thick neck, and tighten them.
It turns out, strangling people is harder than it seems.
And now the entire table is laughing at my expense, Callum included.
“You could have texted me any time, love. I would have told you whatever you wanted to know.” He winks, before bringing his mouth to mine.
Some of the things he said and did Saturday make a hell of a lot more sense all of a sudden, and I do feel foolish.
Tell me you’re mine.
At the time, I thought he was the kind of spoiled, gorgeous, entitled asshole who thought he could have his perfect princess on his arm and me—the nobody—after dark.
But maybe, just maybe, I don’t know anything about what Callum Noble thinks.
And it’s not entirely impossible that he might want me for more than in the dark or in public toilets. The question is how much more. I have no idea, and the scary thing? I don’t think I’m really in charge here.
If he gave me nothing but the occasional nasty fuck, I’d still beg for it. And I’m here. I’m here today aren’t I? After his bullshit from the weekend.
He has a hell of a lot of power over me.
Because…I like what he does to me. I like when he touches me. I like how he calls me love and Liv and even doll.
Oh, fuck. I’m in a hell of a lot of trouble, aren’t I?