23. Corm
Chapter 23
Corm
S he glares at me with a venom that might truly poison a weaker person. I should apologize, or admit I was wrong. But fuck if it didn’t feel right.
“You’re crazy.” She tries to yank her hands from my hold, but I’m not ready to let go.
I need her to understand she’s mine, even if it currently requires my brute force. And I don’t want her to kill me, which certainly looks the case at the moment.
“I’m crazy, Saar. And the source of my madness is the woman who waltzed into my room two years ago. She was completely out of her depth, but felt such an inspiring loyalty to her asshole brother that she dared to demand I get rid of a lucrative property. That was the day I decided you were mine.”
I expect her to roll her eyes, to scoff, to fight, but she just stares at me. And not that I would ever admit that to anyone, but this may be the first time in my life my confidence falters.
I’m holding her trapped, her chest moving with effort, her breath on my face, her heart beating against me. I know I should give her space, but I can’t. I fear she may run.
I can’t let her slip, so I’m abusing my strength and forcing her to give me something. Anything.
Whatever it is she is willing to give. I don’t know how much time, or lifetimes, pass while she just stares at me, but as each moment slides by, I feel my prison sentence is getting worse.
Or better, if the prison is shared with Saar. She’s holding my heart in her hand, and based on our past few weeks, she’s probably considering how to squash it.
She licks her lips. She swallows. She takes a breath. Everything amplified. Everything in slow motion.
“I wanted you to take me to the high school dance.”
Her words are the last thing I expected her to say.
Have I deprived her brain of too much oxygen? I lift, shifting my weight onto my elbows more.
“I’m sorry I didn’t take you, but if you want to dance…?” Fuck, I’m confused.
“I’m just saying, I decided to be yours way before you.”
This time, her words hit me right in my fucking heart.
I fuse my mouth with hers, and finally allowing her some room, she wraps her legs around me. I kiss her with a frenzy spurred by the confession, trying to absorb the magnitude while at the same time hoping to escape more words.
The intimacy they forged. The implication they cast. The warmth they spread. It’s all overwhelming.
Her stomach growls, and she giggles against my lips. And while my cock has opinions about what should happen next, I need to put my wife first.
My wife.
Fuck. That needs to happen, too.
“Let’s get out of here and get some breakfast.” Reluctantly, I pull away from her.
“I’m still mad at you.” She sits up, and I’m distracted by her naked beauty.
“Fair enough. But I swear, I wasn’t planning it. In the heat of the moment, I didn’t evaluate the situation correctly.” I stand and saunter to the bathroom.
“You being in control in the bedroom doesn’t give you the right to knock me up.” She follows me.
Now, I’m annoyed. “Don’t act like it would be such a horrible thing.”
She groans. “You’re infuriating. We just started… to tolerate each other, and you think having a child is okay?”
The pause before she defined our relationship as tolerating each other hurts like a punch in my gut. But I’m not a man who gets deterred easily.
I get her, I truly get her, but the cocky bastard in me doesn’t care much. While her argument is valid, it’s not like we can change what happened fifteen minutes ago.
I sigh. “Are you on birth control?”
She throws her arms up in exasperation. “Oh please, I haven’t had a period for months.”
Fuck, the toll her body paid for her career makes me see red, but that’s a topic for later. Soon, but not right now. “So you’re fighting me on principle?”
“An important principle.”
“Good, let’s do that over breakfast.”
“It’s not even that cold,” Saar complains as we walk across the busy street to a bistro where they serve the best Eggs Benedict.
As soon as we got ready—her mostly glaring at me—I threw my jacket over her shoulders. And, of course, she had to add it to all the things she hates about me this morning.
We reach the entrance. “I’m not fucking having you traipsing around in that dress.”
“So much for not controlling me.” She rolls her eyes and pushes the door open.
We find seats in a booth in the corner and order breakfast.
“You need to see a doctor,” I start before we even get our coffees.
She scoffs. “Anything else?”
“Our future kids aside, you’re too young to have so many health issues.”
Her glare intensifies while she taps her fingers on the table. “I don’t have many health issues—”
“You can’t sleep, you have iron deficiency, and you don’t have your periods.”
The waitress chooses that moment to appear with our coffees, her eyes darting between us.
Saar groans and hides her face in her palms. When the coast is clear, she peeks at me. “How do you know I can’t sleep?”
I raise my eyebrow. Really? She should know by now that very little escapes me.
She sighs. “Of course, you know everything. I’m not discussing my period with you.”
“You don’t have to, but you will discuss it with a doctor.”
“Or what?” She lifts her chin.
One other thing I came to understand about this infuriating, beautiful woman is that she fights me more on principle than on merit.
I take a sip of my coffee, not biting this time.
She huffs, folding her arms across her chest. “Whatever. I have an appointment for next week already, anyway.”
“Good girl,” I tease her, and she rolls her eyes again.
“And stop talking about our future kids. You haven’t even taken me on a first date.”
I open my mouth to remind her about our dinner, but she raises her hand.
“A real one, you asshole.”
“Where would you like to go?” I weave my fingers and place my joined hands under my chin.
“To the courthouse to get my marriage certificate.”
“Why, baby, you’re such a romantic.”
The waitress approaches carefully with our plates, and a smile tugs the corners of Saar’s mouth.
My phone dings several times with incoming messages. Fuck, not now. Barely a minute passes and it rings.
“It might be important,” Saar says, and stuffs a forkful of hash browns into her mouth.
I pull my phone out to see Mathison’s number. “Eat,” I mouth at Saar, who rolls her eyes yet again but takes a bite of her toast.
“What is it?” I answer the phone.
“Manners,” Art growls, like he has ever followed any social conduct rules.
“Good morning, Art. How are you?” I mock.
He grunts. “Check your emails. Your wife may not like what I found.” He hangs up. Manners .
I open the first message he sent and click on the attached video.
“Is everything okay?” Saar’s concern rolls through the rage the footage sparks.
“Give me a moment.” I open the other file and then scan the summary report.
Motherfucker.
I reach over to take her hand in mine. Bringing it to my lips, I kiss her knuckles.
“Okay?” She angles her head to the side and narrows her eyebrows.
I pass her my phone. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
She frowns and clicks on the video. “That’s Vito. What is he doing? Where is this?”
There is a part of me that wants to somehow shield her from this. Protect her. Give her all the money and let her move on.
But that wouldn’t be fair to her. As painful as this discovery is, I can’t fix it for her. Not immediately.
The feeling of helplessness coils around my stomach, and fuck, I want to get on the plane right now and kill that bastard.
“Baby, Vito has been placing bets in your name. He’s the person who not only embezzled your money, but he also put you in jeopardy when he pretended to act on your behalf.”
She shakes her head left and right vigorously. Tears pool around the crevices of her eyes, not yet spilling.
How have I just gotten a reluctant commitment from her and I’m already failing her? I stand and round the table to sit beside her, pulling her chair between my legs. “Talk to me, baby.”
“That can’t be.” She wipes a stranded tear and snatches the phone again. I let her watch one of the security videos showing Vito at a high-end bookie shop. “This proves nothing.”
Leaving the phone in her hands, I click out of the video and open Mathison’s summary.
“There is footage at several locations where you owe money. And sure, that might be a coincidence, but the online bets are traced to his computer. All his online aliases are linked to your bank accounts. He’s been doing it for years, but only got more reckless recently when he bet and lost a substantial sum. He borrowed to cover the debt. From the wrong people, and the ball started rolling.”
She drops my phone and aims her gaze at the empty space in front of her. I rub her back and sit there like an idiot, wanting to do something, anything to take her pain away.
Having her money and identity stolen is shitty, but fixable. Having it done by a person who she trusted and loved like her own father, that’s traumatizing. Unforgivable. Terminal.
“We’ll get him,” I offer, uselessly.
I can have him arrested and convicted easily. I may be able to make sure he returns every single penny to her and fucking dies a slow death.
But none of it would be enough, because it doesn’t even scratch the surface of the betrayal.
She continues staring in front of her, and while she is motionless, still sitting beside me, I feel her retreating, erecting the walls, and leaving me on the other side.
It’s the subtle shift in her energy that makes me hope she’s just composing herself to stand up against the challenge. But that hope is feeble, just in my head.
When she looks at me after what feels like an agonizing eternity in the worst purgatory, I know she has made up her mind. That I’m no longer in her plans.
That after being abandoned by her parents, and now betrayed by the only proxy she’s ever known, I’m slowly but surely becoming yet another person—man—in her life she can’t trust.
“You promised me that marriage certificate,” she says.
Her tone is impersonal, and her detached words fall like stones into my stomach. And for the first time in my life, I’m scared shitless. And I choose not to bully someone to my will. Also a first.
She needs time to digest it.
I’ll fight for us from afar for the time being.
I kiss her forehead, and she flinches.
Fuck. One punch after another, but I take them all.
From her and for her.
“Let me get the bill.”
I ease my arm and wrap it around Saar. Her head falls onto my shoulder, and I hold her gently not to wake her up.
This may be the only time I get to hold her for now. We barely spoke on the way to the courthouse where I picked up the marriage certificate while she waited in the car.
I had everything arranged up front already, so this was just a pit stop. As soon as the car started moving, the exhaustion claimed her, and she fell asleep.
We have been driving for three hours, and I told the driver that if he stops and wakes her up, he’s fired.
She needs all the sleep she can get, and if the motion is helping her get there, we’ll keep driving.
I itch to talk to Mathison, to my lawyer, to my security council, to anyone who can help us determine the next steps.
But I don’t want to disturb her, so I just sit with all my frustration and anger. And fucking fear. Fear that she will shut down completely. She barely started trusting me, so the odds are against me.
But I guess, over the past few weeks, I became the man who hopes. A sentiment I always considered useless.
Saar’s head slides forward, and I help her settle in my lap. I pull out my phone, turn off the sound, and start shooting texts to everyone who can help us get Vito fucking Conti.
The confirmation of our marriage license filing glares at me from my email. Somehow, it feels wrong. Fake.
More fake than it really is. Because we’re no longer fake. I almost regret not giving her the stupid large wedding. Like that would have made this more permanent.
I regret a lot of things when it comes to her. That I ever made her feel like she needs to be guarded around me. That she can’t trust me. That I didn’t introduce her to my mother.
Now, I’m stuck with the consequences. I regret keeping things from her. I regret we didn’t meet under different circumstances. So much fucking regret, I want to roar, punch someone, or get drunk.
Or get lost in the woman sleeping in my lap. If she lets me.
“Sir, we’re running out of gas,” the driver speaks softly into the intercom.
Saar stirs, mumbles something but doesn’t wake up. Thank fucking God.
“How far are we from home?”
“We’ll make it. I’ve been circling in the neighborhood.”
“Okay.”
When we arrive, I slide out of the car and gently scoop her up bridal-style. I carry her over the threshold, the irony not lost on me. My bride.
Her head settles against my chest as I take the stairs up. Briefly, I stop in front of her room, but no fucking way I’m leaving her alone.
She belongs in my bed, anyway. Our bed.
I kick the door open and lower her down. Grabbing a blanket from an armchair in the corner, I cover her. After closing all the blinds, darkness swallows the room, and I slide in to lie beside her.
Her breathing is even, her face serene, and I’m grateful she found some peace this morning. So she could face the reality rested.
Checking my emails, I confirm my security firm hired a PI in Italy who will bring the evidence to the authorities. Vito Conti should get arrested any minute now.
The information should give me some relief, but it’s only a ticked-off item on my to-do list. It may give Saar some solace, but it won’t heal the betrayal wound. Or her financial situation.
The latter is inconsequential, but I’m afraid that’s not the way she sees it. I almost wake her up so we can talk, so I can get out of my head, but suffering in this limbo of helplessness is a small burden at the moment.
I glance over at my liquor cabinet. Yeah, whiskey is in order, my companion for the past few months. But then I look at the sleeping woman beside me and decide to stay put. She needs me sober.
The humming sound infiltrates my mind, and I fight the darkness. What is it? A vacuum cleaner? Fuck, it will wake up Saar.
I sit up so suddenly, I get dizzy. Have I fallen asleep?
I blink a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness, but even with fuzzy vision, I know… I feel that I’m alone.
One look around me confirms the dread coiling around my stomach. I bolt out of the room and almost topple over the cleaning lady.
She startles and jumps to the corner, the vacuum hose flipping around, tripping me.
“Fuck,” I swear, probably losing my employee in the process. I barrel into Saar’s room, but she isn’t there. “Where is she?”
The woman shakes her head, backing up, clearly scared of me. Fuck. “Never mind.” I try to smile at her and rush downstairs.
In the kitchen, I find a whistling Livia. My housekeeper is actually whistling cheerfully. What the fuck? “Where is Saar?”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Quinn. She said she’s going to see a lawyer. Are you hungry?”
I close my eyes and breathe through my flared nostrils, fisting my hands. “No, I’m not hungry. Thank you.” I pivot to leave. “Oh, the cleaning lady upstairs…”
Livia frowns. “What about her?”
“Give her a raise.” I don’t wait for Livia’s response and rush to my office.
Me
Where are you?
A lawyer? What lawyer? Is she getting the divorce already? Why the fuck did I fall asleep?
I pace my office, pulling my hair, waiting for her response. When the message pings, I swipe the screen so violently the phone almost flies across the room.
Saar
At my father’s lawyer.
Her father’s lawyer. She went to get her trust fund released. And now I know with certainty, I’m the third man who betrayed her.