20. Brook
“What?”
He lowers his mouth to my ear. “You heard me, but just in case. Where. Is. My. Ring?”
I swallow and, fuck, he’s intimidating, and why does it make me feel all giddy?
“My ring is in my purse.”
He says nothing, just breathes near the side of my face for a moment, and I almost cower and tell him I didn’t want to lose it, but fuck him and his Neanderthal ways.
After what feels like an obscenely long time, he straightens up, looming over me. “Put it on.”
“Jesus.” I’m relieved, and bereft at the loss of his closeness at the same time, and he is still very much in my face.
Rolling my eyes—to ascertain how above this I am, which is a fat lie—I unzip my mini purse and fish out the ring.
I take my time, while trying to ignore the warm feeling spreading through my chest and stomach.
This is fucked-up, but terrific. Terrifically terrifying.
He watches me like a hawk as I slide the ruby on my finger.
“Good. Now everyone knows.” He nods, and he’s about to turn.
I grab his arm. “Knows what?”
We stand in a silent, glowering duel for a moment, completely still, while the rest of the world dances, laughs, talks and drinks around us. But it all fades as my hand trembles, squeezing his biceps.
Somehow, this moment feels significant. I don’t understand how or why it’s this particular one, but I equally enjoy it and dread it.
Some deranged, insecure part of me really, really, really wants him to commit. As if right here, right now, it would even mean anything.
As if it would ever mean anything.
And yet if I was to choose between living my life before this moment, and being destroyed again by Baldo Cassinetti, I would choose the latter.
I want a fucking refund from my therapist.
Baldo shakes off my hand effortlessly and it’s like a slap. While I’m craving the connection, he discards my touch.
But my unreasonable grief is short-lived when he snakes his arm around my waist and yanks me to him, whispering in my ear, “You’re not a cheap date. Far from it.”
Holy shit. I want to pull him down for a kiss and never let go.
As absurd as our relationship has been, I need him with such visceral urgency I don’t think I can last another minute without him.
But I don’t get that kiss, because Baldo hoists me over his shoulder and leaves the floor.
I punch his back with my fists, but it’s a laughable effort. Groaning, I give up and just let him carry me away while several guests stare. Or that’s what I think they are doing, because the club’s raucous energy mellows around us as Baldo heads out.
“Let me down.” I kick when we leave the sounds behind, entering some back hallway, but he only grabs me tighter.
We step into the elevator and he finally lets me slide down his body.
“You’re behaving like a lunatic. That was embarrassing and unnecessary.”
He shrugs and turns to face the door.
“You’re such an asshole.”
“You mentioned that.”
“What’s your fucking problem, Baldo? You left me alone for three days. I’m not property you can lock up.”
The elevator jerks to a stop and the door into his apartment opens.
“You’re my wife, and you shouldn’t hop around with assholes who want to take advantage of you. What if Rupert has spies here?”
“You’re incredibly invested in this ruse.” God, I want to strangle him. And I want him to admit that the last ten minutes weren’t for the sake of pretending.
“I call bullshit.” I march across the room. As far away as possible from him. “You’re having all the fun, but you can’t stand me having some too. Hypocrite.”
I drop my purse on the coffee table, the energy pulsing through me in bouts of anger and frustration.
“I’ve been working.” He’s so aloof and composed I want to throw something at him.
Opening a cabinet, he gets a glass and fills it with water. He leans against the counter, takes a sip and watches me patiently.
Fuck him.
“Working?” I snort. “I saw you with that long-legged hussy in your office.”
I regret my words as soon as they come out. Way to point out how unreasonable his jealousy act was by bringing out my own insecurity.
“I thought someone was at the door.”
He’s not even trying to deny it. That stinks more than it should.
He puts down the glass and walks over to where I stand. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to spend more time with you. I was trying to give you space.”
“To give me space to do what? Go crazy in a strange city all by myself?”
His nostrils flare. “Okay, I was trying to stay away from you. Happy?”
He flails his arms in frustration and turns sideways. He tilts his head back, watching the sky through the glass roof.
I watch his profile, the statue of imperfect perfection.
Stay away from me. The statement hurts, and its poison spreads fast through my veins. “Wow. I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience.”
I march to the elevator.
Away from this.
Away from him.
Away from all these conflicting feelings.
He catches up with me so fast I yelp, but still I try to dash away. His arm weaves around my waist and he whips me around.
Fuck, this manhandling routine is getting really annoying.
“You’re a goddamn inconvenience.” He grabs my throat and my back hits the elevator door.
It’s a violent gesture, but he inserts care into it, controlling himself. And as someone who’s dealt with abusive assholes, I know the difference.
And I believe without a trace of doubt, in this moment, he’s protecting me. Perhaps from himself.
Or from us.
“You destroyed me once already, Brook, and I swore I wouldn’t be the idiot who lets you do it again. And yet, here I am, offering to marry you to help you out. You’re a damn inconvenience, and I still can’t stop thinking about you, worrying about you, spending my days wondering if there is anything I can do to make your life better.”
He squeezes my throat and lowers his head to my ear, the warmth of his breath sprouting goosebumps on my skin. My breath hitches.
“You’re a fucking inconvenience. The most painfully tantalizing, magnificent inconvenience.” He punches the steel above my head and turns away.
Gasping, I circle both my hands around my throat. Not to soothe the hurt he caused, because he didn’t really, but to keep the warmth of his touch confined, closer to me.
I recognize how fucked up this is, but I can’t explore that further, because another, much bigger realization ripples through me.
I enjoy this. I enjoy his roughness. I enjoy the lingering fear while I know I can trust him.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
Right now, I know that this has always been true. The enormity of it grabs at my stomach and my chest with a tight grip of fear. So I immediately have to protect myself and add, “For now.”
He lets out a cruel chuckle and turns back to me. “We both know you can’t handle me, Tokyo.”
“Fuck you, Baldo. What is it going to take? Because you can hide in your office all you want, but we both want it. Or maybe the past versions of us need it.”
He watches me for what feels like several lifetimes.
Years of longing, denying, and wondering all mount in the space between us.
“Careful, sweetheart, because there is nowhere to hide if you change your mind again.”