Chapter 6 Taryn
TARYN
I am definitely hung over when I wake up on Saturday morning. I probably should have drunk more water, like Liam had suggested. Ugh. I hate for him to be right about anything.
I woke up too early, and forced myself from bed to hydrate and take some ibuprofen. I followed that with copious amounts of coffee. Now, I’m sitting at my counter, looking like death warmed over, still completely clueless about how to make the chaos in my life stop.
But, when I pull my door open, it’s not Liam. Instead, I’m faced with a disheveled looking Sam. I don’t even greet him; I’m too surprised.
“Are you going to invite me in?”
I shake myself out of my stupor and realize that we are standing in the bitter cold. “Uh, I have somewhere to be.”
“This will only take a minute. Fuck, it’s freezing out here.” He shoulders his way past me into the living room. I watch helplessly as he takes off his coat and hangs it on the hooks next to my door.
“So, when did you plan on telling me you’re getting engaged? It’s all over social media this morning—photos of you and him. Walking out of a supply closet at the club last night.” He hisses the last sentence. “Why the fuck would you even invite me there if you were going to leave with him?”
“You know I’m not on social media,” I remind him.
I’ve never had a desire to put myself out there that way.
It’s a stupid thing to say, because that isn’t his point.
Stephanie was right; I should have told Sam sooner.
From his perspective, I’ve acted like a total bitch.
He’s not wrong. I never should have invited him to meet me at Madness last night.
He looks pissed. “Did you plan to tell me?”
“Yes, of course. But, we aren’t exclusive, Sam.”
He laughs without humor. “Who? You and Liam? Or, you and me?”
Liam and I haven’t even talked about this yet, so the truth is, I don’t know.
Given the number of girls that always seem to be hanging around him, maybe we’ll never be exclusive.
Maybe he’ll want a marriage in name only if we can’t find a way to stop this.
Damn it. I don’t seem to know much of anything these days.
“That’s just great, Taryn. You’ve got no answer? You have been telling me for months—hell, years—that you want out of the mafia.”
“Mob,” I reply with a sigh.
“What?”
“Mob,” I repeat. “Or, clan is preferred. Not mafia. We aren’t Italian. Or Sicilian.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He is practically shouting. I want to get upset at his elevated tone, but I don’t have it in me.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I tell him honestly. “It was arranged.”
“Arranged? Is this the fucking 1800s? Did you forget you’re a legal adult? Just say no.” He’s pacing now. I’m not sure what reaction I expected from him, but I would not have put money on this one.
“It’s not that easy.”
“It is exactly that easy.”
“Can you say no to your family?” I ask him. And I’m genuinely curious. I grew up with money, but maybe the uber wealthy operate differently than we do. People like Sam and Stephanie are in a whole other league, so I have no idea. “Do you get to marry whomever you want?”
He looks me over, and I know what he’s thinking. No. He doesn’t. There is no way he could bring me home to daddy. There’s nothing to be gained.
“My family wouldn’t force me to marry someone I don’t want to marry,” he responds. Nice deflection. There’s probably a short list of girls here at St. A’s who he’s supposed to be considering. Holy shit. I’m sure there is. Why on earth hadn’t that occurred to me before?
“Did you think that we’d keep seeing each other?” I ask him, now that the thought of Sam finding his own bride has occurred to me. “Even while you’re off courting whomever it is you’re supposed to be courting?”
He looks baffled but doesn’t deny he is supposed to be vetting a list of potential future wives. “I—I—Well, yes. Yes, I did. You said you were moving to California after graduation. I mean, fuck. You’re engaged. To the mob. How the hell are we supposed to keep seeing each other now?”
I’ve always been part of a clan, but now that there’s going to be a mobster’s ring on my finger, I’m suddenly untouchable. Gotta love that. What I want is irrelevant. I’m irrelevant. I now only exist as someone’s soon-to-be wife. “I guess we’re not.”
He looks me over. Sighs. Seems to deflate. “We’ve been doing this thing”—he motions between us—“for two years now. I thought, at the very least, we were friends. I’ve been helping you move money around so you can get yourself to Stanford. You’re giving up on that now? Just like that?”
Just like that? Just like that? I throw my hands up in the air. “What the hell do you want from me, Sam? I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want to marry him.”
“Do you want me to make some calls for you?” Sam asks.
“Theo may be able to help.” Theo Nicopolis is heir to the Greek mob, and one of Sam’s best friends on campus.
It’s a ridiculous suggestion. The Greeks have nothing to do with my future, and Sam is a naive idiot if he thinks that’s the way things work in my world.
“Theo can’t help me.” And I sure as hell am not going to involve him in my troubles. Talk about a slap in the face to my family. Involving the Greeks. No. I’m going to have to find another path. One that enables me to derail this from within.
When the knock on my door comes, I’m surprised that Sam throws it open. “We’re having a conversation here,” is how he greets Liam. Ugh. It’s obvious my going off alone with Liam embarrassed him last night. It’s as if I can feel the testosterone radiating at nuclear levels all around me.
I can’t see my almost fiancé around the annoyed guy who is blocking my doorway, but I sure as hell hear him. “Move the fuck out of my way, Rutherford, or I swear to Christ they’ll be finding your body parts for years.”
I suck in a breath. I’ve never heard Liam talk like that. He’s always smiling at something. Joking. Laughing. In fact, I almost convince myself that I’m mistaken about the voice. It’s hard to believe it’s Liam on the other side of my door. He sounds unhinged.
“Fuck you, you—” Sam doesn’t finish because I grab his shoulder and use all my force to pull him away from the door.
I look him right in the eye. “I have to go. With Liam.”
“And, I told you, no, you don’t.”
I glance over to see that Liam has let himself in my house and is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, glaring eyes volleying between my now ex and me. Liam is a bigger guy, and suddenly, I’m concerned for Sam’s safety.
“Sam,” I hiss. “Please. Leave.”
“You heard her,” Liam growls. “She said to get the fuck out.” Okay, so that’s not exactly what I said, but, eh, close enough. I don’t argue the semantics. I’m still too flabbergasted by Liam’s tone.
Sam glowers at me, and he starts toward Liam, who looks ready to come undone. When Liam clenches a fist, I brace myself for the blows to come. Instead, Sam reaches for his coat. “We’ll talk later, Taryn.”
I nod, and while Sam is watching me, Liam opens the door and literally shoves him out of it. “The fuck you will. Stay away from my fiancée, dickhead.” He slams the door behind him.
I cannot believe any of that just happened. Who the hell does Liam think he is? Does he honestly think he’ll get to dictate who I talk to? I mean, fuck that. We aren’t even engaged yet. He’s supposed to be helping me find a way to prevent that from happening.
“You can wait in the car. I still need a few minutes,” I tell him angrily.
“Nah. I’m good here,” he shoots back at me, every bit as irritated.
With a huff, I head back upstairs to my room to grab my purse and run into Stephanie, who is eavesdropping in the hall. My roomie doesn’t even pretend otherwise.
“Yeah, I’ll tell you about it later.”
“You’d better.” She nods and scurries back to her own room.
I grab my cross-body bag, and Liam helps me into my coat, despite the effort I make to shove him off me. We both trudge to his car in silence. He starts the engine and sits there, staring at his steering wheel. He is clutching it so hard his knuckles are white.
Suddenly, he turns off the ignition. “Did he stay the night?”
What the hell? Is he serious? “What?”
He turns to look at me and his blue eyes are glowing. “I said: Did. He. Stay. The. Night.” His jaw looks ready to crack, he’s clenching it so hard.
I shake my head because I can’t believe this is happening.
“It’s nine o’clock in the fucking morning, Taryn. It’s a reasonable question,” he says coolly. He seems to be regaining his composure. Slowly. With effort.
Oh. Yeah. I guess it is early. Given that I woke up at the crack of dawn, I hadn’t considered that. There’s a part of me that wants to refuse to answer him, because—fuck him. But, I remember that I need him to be on my side. I need his help in getting out of this farce of an engagement.
“He showed up this morning. Not that long ago.”
He studies my face and I scowl at him. I’m not a liar. I’d gladly tell him I fucked Sam if that had been the case. And, I’d bet good money Liam didn’t go home alone last night. Regardless, he seems resigned to my honesty because he nods and restarts the car.
It’s less than a ten minute drive to the diner, and we make the trip in silence. When we pull in the parking lot, Liam turns to me.
“We can talk about this now, or we can talk about it in there”—he nods toward the restaurant—“but I don’t want us seeing other people now that everyone knows about the engagement.
” He says the words calmly, steadily, yet in a rush, as if it’s taken him the car ride to get his thoughts together, and now that he has, he needs to get them out.
“I told you he didn’t stay the night,” I grit out defensively, getting angry again. Liam hasn’t accused me of anything, but for some ridiculous reason, it feels like he’s calling me a whore.