17. The Truth Revealed #2
“I thought the attraction would go away,” he says.
“You were only a girl! I was a grown man, divorced already. But it didn’t, and I started going by the nurse’s office for all sorts of bullshit.
To get my tennis elbow looked at, which isn’t even a medical condition.
Because I was feeling faint from the heat.
Sick from food poisoning in the cafe. And Jeannine was nice.
She always took care of me, and soon, we were so-called dating, except that there was never any pretense.
Your mother’s a smart cookie, and she knew what I was really after. ”
I stare at him, flummoxed. “Which was?”
He pauses a moment, and then says, “You. I wanted access to you, sweetheart. It’s fucked up and wrong because you were so young, but I was a desperate man.”
My heart’s practically pounding out of my chest now.
“So what happened?”
Kent shrugs.
“So I proposed to your mother. She needed a provider, someone who was stable with loads of money. I wanted access to her daughter. We both got what we wanted.”
He’s trembling now, the words spilling out in a rush.
“It was a deal, Mary Kate. She got life in the lap of luxury, with unlimited credit cards, glamorous international travel, and private jets. I got you. But Jeannine was smart. She wanted to wait until you were a little older, so I agreed to wait until you turned eighteen. I signed a prenup, even, so she’d get everything if I crossed the line. ”
My mind spins, cycling through the years of fake holidays, fake family dinners, the way Mom would leave for “girls’ trips” and not come back for weeks.
How my handsome stepfather was always there, always watching, always just a little too careful.
Suddenly, everything clicks. The world rearranges itself, and I’m standing outside my own life, looking in.
“So you’re a pedo,” I state in a flat voice.
“Sort of,” he acknowledges. “I looked a lot when you were underage, but I didn’t touch.”
“Why wait until I was twenty-one then?” I ask, my voice almost a whisper. “Why not just go for it, if you already had an agreement with my mother?”
He looks at the ceiling, then back at me.
“I know this sounds crazy, but Jeannine intervened. Your mom said you weren’t ready at eighteen, that you were still too immature and naive.
You were still sleeping with a stuffed animal at night and singing K-Pop songs, even though you were at college already.
So Jeannine begged me to hold off for a little.
She said you needed to grow up more, and to get through a few more years before I approached. So I did. I waited, biding my time.”
The last three years unspool in my head: the way Kent would text me from the hospital, the birthday checks, the small gifts. The way his gaze would sear me at Thanksgiving, like my curves were the only thing in the room worth seeing.
The room is spinning a little. I grip the table harder.
He speaks again, softer this time. “I know it’s fucked up. I know you deserve better.”
I breathe. Once, twice, three times.
My voice is calm when I finally answer. “You planned for this to happen,” I say. “You wanted me so bad you married my mother.”
He nods, eyes raw. “Yes. And I’m a fucked-up asshole for making it happen.”
I sit with it, the knowledge burning cold and bright inside my chest.
I could hate him. I could walk out. I could do a myriad of things, including throwing items across the room, setting fire to his home, and torching his career by letting everyone at the hospital know.
Instead, I start to laugh—small, shaky at first, but growing into something sharp and bright. “You’re a fucking psycho,” I say.
He looks down, his jaw sharp. “I know.”
I stare at him, eyes blazing. “I guess that makes me your reward.”
He flinches. “No, Mary Kate. You’re more than that. You’re everything.”
I shake my head, not sure if I’m angry or pissed or thrilled or a million other emotions that I can’t even name.
I think of Mom, the way she’d hover at the edge of every room, never quite touching, always half a world away.
“She agreed,” I say, and the knowledge lands hard.
“She signed her name on the dotted line.”
He nods. “It was the only way for you to afford college without a raft of student loans. Jeannine knew you wanted to pursue a B.A., and marrying me was one way to make it happen without saddling you with crushing debt.”
Yet a chill runs down my spine as I clench my teeth.
“My life is about more than money,” I say in a clipped tone. “Not everything’s about dollar bills.”
Kent nods, his eyes soft.
“I know. You’re not the materialistic type, sweetheart, and that’s one of the things I love about you.
It’s one of the things Jeannine knows about you too.
Your mom knows that you don’t care about money, and would give the shirt off your back to someone who needed it more.
But she didn’t want that for you. She wanted you to have a carefree college existence, and so she made it happen in the best way she knew how. ”
I fold my hands on the table. “So my tuition was part of the price?”
He doesn’t answer, but the look on his face is enough.
I think of all the times the tuition bill went straight to the house, instead of my dorm.
I think of the pre-paid meal plan, the room and board that was always paid in full, the “allowance” I received that was more than generous.
That was all this man’s doing. Of course, I knew already because Jeannine stopped working when she married Kent, but hearing it from his lips is sobering.
For a long time, we just stare at each other. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to feel, so I let it all happen: the anger, the relief, and oddly, a weird, twisted sense of finality. The circle coming to a close, the curtain pulled back to reveal the mechanics within.
And yet I’m gratified too. I’m grateful to this man for jumping through a myriad of hoops, and then waiting for me until I was ready.
I’m flattered even, although I know I shouldn’t be.
Kent Robinson, MD, is gorgeous, handsome, rich and kind.
Okay, he’s Machiavellian in a way, but I was picked.
I was chosen by a powerful alpha male, and it gives me a thrill, even though it probably shouldn’t.
I lick my lips.
“Okay. I’m okay with it,” I state.
Kent looks stunned. “You are?” he asks carefully. “That surprises me, sweetheart. This should come as a huge shock to the system.”
I nod, but then shake my head.
“It is, but you and my mom weren’t that great at pretending you were in love. I mean, I could feel your eyes on me during the holidays when I got home, and you remember that one Thanksgiving…” I say, voice trailing off.
My man has the grace to blush.
“Right,” he rasps. “I had to stroke your pussy that night, sweetheart. I had to kiss your breasts. I was nearing the end of the rope and was going to commit violence if I didn’t caress you.”
“I know, and I loved it,” I say in an even tone. “I thought of you for months afterwards. Even after I moved back home, I was still dreaming of you.”
The silence between us has suddenly changed form, growing sensuous and charged, and I decide to go for it.
“You know, Daddy, you never did check my cherry after that party,” I say in a coy tone, the words dropping slow and heavy.
Kent blinks, caught off guard.
“I’m serious,” I say. “You were so obsessed with my virginity, but after you dragged me home from the frat house, you never checked it.”
His mouth tightens, but his eyes are already dark, hungry.
“I want you to check me now,” I say, my voice soft, deliberate. “But not my pussy because we know that cherry’s been popped. I want you to check my ass cherry. You ever think about that, Kent? You ever wonder if you’re the first man to fuck me there?”
His jaw clenches so hard I can see the muscle jump. He’s breathing heavy, like he’s just run a mile.
He stands, rounds the table in two strides, and hauls me to my feet. He crushes my mouth with his, hands tangling in my hair, his whole body shaking with want.
He pulls back, lips just touching mine. “Are you sure?” he growls.
“Yes, Daddy,” I say, and I mean it.
He grins, wicked and slow. “You know there’s no hymen in your ass, right?”
“Of course not,” I giggle. “So what are you going to do?”
Here, Kent’s eyes go dark and intense.
“The only way to know is to taste it. If another man’s been in your ass, I’ll know. A man’s semen can stay in a woman’s anal canal for months. Do you have another man’s semen in your asshole, sweetheart? Or is it clean and fresh, ready for Daddy’s tongue?”
I shiver, every nerve ending lit up at his filthy words.
“I don’t know, Daddy,” I whisper-pant. “Why don’t you find out?”
Kent’s blue eyes flare, and then drags me up the stairs, his hand a vise around my wrist. My heart is hammering, my brain gone fuzzy and light. The deal is out in the open now, and I want nothing more than to give him what he wants.
I want to belong to him, completely.
And now, I will.
Upstairs, the house changes. The light goes blue, then gold again, then vanishes into shadow as Kent drags me down the corridor and through the open door of his bedroom.
My bare feet slip on the waxed wood, but his hand keeps me upright, his grip a leash and a promise.
The room is warm but the air is thin, like the walls are closing in around us, like there’s not enough oxygen to feed both our hungers at once.