“You let me believe it,” I say again, turning to find her sitting up on the bed. “You fucking let me believe it.” Let me believe in you.
“I didn’t lie to you. You assumed—”
“Omission is a lie. You’re a liar.”
She pulls her knees up, wraps her arms around them, her face fallling. “I’m not—”
“Just like your brothers,” I add, distaste marking my words.
“What?” Her forehead wrinkles and I register hurt in her eyes.
“I don’t know why I thought you were different.” I pull on my briefs, my pants.
“I—”
“You shook your ass, and I was just hard up enough to notice.” I grab my shirt.
“I didn’t. I never—”
I spin to face her, my arm poised to slap her.
She gasps, shielding herself as she cowers, and I realize what I was about to do.
I make a fist. It’s all I can do with the rage I feel, but let it drop to my side while she watches me, eyes wide, face partially hidden by her arms.
Muttering a curse, I walk away.
“Cristiano, I—”
I look at her again but keep my distance. “You’re a liar, Scarlett! A fucking liar!”
“I…” She looks stunned and afraid, her cheeks wet with tears. But I won’t let those fool me. I remember how just hours ago, she told me in no uncertain terms that we are enemies. When I confided in her and told her I needed a friend. Just one. When I asked her to be that friend, she refused me.
And I was a fucking idiot not to take that at face value. This is my fault. I brought this on myself.
“Don’t cry. Don’t you dare fucking cry.” I button up my shirt and tuck it into my pants.
“I didn’t lie to you! I never lied to you!”
“Were you having a good laugh? Huh? A good laugh at my expense? You fucked him, didn’t you? You fucked Marcus Rinaldi?”
“No. God. Never.” She’s outright crying now, hugging herself tightly, shivering.
“Did you like it? Did you come for him? Call out his name like you do mine?”
She just shakes her head, the skin around her eyes puffy and pink, tears streaming.
“And I felt sorry for you when I found out what your brothers had done to you. How they’d humiliated you. But you probably liked it.”
She just stares at me with those damn tears coming like a fucking waterfall, big eyes looking like she can’t quite believe what’s happening.
She’s been caught. That’s what’s happening.
I pick up the bottle of whiskey, drink a swallow.
I gave her my mother’s ring. Like a fucking idiot, I put my mother’s ring on this whore’s finger.
Christ. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Rage like nothing I’ve felt before consumes me. With a roar, I throw the bottle across the room and watch it smash against the wall.
Scarlett screams and leaps off the bed to run toward the bathroom.
I stalk her and before she can get there, catch her by her hair and tug her backward, tossing her face-down on the bed. She’s up in an instant, scrambling on her hands and knees across the bed, but I grab an ankle and tug her back to me.
She drops onto her stomach. I pull her toward me smacking her ass hard enough to make her scream again.
“I didn’t lie—”
I flip her onto her back, straddle her. She’s still crying.
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up, you fucking whore.”
“Cris—”
I grip her jaw, cutting off her words. I squeeze but it only makes her cry harder. She tries to pull her arms free, but I’ve got them trapped at her sides. I can only look down at her, at my fingers bruising her jaw, at her eyes big as saucers.
“I can break you. Snap your neck. Do you know how easy it would be?”
She whimpers, tears streaming from the corners of both eyes onto the bed.
“I should. If I were smart, I would.”
“Please,” she manages.
“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” I let go of her jaw, drag her left arm free, look at the ring. I betrayed my family for her. For this woman who made me remember and somehow gave me hope. Fucking hope.
This woman, who I have to remember is my enemy.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” she says.
I shift my gaze to her eyes, and I see fear.
“That was before. I warned you what would happen if you betrayed me.”
I return my attention to her hand, drag both rings off her finger, pocket the engagement ring and leave the other one on the bed. I slide off of her, look at her lying there, looking into her eyes again. As she rubs her finger where the rings were, the tears keep streaming down her cheeks.
“You wanted an enemy, Scarlett. I’ll remember it from now on.”
32
Scarlett
I hear the lock turn a moment after he’s gone.
My heart is racing and I’m shivering. He was so angry. But I never lied to him. There just wasn’t any way I could tell him.
Whore.
The word rings like an accusation. It’s not the first time I’ve been called one but this time, hearing it from him, it hurts.
He accused me of fucking Marcus Rinaldi. If I had, it wouldn’t have been consensual. Doesn’t he know that? I’m not a whore.
And I don’t know why I’m sitting here crying. I should be pissed. Offended.
Or relieved. He won’t touch me again. It’s what I wanted, isn’t it? We’re enemies now, truly. It’s what I told him I wanted.
I shiver with cold as the rain outside beats down on the house. I pull the blanket up around my shoulders and the wedding band drops to the tiled floor. It bounces once before coming to rest.
I feel sad. So fucking sad. I feel like I did at the house after he told me about his enemies and asked me to be his friend.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am just like my brothers. I should have told him when he assumed I was a virgin. I should have said something. But what? I couldn’t. I still wouldn’t.
I hear a car engine outside and go to the window. Two SUVs are driving too fast in this rain. He’s leaving? Just driving away?
I rub my face, shudder again, the cold settling deeper inside me.
He asked me to be his friend. His one friend. What about his brother or his uncle? Aren’t they at least his allies? Or are they enemies too?
I’m not paying attention as I walk back to the bed and wince when I step on a shard of glass from the whiskey bottle. It cuts into my foot, leaving a trace of red on the tile.
I balance on one leg to pull the glass out and drop it to the floor.
Gingerly, I walk into the bathroom and close the door. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I check to make sure I haven’t missed any more glass. When I sit, still feeling him inside me. Sticky between my legs from when he made me come.
I turn on the water, test the temperature, then plug the drain. I wish he hadn’t broken that bottle of whiskey. I’d have happily downed it now. Instead, I slip into the tub and listen to the sound of the water eat up the silence. And as the weight of what just happened settles alongside the cold in my belly, I shudder, adjusting the water temperature so on any other day, it would be too hot to stand.