I turn around to see him standing just inside the threshold, expression lightly scolding. It reminds me of the way he looked in my dream. “You were supposed to meet Gerard fifteen minutes ago, not snoop around in my den. I should have you thrown out for trespassing.”
His sister sticks her tongue out at him. “You wouldn’t and you know it,” she sings, and then she’s by his side, rising up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. I focus all my energy on keeping my own mouth shut, keeping my own jaw off the floor. That anyone, anyone, would be this way with Leo is as much a shock as the rest of him. She moves to put her arms around his waist, but he deflects her, turning the gesture into a fast hug he’s in control of. The way he does this is so natural, over so quickly, that I wonder if I made it up.
Leo pushes her gently toward the door. “Go to your gallery. I have plans.”
“Be nice,” she admonishes him, and goose bumps rise on my skin. Apparently he’s capable of being nice, if his sister is to be believed, but trusting a Morelli seems like a mistake. Then she’s gone, leaving us in the quiet of the den with the crackling fire as the backdrop.
I stand up and smooth down my dress. Put the blanket back in its place. Brace myself to hear how terrible my dress looks, or how he can’t believe a person with as little sense as me even managed to put it on the right way.
“Have dinner with me,” he says.
I blink, startled. “It’s early for dinner. Isn’t it?”
Leo looks out the window, seeming almost human. “It’ll be dark in an hour. Be in the dining room then.”
11
Leo
Haley appears at the door to my dining room five minutes early, wearing the same wine-colored dress I sent up earlier. The high color in her cheeks tells me she put on the lingerie, too.
Good. She’s learning.
She’s also coming to grips with the fact that her father failed her. The dress she’s wearing cost more than any bargain-hunter could dream of spending. It was made for her last night. Let her think of me every time she puts on a rough, shitty T-shirt from some rack under cheap fluorescent lights.
Haley’s eyes go from me to Gerard, who’s here to tell Mrs. Page when it’s time. “Can I come in, or did you want to finish your chapter?”
I flip my book closed and hand it to Gerard. He takes it without comment. It’s a copy of the book Haley had in her suitcase, but this one has its dust jacket stripped off and has been rebound into smaller sections. No one is going to see me reading that trash. Then, because she’s still standing in the doorway like a little Constantine fool, I go to collect her. “This is how you enter a room for dinner. Not by planting yourself in everyone’s way.”
I hold a hand out to her and she takes it. Lets me guide her into the room, which I’ve had dressed in soft lights and candles. I pull out her chair for her and her face gets redder at the sarcastic politeness.
“Thank you.” Her lips barely part to let the word out.
“Mm. It’s hotter every time you say that.” I make it sound like a lie, but it’s not. Every time Haley thanks me it makes my imagination run wild. Through tears, it’s even better. With my cum on her face? Plenty of time to find out.
Haley’s eyes go to my hands on the back of the chair and she bites at her lip. Once she’s seated, I take my place. “How did you like your conversation with Daphne?”
Haley studies my face, no doubt wondering if this is a trap. It’s not. I’m going to have a fucking conversation with her. I was irritated that it didn’t happen last night. I have no explanation for this irritation. “She’s lovely,” she admits after several beats. “She told me about going to an art gallery.”
The door at the side of the dining room opens, and Mrs. Page steps out, plates and wine balanced on her tray. “And what did you tell her?”
“Mostly about school.” Haley leans back to give Mrs. Page room to pour her wine. Her eyes follow the food on the plate. When my wine is poured and my plate is set, she leans in and eats a prawn. “Thank you,” she murmurs to Mrs. Page, who leaves with appropriate speed. Then, to me: “I’m going to graduate next semester.”
Her eyes come back to mine at semester and a certain delight sparks down the middle of me. A challenge. From Haley Constantine. Two minutes into dinner. She’s daring me to break our contract and live up to the evil Morelli name. “And you’ll have a degree in...”
“English literature.”
“That explains the garbage you’ve been reading.”
“Be honest.” Her fork hovers over her plate. “You liked it, too.”
I smile at her and watch her pupils expand, her breath catch. “It made me laugh. It was so tame. Just right for a sweet Constantine girl to get off on.”
Haley flushes, glancing down at her plate, but recovers. Her chin comes back up. “It could be worse.”
“How so?”
“I could be like you. Nothing is good enough to get you off.”
If only she knew. If only she fucking knew. It takes every ounce of effort not to crush my fork in my fist. The hours I spent last night, after I sent her up to her room—Jesus. I want to fuck her until she cries. Tears are beautiful on a face like hers. Never mind how this is all supposed to be a game. A rigged game. A game that only I can win.
She’s trying so hard to keep herself in check that her trembling energy fills the space between us and tumbles out. I could make her cry now. It would take a few comments at most.
But if I want to hurt her, to make her pay a real price for her family, then I have to draw it out.
I go to speak and find that my teeth are gritted against something nameless and powerful. “When you graduate...” I hunt for a question. A dinner-appropriate question. “You’ll have done some internships.”
Haley’s shoulders relax. “Two, actually. There are a bunch of different publishing companies in the city. I should have done more, but...” She trails off. Takes a bite of her food.
“But?”
“Money is tight. Time is short. I try to be around for my dad and Cash.” Her big, blue eyes come back to mine. “What about you? You seem close with your sister.” A deep breath. “How many siblings do you have?”
Bizarre. “You already know that.”
“Not all of it. The Morelli family tree isn’t considered polite conversation at the Constantine parties. The ones I’ve been to, anyway.”
I dismiss my first, second, and third responses. “I have four sisters and three brothers. And you have two siblings. Your father can’t stop telling people about you.”
She swallows hard. “What about your dad?” A beat. “Do you see him often?”
“Not often. At family dinners, mainly.” After Lucian took over for him, he retreated into the Morelli family mansion, where he pretends he’s at the center of everything. I see him at my mother’s dinners, which he spends glowering at the head of the table and barking pointed questions at anyone in reach. I see him most often in my nightmares, with a belt in his hand. I’d rather die than admit that. “Did you learn anything from your internships?”