“I’m not scared.”
“You’re a perv,” I spit out.
“So are you.” His voice is annoyingly calm.
I glare. He watches me with that ever present impassive expression on his face. “Come on, Savage. Let me see.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Right. Because you’re lying.” He literally pounces on top of me on the bed, a yelp escaping my lips. He settles his big hand over my mouth to keep me quiet, thrusting his face in mine. “You were on your period last week. That’s why you gave me the BJ and wouldn’t let me touch you.”
I narrow my eyes, hating how observant he is. How he remembers every little thing.
“And you were a grumpy little shit. PMS is real and you suffer from it mightily,” he continues.
I try to buck him off my body and he laughs, the asshole. Doesn’t remove his hand from my mouth either.
“You’re grumpy tonight too. What the hell is your problem?” He drops his hand from my face.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” I tell him, my voice weak. It’s hard, denying yourself something that you actually enjoy. Yes, for some weird reason, I enjoy Whit’s cruelty. His mind games. His terrible words and soft touch.
But what we’re doing is fucked up. I’m tired of feeling like a mess all the time. I just want to be normal.
“Really.” His tone tells me he doesn’t believe me.
“Yes, really,” I retort. “And I want my journal back.”
His gaze narrows. “I haven’t finished reading it yet.”
“Just—what’s the point anymore? Give it back. You’ve found out all my secrets already. What more is there for us to do? Haven’t you blackmailed me enough?” I ask, my gaze flickering away from his, my stomach knotting with nerves. I hate the idea of him finding out what I did to Jonas and Yates, but it’s bound to happen. He’s had my journal for almost two months. I almost don’t believe him when he says he hasn’t finished it yet.
He’s probably ready to reveal he knows my biggest secret right now. He’ll drop the bomb, it’ll detonate, and none of this will ever be over.
Whit slides off my body and off the bed. He’s on his feet, staring down at me, his gaze contemplative as he rests his hands on his hips. “You want this to be over.”
I nod, pulling the covers up higher, until they’re at my chin. “Yes. I do.”
“My father said I should stop fucking you.”
I drop the covers and sit up straight, shock coursing through my veins, chilling my blood. “What the hell, Whit? You told your father we’re together?”
“I told my father I was fucking someone, not that I’m with someone. Big difference,” he corrects, his words a weapon. Reminding me of my place. “And I never mentioned your name.”
“Thank God,” I breathe out, trying to ignore the pain his words made me feel.
He doesn’t care about me. We’re just fucking. I know this.
Yet it still hurts.
“I’m marrying someone,” he announces, and my jaw drops. “Not right now, but it’s already been arranged.”
“You’re not even eighteen,” I point out.
“I will be soon.”
“And what, you’ll get married then?” I ask incredulously.
He grimaces. “Of course not. We’re too young for that. But we’re expected to be together. Me and my future bride. We need to start making a show of it—of our relationship. We’ll go to college. We’ll be a couple the entire time. I’ll ask her to marry me. We’ll have a big wedding at the Newport house. It’ll be everything my mother could ever want.”
He describes it in such a monotone voice, I know he doesn’t believe a word he’s saying. He doesn’t want this.
So why is he doing it?
“Is that what you want?” I ask him.
He shoves his hands in his jeans’ pockets, averting his head. As if he can’t face me. “I don’t have any say in it.”
“You’re heir to one of the biggest fortunes in the world, and you don’t have a say in who you marry?” I climb out of bed and start pacing, overcome with what he’s telling me. “That’s fucking ridiculous.”
“You’re the one being fucking ridiculous right now,” he says, his voice dark, his eyes cold as he watches me. “You can’t judge me. My situation may sound crazy to you, but it’s normal in our social circles, of which you’re no part of. Matches are created, mergers are necessary. Lineages must be preserved.”
I ignore the insult. When it comes to Whit, I’m definitely getting a thicker skin. “So if you were to marry a lowly girl from say…New Mexico, then it would make every Lancaster in the ground roll over in their graves?” I toss out at him. I don’t know why I came up with New Mexico. I don’t even know what I’m saying, but what he’s telling me is straight out of a historical novel. Like British royalty stuff.
He actually chuckles, the smug bastard. “Most likely. Life isn’t as simple as you think, Savage. There are expectations set upon me, right from birth, especially being the first male. The only male from my father. I have to maintain a certain image, and there are promises I must keep to my family.”
“Totally understandable.” I don’t get it, but whatever. It’s easier if I just accept it and move on from this once and for all. “You can leave now.” I point at the door.
He watches me carefully as he says, “I’ll give you back your journal.”
“You will?” My voice is scratchy and I swallow hard against the sudden emotions rising within me. Returning the journal means he really won’t see me anymore. I’m the one who made that demand in the first place, but God help me…
I’ll miss him.
“Give me till Halloween.” I start to complain, but he lifts his hand, silencing me. “We’re putting together the party right now, and I have a lot going on. I can return it to you after that. It’s only a few days, Savage. You can wait.”
“Okay,” I whisper, watching as he makes his way to my door. He pauses there, his hand on the handle, his back to me.
“This is really it?” He says it as a question, as if he wants me to do something. Say something. Like beg him to stay.
There will be no begging on my part. I won’t stoop that low. If he looks back though, I’ll say no. If he says he’ll miss me, I’ll invite him into my bed.
But he does none of that. He remains in place, hand still on the handle, back and shoulders stiff with tension.
“Goodbye, Whit,” I say firmly.
He doesn’t respond. Simply opens and closes the door without a backward glance.
Twenty-Four
Whit
It was the right thing to do, walking away from Summer tonight. These last couple of weeks, I was trying my damnedest to throw up walls, doing my best to avoid her. When that didn’t work, I’d fuck her without feeling. Using her as if she’s nothing to me. I wouldn’t look her in the eyes, wouldn’t say the shitty things I usually do. Those words she feeds off of.