I can’t be late. I can’t afford to be.
Earlier today, Grandma Shirley threatened me.
No, not me.
Dominic.
“He’s twenty-one, and you were merely seventeen when you first met. That won’t do,” she said, her voice cool over late morning coffee.
I looked at her over the rim of my tea. She had another think coming if she thought she could tell me who to date. “I met him the night before my eighteenth birthday.” Besides, her real objection isn’t his age. He has no money and no influence. As far as she’s concerned, such people are beneath us. We help them through our charitable family foundation, but we don’t associate with them. And God forbid, we never, ever fuck them.
“So? You weren’t eighteen yet.” She added more sugar to her coffee. “It’s statutory rape.”
The tea turned to a thick sludge in my throat. “It wasn’t rape. I was completely willing.”
“The law sees things differently. As do I.”
“I was eighteen when we did anything. I turned legal the second the clock struck midnight.”
“How odd. I have people who can testify to the fact that that vile boy—well, man in the eyes of the law—left the bar with you before midnight.”
“He clocked out at eleven. We went to his place after that.”
She continued as though she hadn’t heard a word. “And he got you drunk to take advantage of you. That doesn’t seem like an act of an honorable man, does it?”
“He had no idea. I used a fake ID.”
Shirley sipped her coffee, completely unconcerned. “He should’ve been more discerning. What do you think I’m going to do to a man who raped my granddaughter?”
“Rape” is too vile and wrong a word to describe what I had with Dominic. I gripped the handle of my teacup harder, willing myself to stay calm since Shirley wanted me to panic and do something stupid. Like agree with her—or worse, rage at her. “You don’t even like me.”
She gave me a mildly fond smile. “Of course I do, Elizabeth. I have great plans for you.”
God, that smile… All my good intentions forgotten, I jumped to my feet. “You can’t accuse him of rape!”
“Can’t I?” She sipped her coffee.
“I won’t let you.”
“Fine. I’ll give you until six this evening if you’re that confident you can stop me.” She turned her attention to the New York Times spread out in front of her. She always reads it in the morning, no matter what.
She’s crazy if she honestly thinks I’m helpless. There are people in my life who don’t want me dancing to her tune. Like my dad. Not because he loves me, but because he hates Shirley.
Finally the door unlocks, and I stumble inside. Dominic blinks at me, then slowly comes forward. My breath catches when I notice something red smeared on the wall behind him. The apprehension solidifies when I drop my gaze and see the bruises, cuts and blood on his hand.
“Do you…” I wet my dry lips. “Do you know?”
“Yes. My aunt came by,” he says, his voice low and raw.
“You know that’s all lies, right?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches out, his bloody, bruised left hand rising to cradle my cheek.
I place my hand over his, careful to avoid the injuries, and let my eyes close at the touch. When he touches me like this, I feel like I’m the most precious thing in the world and at total peace with the universe.
Tears prickle my eyes, then seep out uncontrollably.
His breath fans my lips, and I rise on my toes to kiss him, desperate to prove to myself this isn’t over—that my grandmother’s horrible machinations haven’t ruined our incredible love and connection. We’ve never said the words, but if this isn’t love, I don’t know what is.