“No,” Vince says, his finger in my face. “You shut up.”
I do, not because I’m obeying, but because I’m a little shocked.
“Fuck this,” Vince says again. “She’s mine. I never gave her up; I never said I didn’t want her… No.”
Mateo doesn’t respond, and Vince doesn’t give anyone else a chance to. Locking his hand around my wrist, he drags me out of the dining room.
My heart pounds as I scurry to keep up with him, glancing back nervously. “Are we allowed to do this?”
“Everyone else takes what they want, why the fuck should I care?” he mutters.
“I don’t think we’re allowed to leave Sunday dinner,” I point out.
“Fuck Sunday dinner.”
This feels more than a little reckless to me, but I don’t get the impression he’s interested in my opinion. I don’t know what’s going to happen, not right now, not tomorrow, but I guess I’m along for the ride either way.
When we get to his room, Vince slams it shut, then backs me up toward the bed. My heart’s racing, doubtful about this whole thing. He said he couldn’t even look at me, so how’s this going to work?
Also, he still looks angry. Here he is, with me in his bedroom, our bodies close enough to touch, but there’s a fire behind his brown eyes, burning up any tenderness I might have hoped to see there.
He doesn’t speak to me. I think he’s going to, but it looks like he changes his mind. Instead, he grabs the bottom of my dress and hikes it up, startling me.
Hands on my hips, he lets his gaze rake over my body. I glance down, noticing bruises on my thighs—marks left by Mateo.
It seems to settle on Vince at the same time. His gaze frozen on my marked thighs, he swallows and takes a step back.
I don’t want him to retreat, and I feel sick that he had to see that, but I don’t want him to pull away, so I take a step toward him.
“Don’t think about it,” I say quietly.
“How?” he asks. “It’s all I can think about.”
“I didn’t want him. Doesn’t that count for something?”
His lips curve up, his smile bitter. “Thing is, Mia, I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t want to believe me,” I accuse, not understanding why. “How is it so hard to believe—?”
“You were sitting in his study visiting with him when Adrian told him about a pick-up this weekend. He let you sit there—and no one was forcing you to be there.”
“I was just trying to get along. I just wanted things to be amicable, I never thought… I never thought he’d actually force himself on me, Vince.”
“Mateo doesn’t trust anyone, Mia. Least of all someone he’s giving reason to hate him.”
“He wasn’t trusting me, he was setting me up,” I say, a little irritably. “For this, right here. You were right all along, he never intended to let me go because I saw you walk out of that goddamn house. Instead of telling you no, for whatever reason, he said as long as you want me, and then immediately began sabotaging us. I should’ve believed you. I don’t know… if it would’ve stopped this from happening, but maybe then you’d at least believe me.”
“Now you know how I felt, trying to tell you what he was like and you not believing me. Calling me paranoid and crazy—treating me like I’m the asshole, when all I was trying to do was protect you.”
“I get that now. I didn’t then. I have no frame of reference for this, Vince. I’ve never known people like that. I didn’t know how to navigate this world. I’m supposed to keep you happy, I’m supposed to be careful around him—I’m so fucking twisted up between the two of you.”
His jaw locks again, and I can see his anger seeping out again. “I can’t stand to think about his hands on you. You’ve slept in his bed the past three nights—apparently you wake up tangled in his motherfucking arms every morning.”
“He only said that to hurt you.”
“Well, it fucking worked,” he says, raising his voice. “Why did you stay, Mia? If he hurt you, if you didn’t want him, if you were so goddamn afraid of losing me, why did you stay with him?”
Shaking my head, I try to come up with an adequate explanation. “I didn’t think you wanted me to come back. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. It’s not like I get to leave here if you cast me aside, Vince. It’s not like I have options.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he demands irritably. “It weighs on me every fucking day. It has since he brought you here, but now? Now I get to lie in my own goddamn bed with images of you spreading your legs for him, of his mouth on you—and you enjoying it.”