I come to a complete halt at the front of my house as I stare at the large iron double doors. Hard and unyielding. Perfectly suited for the man who resides inside the fortress that didn't quite feel like a home as I grew older. I didn't want to come to dinner tonight but I knew if I skipped it would only make my mother worry about me, and I hate causing her stress even though I know I'm not the root of it. My father is. But she'll never admit that so she focuses all her troubles on me. Her only daughter.
I used to avoid dinners at home like the plague. They consist of my father berating me and my mother doing nothing to stand up for me while my younger brother sits by and gets praised for doing the bare fucking minimum. But I realized soon enough that missing these dinners only made my father angrier. It would cause him to bottle his emotions up until he could unleash them on me. He's easier to deal with when I see him more often and in smaller doses. He tends to ignore me more, which in my eyes is better than him telling me that I'll never make it because I don't have a penis.
The familiar taste of anxiety that always rises when I come home hits the back of my throat and my insides begin to twist uncomfortably. My fingers lift of their own accord to trail over the gold chain of my necklace. A move I barely notice anymore since the necklace has become such a part of me. It's the only jewelry I wear on a day to day basis. I usually let it sit below the neckline of my sweaters, hiding it, letting the metal warm against my bare skin.
The necklace is rather simple. Just a small round pendant that sits at the bottom of a thin gold chain. On the pendant is an emblem of the Saint Joan of Arc. She's holding a sword with her hair billowing behind her as if she's riding off to war, and her name is etched around the edge. She is one of the patron saints of France and represents strength and bravery. The necklace serves as a reminder of who I am and who I will become. A reminder for when I'm feeling weak and down on myself. A reminder that I am more than my father chooses to see and no one can take that from me. Not even him.
Oddly enough I found the necklace on that dark and terrible night seven years ago. It was sitting in the middle of my driveway. Abandoned. A little muddy. And perfect.
I cleaned it up and my mother instantly commented on how cheap it looked but I didn't care about the cost or if it looked expensive enough to my peers. My father made a snide comment about religion when he saw it, and ever since then I've tucked the necklace under my clothes because I didn't need anyone else's input on the piece of jewelry that very quickly became my most treasured asset.
The night I found it I remember sitting at my computer and looking the saint up and her entire past and the many stories about her. I wanted to know every single symbolic meaning of her and her life. Because learning about such a strong woman in the midst of the chaos gave me a new sense of power that immediately flooded my veins. And the idea of being so close to her, even through a necklace, emboldened me.
My fist squeezes around the pendant tightly letting it fill me with the same idea of strength that it did that night when it felt as if everything was turning to ash around me.
It's dumb and I'd never tell anyone this, but I like to believe that the necklace chose me. As if this small, insignificant, inanimate object knew I needed it and it came to me like a beacon of hope on one of my darkest nights.
I shake my head and let out a small breathy chuckle at the idioc thought. I release the necklace before tucking it back under my shirt so no one can see it. I anxiously run my fingers over my plaid cropped chinos and my black cashmere sweater that I wear to get rid of any blemishes or lint that my father could call me out on.
Once I'm content with my appearance I let out a quiet sigh to calm the mess of nerves buzzing through me. I push my shoulders back and stand tall before I lift my hand to twist the large doorknob and walk into the house that is not a home. The smell of chicken tetrazzini fills the air and my stomach rumbles a touch.
I make my way through the foyer and come to a dead stop when I see Preston standing near the dining room. Surprise widens my green eyes and curls through me at the sight of him in my house. What the hell is he doing here? My eyes catch on his dark hair that is shiny and flawlessly placed and the amber drink in his hand that shines under the warm glow of the chandelier hanging delicately overhead. In every setting he appears in control and confident and it's so infuriating. Why can't he be just like everyone else? Why does he have to be so annoyingly perfect?
His deep voice is hushed and harsh as he whispers to my brother. He may be whispering, but with the aggression sitting behind his words he may as well be screaming. He's so deceiving with the calmness in his eyes but the power behind his words. It sends a flutter of distress throughout me. My ears are desperate to hear what they are saying and curiosity flares to life under my skin and it burns and begs for me to get closer. To know more.
I take a tentative step forward and the click of my leather boots against the hardwood floors catches their attention and two sets of eyes instantly land on me. The tension in the air grows to a boiling point as if my entrance alone might cause everything to break loose.
Aiden's bright eyes that mirror my own narrow to a pinch before his attention falls back to Preston and with a mumbled curse he stalks off. My lips part to call after him but he's already gone so my gaze reluctantly travels over to the man who's still in front of me. His eyes remain focused on me as a devilish smirk pulls across his handsome face. The glint of mischief in his black eyes makes my stomach flip before he lifts the crystal glass in his hand to his lips.
He takes a long pull that even burns me and when he lowers the glass his tongue darts out to catch a stray drop of golden liquor on his bottom lip. Something so simple shouldn't be so sexy. But it is. Especially on him. And my body heats in a way that I know my cheeks are flushed and I hate it. I hate the effect he has over me.
I lift my chin attempting to shove down the wild heat that wants to flare to life in his presence. "What was that about?" I ask referring to the strained conversation with my younger brother I walked in on. I take a step forward with an arched eyebrow silently pushing him to give me the answers I need.
"Just talking," he shrugs casually before setting his drink down on a small side table near him.
"Looked intense..." I trail slowly moving closer to the man that scares me but also draws me in like a moth to a flame. He's the flickering taunting flame that I know will burn me and end in inevitable doom, but is so damn mesmerizing I can't stop myself from being drawn in.
Preston cocks his head as amusement shines in his dark eyes and the grin on his face widens. "I usually am," he teases.
I roll my eyes not in the mood for his jokes today. I had to get in the right mindset to see my father, but having to deal with Preston as well is just too much. I can feel myself spiraling into overdrive and it's not a feeling I enjoy. "What are you even doing here?" I ask, placing my hands on my hips.
"What? I can't have dinner with my friend?" he asks innocently but I don't trust him.
"You don't even like my brother," I state without hesitation remembering the way he referred to my brother as a necessity rather than someone he actually likes or cares for. A small unwanted chill slithers down my spine at the memory of the cool demeanor he held when saying he had thought about killing my brother. Was it a joke or was he actually serious?
"And? Maybe I meant a different friend," he says with a calm ease that I would die for. It's as if nothing affects him in this world. But why would it? Preston Rothwell gets whatever he wants. What is there to even worry about?
A forced laugh jumps from my throat. "We went over this already, Preston. We aren't friends. So leave me and my family alone," I tell him with force.
"Okay, well good luck passing Professor Hilbert's class without me," he replies instantly and the words strike me directly in the chest. I can tell by the lazy smirk on his face that he isn't being completely serious, but on the off chance he is worry weaves its way heavily through my veins.
Because he is actually helping me. I am starting to see grades shift from low C's to high B's. I don't want to depend on anyone in life, only myself, but as of right now I do depend on him and he knows it. And he's using it.
"Dick," I practically growl.
Preston steps closer until his body is hovering in front of me. He dips down, just a little, so we are eye to eye and my gaze as always desperately takes in every piece of him I can. It's as if every time I'm this close to him I'm seeing him for the first time. It steals my breath away and makes my heart pound wildly in my chest all at once. It's as if I'm trying to commit him to memory, but also find something new to notice and keep locked in my head. I don't understand why it's like this with him, but I also don't want to over analyze it because I know I won't like the answer.
His gaze doesn't stray from mine and his lips tug into a small yet genuine smile. "I love it when you talk dirty to me Jameson," he murmurs so low I know his words are just for me and the heat behind his words pours over me like hot syrup and it makes my thighs clench.
I shake off the sudden rush of heat and roll my eyes again at his stupid and juvinille comment. Without another look back towards that maddening man I storm off towards the kitchen where I know my mother is. It's where she always is when dinner is being made. It's where the woman belongs in my father's eyes even though she isn't the one who even cooks. We have a cook and still my mother is expected to sit in there and act like the perfect wife.
It makes me want to scream.
Preston makes me want to scream.
My father's condescending behavior makes me want to scream.
But I don't. I keep all of this pent up aggression inside but I know I'm going to blow soon and I'm afraid of what will happen when that moment arrives.
I don't say much as I stand beside my mother and help her cut up the buttery garlic bread as our cook, Cynthia, continues to make the rest of dinner behind us.
My mother places the slices of bread in the large bowl and I can see the crease between her eyebrows deepen as she continues to mess with the bread as if she can make it even straighter or more perfect.
My eyes cast over my shoulder to make sure we are alone. "Are you okay?" I ask her though I keep my tone hushed as I'm not sure where my father could be lingering and I know my mother never wants to appear out of sorts in front of him. She is the perfect housewife at all times.
Her hazel eyes aren't warm like they usually are. They are hard and filled with layers of stress. "Did you invite him?" she asks her tone coming out clipped.
My nose wrinkles at her words. "Preston? Of course not!" I tell her taken back that she would even think I had a hand in his appearance here tonight.
"He should not be here," she says as she once again begins to fiddle with the bread.
"Then why is he here?" I push back. There is no part of me that wants Preston in our house. He confuses me in a way I've never experienced before and I don't want to be around him anymore than I have to.
"I know he's tutoring you Jamie," my mother says accusingly whilst pointing a finger sternly at me. My jaw tightens at the use of the nickname I despise and her knowledge of something I didn't personally tell her, which means Aiden told her. "You need to stay away from him. He's a bad idea. I know he killed that boy—"
"How do you know that?" I say cutting her off with words I don't even expect to say. But the truth is I don't really know what happened that night. None of us do besides the ones who were involved and my brother. It could've been an accident as much as it could've been done on purpose. But at the end of the day a court of law didn't find Preston or Everett or Lawrence guilty.
Only Nathaniel.
I am tired of the rumors and the assumptions and all the perfectly constructed lies that surround The Heirs.
I don't want to hear them anymore and even more so I don't want to see Preston in that dark of a light. He does scare me as much as he intrigues me and pushes me, and having to acknowledge he's a murder is not something I want to do. Not ever.
My mother's gaze holds me. "I don't care if it was an accident Jameson. A boy died. A boy from our town is no longer alive because of him and his friends," she emphasizes as if Preston is the ringleader of the group and the one to truly blame.
"His friends? So Aiden?" I question sharply hating the double standards not only my father has but my mother also holds for me and my brother.
She scoffs as she folds a couple cloth napkins in front of her. "He wasn't there that night and you know that," she argues.
"And yet he's still their friend," I add as anger begins to seep into my words. I don't know how Preston can appear so calm at all times, because I feel like I'm about to explode just from this conversation alone.
My mother sets down a napkin and turns her attention to me. "I'm not going to fight you on this young lady," she says pointedly and suddenly I feel like a child. Weak and without an ability to stand up for myself. But I am not a child anymore. I am twenty years old and I won't let her dictate my life.
"I'm not friends with Preston," I tell her honestly.
"Good—" she starts but I don't let her finish.
"But I'm also not going to stop my tutoring sessions with him," I say with finality in my tone that I know my mother isn't used to with me. I appease her more because I don't want to add to her stress, but I won't let her tell me who can and cannot tutor me.
Her attention that was focused on the pasta that our cook just pulled out of the oven snaps over to me in a heartbeat.
"Jameson Davenport," she chastises using my entire name to show me she's serious.
But I don't give in because my sessions with Preston are the road to success and I won't deviate for anyone. Not even my mother. Because I won't be held back by anyone, not even by blood.
I grab onto the bread bowl and take a step away from the large counter. "Better grab the pasta. You know dad doesn't like to wait," I remark dryly before exiting the kitchen and heading towards the large dining room table.
I shove away the last fifteen minutes and focus on the dinner ahead knowing it won't be any easier if my father is involved. And the fact that Preston is also here is adding another layer I am not prepared for and I hate this feeling of not feeling equipped for this moment.
Aiden doesn't sit in his usual seat. No. He's sitting a seat down so that Preston is sitting in my brother's usual seat and I know I will be expected to sit next to him, and it makes my heart jolt in my chest because I know he's going to make some kind of comment that will cause me to say something I shouldn't in front of my parents. He likes getting under my skin far too much to not take advantage of the opportunity presented here tonight.
I place the bread at the center of the table and my father's hard gaze collides with mine as he sits across from me. I lower myself into my seat just as my mother comes out with the steaming dish of creamy pasta.
My mother throws on a fake smile as she sets it down between us all. "So happy you could join us this evening Preston," she says so easily I know almost anyone else wouldn't see the way she's lying through her perfect teeth. But I can and I grind my jaw to stop myself from calling her out.
"So happy to be here," Preston smiles back but I can see the way his dark eyes watch my mother and I can see the way he assesses her and he might not know her as well but I can see he knows that she's lying. And for some reason it brings a small smile to my face that he can see straight through her facade.
"Well everyone dig in," my mother instructs us eagerly with a clap of her hands.
We all pass along the pasta, the bread, and the signature salad my mother always makes. The only one she knows how to make. We hand them around until our plates are full and we can finally begin to eat.
"So Preston," my father's deep booming voice starts and I know he isn't addressing me but I still feel the hairs on my arms stand on edge.
"Sir?" he responds calmly.
"I hear you are taking the LSAT soon," my father continues before taking a sip of his gin that makes me cringe.
"End of the month," he replies with a sharp nod of his head.
My father traces his stubby finger around the rim of his crystal tumbler. "Are you nervous?" he asks. The wrinkled skin around his eyes creases even more as he watches Preston.
A whisper of a smile ghosts over Preston's lips. "No," he answers immediately. The way he isn't intimidated by my father makes my skin flush and only makes me want to dive head first into his dangerous flame.
"Really?" my father pushes as if he doesn't believe him. But I do. Preston doesn't waiver from a challenge like most do. He digs in and rises above the bar that everyone else sets.
"Yes sir," he says again, not faltering from his answer.
My father begins to tap his finger against the edge of his glass of gin. I know he isn't used to someone being so at ease around him. He likes that he can easily unnerve anyone around him and set them so far on edge that they even forget their own name. But Preston isn't falling for it and I know that is annoying my father a bit. "What schools are you looking at for next year?"
"Yale of course," he starts. "But also Harvard, Columbia, Stanford, and NYU," he finishes naming the top law schools in the country that even without a strong LSAT score would accept him on his last name alone.
Lightness fills my father's face at the mention of his former school. "Yale is my alma mater," he states proudly.
A smirk begins to spread across Preston's lips and something about it unsettles me. I can see the spark of mischievousness begin to bud and I know he's going to say something. I just don't know what yet. "So I've heard."
My father leans back into his chair as a pompous grin takes hold of his face. "Aiden bragging about me again?" he jokes though it comes out pretentious and grating with his gravelly voice.
"No, Jameson," Preston claims and I swear even the blood rushing through my veins stops at the mention of my name.
"What?" my father questions.
"What?" Aiden repeats.
"What?" I practically shriek.
"Yeah, we've been working really hard on her classes and she talks so highly of you that I know we are setting her up for success to be able to follow in your footsteps one day at the firm," he says pretending to be naive to the situation that is my father.
I have to bite onto the inside of my cheek to stop myself from bursting out into laughter. I know exactly what he's doing. I glance over to Aiden to see him sink into his chair as he runs a hand over his forehead. He knows exactly what Preston is doing also.
He's baiting my father and subtly calling him out on his bullshit in the most backhanded way and I love it. My father is the most condescending man I know, and he deserves a small taste of what he gives out on the daily.
My father's face is turning red and I notice the way his hands fist at the table as if he's trying to keep his cool in front of our guest. "You're working with Jameson?" he inquires and his words come out strained as his gaze moves between the two of us.
Preston nods with a cheeky grin tugging at his lips. "She's my study buddy," he declares, tapping me with his elbow in a joking manner and my teeth have to trap my bottom lip to stop the laughter that wants to bubble up from my chest.
"Study buddy..." my father trails slowly as if the word is foreign to him. But his expression is priceless and I know I'll hear about it later but in front of Preston he will stay silent. Because if my father thinks he's powerful Preston's family is even more so and he knows not to act out in front of him.
"She's such a hard worker don't you think?" Preston pushes and I kick out the heel of my boot to hit him but he doesn't flinch. He has to stop. While it's funny seeing my father this way Preston isn't the one who's going to have to deal with his wrath later.
But also maybe, just maybe, it'll be worth it.
My father clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable. His twisted expression is hilarious as he keeps what he really wants to say inside. "She's a worker...that's for sure," he comments and it's sad to admit that it's the nicest thing he's ever said to me.
And it wasn't even that nice.
♢
Dinner ended rather quietly and quickly after Preston's little performance. My father excused himself and the soft rumble of his car was the only sound we heard to know he had left the house. My mother thanked Preston for attending and told him he was welcome anytime, which we both know is a boldfaced lie but the hostess in her would never say anything less. And then she headed off to the kitchen to help clean up, which means watch as our cook cleans up. Aiden was fuming when he shoved away from the table and practically ran off and Preston followed him but not before tossing me a wink that tugged dangerously at the strings of my heart.
And with that I was left all alone at the oversized dining room table.
I sat at the table for a while trying to work my way through everything that happened tonight. Even though I know I will be ripped apart for Preston's behaviour I also don't really care. No one I know has ever done that. He stood up for me in a weird backwards sort of way and it was a feeling I'd never experienced except for when I'm with my friends. It's support I realize, and it's unfamiliar and odd, but also warm and fuzzy and makes me feel not so alone in this cold and tough world.
I finally leave the dining room and when I'm walking by my father's study I notice the door is cracked open, which it never is. It is always closed whether he is in there or not. So I pause and when my eyes flicker over I don't see my father and I don't see my brother.
Instead I see Preston Rothwell standing at my father's desk.
Sharp confusion cuts its way through me and my eyes flash all around me as if I'm expecting to see someone else around. Nerves bundle deep within me as I step forward until my feet touch the edge of the entrance into the study.
"What are you doing in here?" I ask in a heated whisper. He should not be in there. Especially not after the shit he pulled at dinner with my father.
Preston whips around at the sounds of my voice, and his dark eyes land on me with such precision almost as if he was expecting me.
He leans back against the large desk and crosses his arms causally across his chest as if he has all the time in the world. I have no idea when my father will return and neither does he. He shouldn't be in there at all. "Stop lingering and come in," he tells me as his eyes trail over me slowly making me shift awkwardly in my shoes.
My cheeks flush red at the words I'm about to say. "I'm not allowed in there," I admit to him completely embarrassed to divulge this truth.
"I never saw you as someone to follow the rules," he drawls and I know what he's doing. He's trying to goad me into coming in and breaking the rules, and it's working. And I hate that it's working.
His words sting because outside of this home I would never follow a rule so trivial and one that is solely based off of my gender. But inside this home I do and it makes me feel lesser for doing so.
"I hate you," I bristle.
"No you don't," he practically sings with a smug grin and I roll my eyes but don't deny his words.
I lift my foot a few inches off the ground to step forward, to step past the threshold I have never passed. Ever. Not once in my twenty years of life have I stepped foot in this room. Emotions flood me and threaten to drag me under as excitement, fear, nerves, and a deep longing I never even noticed spike my blood like a toxic drug until I'm pushed over the edge.
And just like that I'm in the study. I'm finally in the only room in this entire house I've never been in. My eyes rake over the large mahogany bookcase that covers the entire wall to my left. Filled with so many law books my eyes widen and my fingers itch to have the chance to read them. Books I know my grandfather passed down to my father. Books I've always wanted to touch and read. Books I've never been allowed to.
In front of the book shelf is a small round table and two large leather chairs sitting upon an ornate rug. The wall behind my fathers desk is covered in diplomas and awards and accolades. I may have grown to despise him but that doesn't take away his intellect or the fact that he's an impressive lawyer.
I take another heavy step forward before my head flips to the door and my heart thuds loudly in my chest. I'm waiting for my father to burst through the door and rip me apart for being in his sacred space.
"How does it feel?" Preston asks as his smooth voice rolls over me like silk.
"How does what feel?" I question back still a little frazzled by being inside my father's study.
"Breaking the rules," he specifies. "Living," he adds with a whisper that melts over me.
My teeth graze my bottom lip as my heart races in my chest and my gaze continues to fall over my shoulder in worry. "We shouldn't be in here Preston," I tell him as panic begins to settle into my bones at what I'm doing.
"Why not?" he pushes as if he doesn't already know.
I shake my head feeling my dark hair brush against my neck. "This isn't a game," I assert, feeling like someone is watching us but when I look at the door I see we're still in the clear.
"You're right it's not. I've never been one for games anyways. I prefer to be direct and just take what I want," he says as his dark eyes hold me and fiery chills scatter down my spine.
My tongue swipes against my suddenly dry lips. "And what do you want?" I ask. My words come out quiet as if I'm almost a little fearful to know the answer.
He doesn't falter. "I want you to come here Jameson," he commands and I hate the way I love the sound of my name on his lips like that. Flames lick at my skin and my breath comes out faster as I debate his words.
"I—" I begin but he cuts me off as he drags me closer to the edge.
"Break the rules for just a minute longer, little Davenport," he teases darkly.
My eyes narrow into slits at the nickname. "I hate when you call me that," I say my words coming out hard and strong. But Preston doesn't back down, he never does.
"Would you rather me call you Jamie?" he asks with a playfulness shining in his soulless eyes.
"Fuck you," I spit back but there's a smile on my lips as I say it.
"Ask me again later," he taunts making me laugh at his dumb joke.
With a recklessly beating heart and heavy feet I continue to walk forward even though fear races through my blood causing my cheeks to flush. I don't think I've ever felt this way before. I've always done what I'm told because I didn't want to catch any more heat from my father. Besides deciding to pursue law I've always been the perfect daughter and student. I've always worked harder than anyone around me to achieve the level of success my brother has but I never receive any of his praises.
Preston watches me intensely as if he's taking in every movement I make and it almost makes me feel self-conscious for him witnessing this moment. I know it probably seems small and insignificant to most him, but to me it means the world. I dance a fine line with the rules and I've always lean towards caution because I don't want to be like everyone else.
I want to be better. I have to be better.
But breaking this rule, no matter how small makes me feel even stronger. And that strength surges through me making me feel taller. Making me feel like I can take on the world and anyone who gets in my way.
My feet suddenly feel lighter as I take another step towards the grand desk in front of me. A large desktop computer sits in the corner. His calendar sits in the center and a few files and books sit stacked to the side.
A picture sits near the computer and I pick it up to see it's a picture of my parents and Aiden.
A family picture if you will.
His perfect family.
One that doesn't have me.
Anger slams into me like a truck until I feel hot tears prick at my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. I will not show Preston any weakness. Especially over this. But it hurts.
Fuck it hurts so much. To not be wanted by my own father. I want to curl up in a ball and cry for days until I can't cry anymore. But I don't. I can't. I'm stronger than that. I will prove it and I will prove my father wrong.
I set the heavy silver frame down with a slam not caring if I dent his desk or ruin the frame.
Both of my hands shoot out to land on the edge of his desk and I let my head fall forward a bit as a heaviness settles into my chest. A heaviness I'm all too familiar with and the bitter taste that comes along with it makes me want to scream.
But once again. I don't.
Suddenly a warm body is hovering just behind mine.
I grew up in a cold family. No hugging or love was spread around. So I've always run cold, it's in my blood to run cold. Long sleeves almost all year around. The hot and humid summer days get to me but not as much as others. But around Preston I feel all the heat. Almost too much and it scares and thrills me at the same time.
My head lifts but I keep my hands locked on the desk needing something to steady the ever growing nerves that are festering within me.
A shocked gasp lodges in my throat when the backside of his fingers graze the left side of my neck. He moves slowly but with purpose. Everything he does is with purpose. He steps closer and without another thought my body relaxes into him loving how I'm instantly enveloped in heat. His fingers pause on the bare skin of my neck before proceeding to trail down my arm and then he rests his hand atop of mine.
Preston squeezes my hand as if transferring some of his strength to me. As if knowing I need it right now. More than anything I need someone to believe in me.
Believing in only myself grows tiresome.
He keeps his hand on mine but moves his other to grip my waist. Our bodies are melded together with my back to his front and I hate the way we fit so perfectly. We are nothing alike. He's so cocky and arrogant and sure of himself and no one can get under my skin like him.
Preston leans down so his lips graze the edge of my ear causing my skin to tingle and my stomach to flip. "Your dad's a fucking asshole."
A shocked laugh jumps from my throat.
"Was that too harsh?" he inquires but I can hear the smile in his voice and I know he doesn't really care.
Preston travels upward until his lips graze against my temple making me sigh deeply. "Nope," I breathe, agreeing with him wholeheartedly.
"He's a dick," he adds letting his lips whisper against my now overheated skin.
"He is," I agree once again letting his warmth pull me under.
"He can't see how amazing and strong and perfect you are," he tells me and my chest tightens at his words and my breath hitches not expecting him to say those things.
But I know with Preston there's always an ulterior motive so I don't take them to heart. "I'm not going to sleep with you Preston so no need to lie," I insist but deep down those words mean everything to me. Not that I would ever tell him that.
A deep chuckle hits me and makes my body itch for more of him. Of what? I'm not sure, but all I know is I need more. "You're awfully sure you won't sleep with me," he pokes back and the arrogance drips from his words making me smile.
"That I am," I concur because I do know sleeping with him would be a mistake. It would mean something to me, and to him it would mean nothing because he doesn't have it in his heart to care for someone. And I don't know how to be cared for.
His fingers on my hand lace through mine as his hand on my waist holds me tighter as if he doesn't want to let me go. "But it's the truth James," he says and my heart and mind are suddenly at war with each other not knowing what to believe.
"Preston..." I trail turning my head to look at him unable to find the right words for this moment.
He rests his forehead against mine letting his nose brush against my own and his lips remain only inches from me. "I won't lie to you," he promises and I make a move to pull away not believing him. His entire reputation is built on a throne of dark and twisted lies. How does he expect me to see any truth in that?
But Preston doesn't let me move away. His hand that once held my waist shoots up to tangle in my brown locks and keep me in place. Keep me close to him.
"Ever?" I implore.
"Never," he vows but I still don't trust his perfectly placed words. It's hard to trust someone who has so many secrets hanging in their shadows.
So I take a leap. "Then tell me what happened that night," I request hoping he will actually keep his promise and not lie.
But as soon as the words leave my lips I can see he isn't going to tell me and his promise was nothing more than bright flashing lights to distract me.
Something flares within the darkness of his eyes but I can't place the emotion on him. It's new and it takes me back.
His fingers wind even deeper in my hair and his hand on mine doesn't leave even for a second. "Tell me something real about you. Not something perfect. Something real," he pleads as if he needs it. As if me giving him this will help him. It doesn't make sense and it confuses me deeply as I continue to watch him struggle with something internally.
"I thought you knew everything about me," I say, attempting to lighten the sudden heaviness that weighs down around us like a thick blanket.
A hint of a smile appears on his lips and I can't help but wish it would remain. But I know it won't. Just like this moment with Preston it will disappear and be forgotten about. "Not as much as I want," he confesses.
I don't think about what I'm going to say. I just speak. "Growing up I was always told my mother was beautiful and my father was powerful," I voice shocked this is what I choose to tell him. "I've never wanted to be like my mother," I say but my words crack at the end revealing the true emotions behind them.
"You can be beautiful and strong Jameson," he comments as if almost puzzled by my admission.
A hot breath falls from my lips. "No I can't," I tell him with a heavy heart.
"Why?" he questions and I want to laugh because of course he wouldn't understand. How could a man ever fully comprehend what it's actually like to be a woman in this world?
"Because a powerful woman is one thing but a powerful and beautiful woman will never truly be accepted. Beautiful women are meant to warm men's beds not run a courtroom or be a CEO. We can't have both," I express with a creased forehead and tight lips as anger tinges my words.
"Then be the first," he insists and I want to laugh at how easy he makes it seem.
"I have goals and I achieve them Preston," I start as I rotate my body to fully face him. He doesn't release me but allows me the room to turn as he keeps his hand on mine and his forehead touching my own as if he can't let me go. "But I don't dream of realities that can never happen," I finish lifting my chin as I admit my truths. I know the boundaries in which I have to work, and while I might be able to break down some walls I know I can't do them all.
But I can start a path for others at least.
"Who says they can't happen?" he pushes, obviously not liking my answer.
"Everyone," I say with a shrug.
Preston shakes his head, his expression hard as he watches me and digests my words. His hand then loosens in my hair but he doesn't stop touching me. Instead his hand trails gently down the side of my face until his thumb reaches my bottom lip and tugs on the skin lightly making my breath come out faster and my blood burn in my veins as it aches for more of his touch.
"Well then fuck them," he states with fierce power beneath his words.
And with that he releases me and walks out of my father's study. He leaves me wanting more, longing for more, and in shock at everything that just transpired between us.
I stand there for a minute longer in disbelief of what just happened. I swallow down the thick surprise that coats my throat and tear my body away from my father's desk. My eyes linger on the room that my father deemed not acceptable for me or my mother to enter. But the room means nothing I realize suddenly. What just happened between Preston and me matters even more even though I don't fully understand it.
But I also acknowledge I don't hate it.
My boot clad feet lead me up the grand staircase to my room deciding to stay the night after everything. I usually choose to go back to school after these dinners, but after tonight's events I don't think I could coherently drive to save my life.
I tug off my clothes and pull on an oversized t-shirt before I wash my face and brush my teeth. I start to reach for my hairbrush, but decide not to brush the tangles out of my hair that Preston put there yet. I know in the morning I'll regret it, but for now I like knowing he left his mark on me in some way, shape, or form.
The satin sheets are cool against my heated skin as I climb into bed. I'm usually so cold at night that I add an extra blanket to my bed, but right now I'm so flush I only have the loose sheet over me. My eyes slowly flutter shut, but sleep doesn't fill my bones like it usually does. Only restlessness does. A nagging ache deep inside me awakens and all I can see are dark eyes and a wicked smile and suddenly I'm back in my father's office.
And Preston's hands aren't the only thing touching me. His lips are against mine and the fantasy plays in my head as sweat begins to bead against my hairline and down my spine.
My fingers slide down to my thighs and trace the soft skin there before beginning to move towards the edge of my underwear. I'm lost in the moment. Hypnotized by the darkness and I refuse to let my mind barge in and tell me what a bad idea this is.
The loud ring of my cell phone snaps through the building tension and hazy thoughts that were playing in my head, and I sit up quickly as my heart pounds relentlessly and my chest heaves in frustration.
I grab onto my phone and swipe my finger against the screen without even looking at who's calling me.
"Hello?" I answer with aggravation clear in my tone.
But there's no response. Just silence...and more silence. I pull the phone from my face and see it's an unknown number.
My eyebrows draw together as confusion begins to seep into my bones effectively pushing out the once pounding ache that was just there. "Hello?" I ask again.
The sound of heavy breathing comes from the otherside of the line and sends a bolt of fear through me making my blood turn to ice in my veins. Then the line goes dead.
I hold the phone in my hand for a moment longer before setting it back down on my nightstand.
My body falls back into my bed but unease settles in my stomach like heavy bricks and the faintest touch of terror slides down my throat like bile.
It was just a prank call, I try and reason in an effort to fall asleep.
But sleep never seems to find me.
Only fear.