Page 97 of Downfall

“I’m not.” I snap. “In what world did you think I was interested in you like that?”

He laughs getting to his feet as if this is a challenge. “You’ve been flirting with me for months.”

“I haven’t.” I shake my head. I mean I haven’t intentionally. I might have flirted a little, just like everyone does. It’s Darius for fucksake, everyone behaves like that with him. Besides he’s old enough to be my dad and more than that, I was married to his nephew.

“Drop the pretence. We both know you what you want.” He states.

“Not you.”

“No?” He smirks running his eyes over me. “Then why did you come here?”

“I told you.” I hiss.

“Don’t lie. You didn’t come here to talk about Roman Montague.”

“Yes I did.” I reply.

He moves closer to me as I step back further towards the door.

He glances behind me and shakes his head. “That’s not how this is going to play out Rose. Not this time.”

“I’m not interested in you like that. I don’t want anything like that.”

That makes him smirk more. Like I’ve poured gasoline onto a fire. “It doesn’t really matter what you want because the truth is you need me Rose. You need my support because without it who else is on your side?”

“What are you saying?” Even I can hear the tremor in my voice.

He eases his suit jacket off, clicks his neck like he’s preparing for some sort of fight. “Do you not understand how precarious your situation is? Your father is happy to marry you to whoever will write the biggest cheque.”

My stomach lurches. I know it’s true but to hear someone else say it… “So what, you want me to be grateful you’re on my side?”

His lip curls. “I am Rose, and I will be, but I expect recompense for it.” He undoes his belt, slowly, making clear exactly what ‘recompense’ he’s after.

“I was married to your nephew.” I cry in disgust.

“You really think that would stop me from fucking you?”

My jar drops. I don’t know what to say. I know I’m responsible for getting myself into this mess, that for weeks, months even I’ve been telling myself that this is nothing, that his advances haven’t really been that, that he’s just being friendly and I’m oversensitive. And yet here it is, plain as day, no longer possible to deny.

He jerks his head to the couch. “Take off that pretty dress and spread your legs like the good little slut we all know you are.”

I whimper, my hand moving behind me to grab the door handle and just as he sees the movement and lunges, I manage to get out, to get into the corridor and then I’m running, sprinting down the hall and out into the blazing, blinding summer heat.

I barely get around the corner before I start puking. It’s not even what he did, it’s the way he did it, the expectation, the entitlement, it was as if he expected me to just be grateful, to just roll over and happily be used like that.

I retch again but nothing comes out. I didn’t eat breakfast nor dinner last night, so I’m not surprised. I have nothing to puke up.

A hand rubs my back and I flinch spinning around, expecting to see Darius but it’s not.

It’s Sofia.

She’s crouched down, on her knees, comforting me.

“You okay?” She asks quietly.

I shake my head. I’m anything but.

She glances around. We’re in a side alley but not exactly hidden from view. She pulls me up and takes me to what I assume is her car. I sink into the passenger seat feeling pathetic now. After all, I endured a lot worse from Paris. In reality Darius hasn’t done anything near as heinous as his nephew has, so why am I acting like this?

---