Page 40 of A Sixpence For Your Shoe

He takes my jaw in his hand and forces me to lock eyes with him. His voice is deep and quiet when he speaks. “If I promise you something I will die before I break that promise. Do you understand?” He says with such seriousness that it sends a thrill of excitement pulsing through my blood.

I nod, biting my lip. Desire building.

“Say it. I want to hear you say you understand and believe me.”

“I understand and I believe you.” My response is genuine. There is something about the way he says things that leaves no room for doubt.

“And if anyone ever makes a promise to you again - and breaks it - I will break them.” His blue eyes pierce into me.

All my life I’ve wanted someone to accept me for who I am. Therealme. A me that perhaps I haven’t fully discovered yet.

The me without secrets and hidden pieces. The me I’ve had to keep from my mother for fear of disappointing her.The me who has never told anyone that I killed my father.

I want to be accepted, and Vincent has not only accepted me - but appears to love it. The darkness I have deep inside me. He’s attracted to it. The darkness in him is far greater than mine. I’m aware of that. But his darkness doesn’t scare me. Nothing about him scares me. Everything about him makes me wildly obsessed. The only fear I have towards him is a type of fear that turns me on. I’ve come to trust that even when it seems as though he might hurt me or push too far - he still respects my limits. Notthat I know what my own limits are yet. But I’m sure Vincent will help me find them.

He strokes his thumb across my lips and leans down to kiss me. My heart races and my skin tingles.

His mouth brushes over mine and my body begs for him, but Vincent pushes me away and gestures towards the cupboard. “Now, go get those bowls and make us some breakfast.” He smirks.

“Yes, sir.” I grin cheekily. And when I bend over this time, I make a show of it, confident that I won’t get my ass slapped again, but determined to make him want to. I love pushing his limits.

His dark laughter rolls through the air behind me and makes my heart happy. “You are a naughty one, aren’t you?” He sighs.

Vincent leans against the kitchen counter watching me, holding his bowl of cereal in front of himself. His eyes are glued to me, sitting on the counter, and swinging my legs as I eat my colorful cereal. “That stuff isn’t good for you.” He remarks.

I scrunch my nose at his brown, boring cereal box. “No -thatstuff isn’t good for you. It’s depressing. My one is fun.”

He shakes his head. “Fun. I guess that’s all that matters.” He laughs.

“Little raven, I was thinking you could invite your mother over for dinner.”

My heart clenches tightly and panic rushes through my blood. “My mom? Why?” she can’t come here. She thinks I work for an old couple, taking care of their home and them. She doesn’t even know Vincent exists.

“So, she can see where you work, and I can meet her. It’s your mom after all.”

“I haven’t metyourfamily, why do you want to meet mine?” I say defensively, searching for ways to make him think about something else. It’ll be so bad. My mom will be furious that I liedto her about who I was working for. She’ll find out I’m involved with a man who is in the mafia. It’ll be a complete disaster.

He smirks, his gaze piercing straight through me. He knows I don’t want my mother here. He just doesn’t know why. “Alright, well, when you’re ready - you can feel free to invite your mom over for dinner.” He says. It’s obvious how horrified I am by the idea. “And you’ve met my son. I can arrange for you to meet all of them if you’d like?”

I nod. “Ok. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell my mom the truth. And I’m not sure if I’m ready to meet all of his kids yet. I enjoy living in this world where it’s just Vincent and me. I enjoy pretending no one else exists. This world, with him - it’s all I need.

But now I’m thinking about my mom and guilt weighs down on me. I don’t like lying to her. But I also don’t like to make her worry. It’s the things we do for each other. She doesn’t ask questions, and I don’t volunteer information. That way I’m not lying and she’s not worried.

I’m sure she worries, anyway.

I should call her today. Say hello. Catch up.

I’ll do that after breakfast.

Besides, the agent I was talking to last week sent me a message that he might have found a new place for her. I’ve been trying to get her to a new apartment - somewhere safer - I wanted to surprise her with it and today might be the day.

I huff angrily into the phone. “What do you mean my credit record is bad?” I snub at the agent.

“We can’t rent the apartment to you; the owner isn’t comfortable with your financial status.”

“But I earn enough.” I whine, frustrated, leaning forward in the sofa, and resting my elbows on my knees.

“At the moment yes, but your employment - your track record?—”

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