Page 28 of Forbidden Property
Even if that’s what I meant, she knows that I hate Renzo. Nothing about what she did makes me want to talk to her. My heart feels strangely cold and empty, despite Renzo’s attempts to draw it out of me via a shoulder massage.
“What does she want from me?”
“Forgiveness.”
“That’s impossible.”
Renzo chuckles. “Okay. Then play her game. You want things out of your life, don’t you?”
Mostly, I want Renzo to be less of an expert at massaging knots out of my shoulders. Whenever his touch sends incredible thrills straight through me, I want to jump off the dock and submerge beneath the murky green waters until I forget. Renzo shouldn’t make me feel like this. I know I have access to self-respect. Even if the sex is good, I keep my walls up during the day.
I ignore how I feel at night right before I fall asleep. I’m pregnant, which means I’m hormonal and crazy. Any positive feelings about Renzo must be related to that. I can’t even think of the baby as his “demon seed” – that’s how powerful the hormones are already. I’ll let myself love this baby as long as I remember to hate Renzo. Forever. Even if he’s a damn good masseuse and a halfway decent strategist.
Therearethings that I want. Renzo entertains himself by keeping me with my legs spread all day, but if I have any intentions of being something more than Renzo’s baby mama, I need to study for the LSAT. I need study books and materials so I can draft Renzo as my study buddy. He might think food controls me, but I can come up with ways to control him too.
“I want to study for the LSAT.”
Renzo groans.
“What? Did you think I would ask for a sex swing and some lube?”
“It would be less boring than textbooks and study guides.”
“I have ambitions, Renzo. I’m not just some ‘mop girl’.”
He smirks. “Does that really get under your skin, janitor?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Fine,” he says, purposefully digging into my shoulder knot in just the right way so I have to stifle a moan of pleasure. “You want study guides. Tell her you’re working on forgiveness and…”
He leans in so his warm breath tickles my neck. “Get what you want, Geralynn.”
I hate how my stomach throbs and my pussy pulses against my will when Renzo says my name. It’s so rare for him to call me something that isn’t derogatory that just hearing Renzo say my name feels like praise. This man makes me feel so fucked up and he’s totally unapologetic about it.
I don’t even know what he wants, but I’m wary about playing into it. If getting involved with the Taviani family has taught me anything, it’s that I can’t trust either of them. That doesn’t mean Renzo doesn’t have good advice.
“Fine. I’ll go see her.”
Nicki sits at the kitchen island with a bottle of wine and a glass. She knows that I can’t drink, right?
“I know you can’t drink or smoke,” she says. “But I need this.”
Her self-pitying expression makes me want to scream. Is that a manipulation too?
“Was our whole friendship a lie?”
“What?”
She stops pouring wine and seems genuinely surprised at my response.
“Nicki. Best friends don’t drug each other and scheme like psychopaths.”
The word sends a flicker of a reaction through Nicki. She grips the stem of the wine glass until the tips of her fingers redden, but she doesn’t look up at me even after I drop the bombshell word “psychopaths”.
“In ten years, you will have a beautiful nine year old girl, the house of your dreams, a law degree, and we’re going to be sisters.”
“That’s not how that works.”
