Page 97 of Devious Love
“Cut the bullshit, Mia.” She steps into the room and slams the door behind her. “The neighbor saw you and Dom at Luigi’s,” she hisses. “She stopped me in the store today and asked if I knew about you two. About my daughter messing around with herstepbrother.”
And there she is, as bitter as always.
I keep silent, and she takes it as an invitation to continue. “I told you what people would say. I warned you everyone would think we’re a dysfunctional family,” she snaps. “You’ve made us look like a joke!”
I drop my head back and stare up at the ceiling. I’m not even angry anymore, just disappointed. “I didn’t make you look like anything,” I say. “You care too much about the opinions of others. It’s wrong.”
She lets out a humorless laugh. “You can’t even take accountability. That just proves you’re still a child. You’re ruining this family’s name. Do you understand that?”
Mom goes on, rambling about perception, about judgment, about my ungratefulness, about how hard she worked to “build a good life” and how Dominic and I are dismantling it.
With every word she spits my way, I break a little more on the inside. I used to think if I was good enough—if I got good grades, stayed quiet, never asked for too much—she’d look at me the way she looks at Matt.
I know better now. A parent’s love is supposed to be given freely.
She’s never given me hers without expecting something in return.
Fuck, why did it take me so long to understand that? If the truth had clicked sooner, maybe I would’ve chosen to live in thedorms. I could’ve kept my distance from her and her fucking rules.
Dammit. I fucked up yet again.
When she finally leaves, still muttering about how I’ve humiliated her, I close my sketchbook, toss it into my backpack along with some clothes, and leave.
I need Dominic.
Rather than knock,I take the spare key from my backpack and unlock the door. The lights are off, but the glow of the TV illuminates the space, so I step inside and quietly lock the door.
I turn and instantly find him. He’s lounging on the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants.
My heart clenches. God, he’s so good looking. I’ll never get tired of admiring him, even when his face is etched with exhaustion and his eyes are drooping, like they are now.
He doesn’t notice me right away, not until I drop my backpack on the floor with a thud.
At the sound, he sits up straight and locks eyes with me, his features softening. “Hey. What a nice surprise.”
I drag my feet to the couch, tossing my leather jacket aside on the way. He spreads his arms for me, and I gladly lower myself to his lap and relish the way he pulls me into his chest. I relax in his embrace, inhaling deeply. He still smokes, and while it may be a turnoff for some, the scent of tobacco mixed with his laundry detergent is as comforting as a hug.
“I missed you,” he murmurs, running his hand up and down my back.
“I missed you too.” I nuzzle into his neck. “Can I stay?”
“Of course.”
He leans back, tugging me along with him. Then, he sighs, resting his chin on top of my head. His heartbeat is slow and steady, and the rhythm sends comfort washing over me.
“Want to watch something before bed?” he asks quietly.
“We can try.” I giggle into his warm skin. “I can’t promise I’ll stay awake.”
“I’m used to it.” His laughter reverberates through my body. “Watching TV while you snore beside me has become my new normal.”
I push myself away from his chest and glare. “I do not snore.”
“You do.” He chuckles. “You also talk in your sleep.”
My jaw drops open. “No.”
“Yes, but you talk about me every time, so I’m not complaining.”
