Page 43 of The Dis-Graced
I told him we were too young. He said, “Then we don’t have to set a date, I just want the ever-present reminder that one day I’m going to make you my wife.” He grew up in foster care, so he desperately wanted to belong to a family. He wanted to belong to me.
I decided then and there that giving myself to him physically could never be a mistake, but now, I’m not so sure.
Over the four years we were together, I only grew to love him more. My heart ached every time I went away on an assignment. We were at the cusp of our union, mere months away from joining our hearts and name.
Then, it wasn’t him in the hotel room, and I came home to an apartment devoid of his belongings.
We had planned to stay the weekend at the venue that was hosting our wedding to celebrate the anniversary of when we first made love. He got there first, telling me he had to get cleaned up and that he wanted me waiting for him on the bed when he came out. But, it wasn’t him that came out, and when Brigger Steele stepped from the bathroom, he seemed just as confused as I was.
At first, I thought I had walked into the wrong room, but that didn’t make sense. I scrambled to get on my clothes while Brigger stood there, mouth gaping. I ran from the hotel, frantically trying to get ahold of Frank, but he wouldn’t answer his phone, and when I got home, he was completely moved out of the apartment we shared together.
I had no idea that in just twelve short hours, pictures of me at the hotel with Brigger standing naked to the side of the bed would find their way onto the internet.
Where Frank is now, I cannot say. Our mutual friends refuse to talk to me. Everyone has cut me out of their lives, except for Steph, and I can’t say I blame them. I’ve been, as the magazines say, dis-graced.
I turn, taking another swig of the merlot I lifted from Drake’s wine cellar, only to see a man out of the corner of my eye. My head snaps in the man’s direction.
It’s a Drake-shaped figure, with Drake-like features, but it is most certainly not Drake.
“Uhhh,” the man says, staring at me, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
It takes me a moment to remember who it is.
“Devon?” I ask.
“Yeah, and you’re that Amish woman, though you don’t look so Amish anymore.”
His gaze travels down my body, from my face to my sports bra, over my bare abs, to my long legs poking out of my short workout shorts.
He has a hungry look in his eyes, but they are no longer on my body. They’re on the bottle at my side.
“I could use a glass of that,” he says in a flat voice.
I hold up the bottle. “I kinda stole this, so by partaking in it, you’ll be an unwitting accomplice.”
“Well, you may want to call an Uber then, because we’re gonna need a getaway car.”
?
Drake
Never have I been so unsure about getting into the elevator to bring me up to my penthouse. Usually, I’m relieved to come home to my creature comforts. Now, part of me is anxious, another part is excited.
I hadn’t planned on coming home early. Not with Little Miss Perfect Ass prancing around my apartment, but looking back over her dialogue with ALAN, I realize there’s a need to clear the air.
For one, I’ve been unfair. I’ve basically left her in solitary confinement, unable to access the outside world. She must be going crazy holed up in my apartment.
Then there are the jabs I’ve taken. It was what I considered necessary to keep her at arm’s length, but the price was her pride. Whatever she did on her last assignment doesn’t take away from her achievements, and after hearing her game of Truth or Dare, I’ve realized she’s not the woman I’ve been picturing her to be in my mind. She was sweet and innocent, but somewhere along the way, that got lost, and she might have done things to get ahead, but having been raised as an heir to part of the Dallanger empire leaves me with little ability to judge.
Furthermore, I have to come clean about spying on her. Although it was never my intention to do so without her knowledge, she obviously doesn’t realize I’d be checking in. I’m going to have to set her straight on that, so she can decide what to do and talk about knowing that I’ll be an ever-present ear and eye.
What if she wants to be seen? What if she starts lounging around all day without any clothing on, hoping you’re watching?
God, please let her be a tease.
Images of Grace in her shorts and sports bra from the video feed linger in my mind. It would be so easy to slide those shorts down her curvy hips. I’d lavish every inch of her with kisses, then my tongue. A body like hers was made for savoring.
And by God, I’d eat her like a seven-course meal, slowly and knowing how to pace myself.
