Sweet Retribution (Rydeville High Elite #3)(28)

“Your mother is grieving. She won’t even notice. And if she does, it’s not any of her business.”

“Let me attend to that,” he says, purposely ignoring my comment. Evasive Charlie does little to reassure me he is sincere.

I nod, letting him help me to my feet. He walks me into the bathroom, keeping one arm wrapped firmly around my waist from behind, and I deliberately pretend I don’t see the giant bulge straining his boxers.

He positions me on top of the closed toilet seat before he stalks to the large overhead cupboard, pulling supplies out. Kneeling in front of me, he cleans the cut with some water and cotton balls. Then he pats it dry with a towel and fixes a Band-Aid in place. “Does it hurt?” he asks, gently prodding the small lump.

“Not really.”

“Why don’t you go back to bed and I’ll bring you some breakfast and a couple of pain pills.”

“That actually sounds pretty wonderful,” I truthfully admit, because I’m zonked after my nighttime expedition. “Thanks.”

He takes my hand, leading me back into the bedroom and tucking me under the covers. I don’t protest or fight when he kisses my lips briefly. I watch him pull on his wrinkled pants and creased shirt, fighting a smile, and I wonder if it is going to be that easy. I guess time will tell.

Charlie is true to his word, fixing me a tray worthy of a queen. He’s showered and changed into a gray checkered suit with a pristine white shirt and charcoal-gray tie, and there’s no denying how dapper he looks. “I’ve got to go into the office again. I’m sorry.”

I’m not.

“It’s fine. I understand. What about the meeting with the funeral director?”

“I’ll be home in time to pick you up, and we can go there together.”

“Okay.” I bat my eyelashes and bite down on my lip, staring at him with my best wide-eyed innocent look. Then I sit up on my knees and stretch up and kiss him. “Have a good day.”

He winds his hand into my hair, holding me in place at the back of my head. “Have you any idea how happy you make me?”

I shrug.

“I know this has been hard for you, Abby, but I promise I won’t let anyone harm you ever again. I love you so fucking much.”

Again, with the self-delusion. Doesn’t he see how much he’s hurt me? How much he continues to hurt me by forcing this on me?

He kisses me again, prodding at the seam of my lips with his tongue. I open for him, hating every second of it. When he pulls away, his lips are swollen, and his green eyes are dark with desire. “Just let me love you, darling. That’s all I ask. Let me shower you with affection the way I’ve always dreamed of doing.”

I can tell he means it. It radiates from his eyes.

Now is as good a time as any.

“I was thinking maybe we should have a party.” He blinks, looking confused. “To celebrate our wedding. It was all so fast, and it’s not really how I pictured my wedding day.” I look at him through hooded eyes, praying I’m not pushing too far too soon. “Every little girl daydreams about her wedding, and I’m no different,” I lie, because that’s never been me. But he doesn’t know that.

“I gave up on that dream when I became engaged to Trent because marrying a monster is the stuff of nightmares, not dreams.” I drag my lip between my teeth. “But when he was out of the picture, I started to dream again. To think it might come true when I married you.”

He reels me into his arms, hugging me tight. “I’ll give you anything you want, Abby. Anything.”

How about my real husband, huh? Will you give him to me? Yeah, didn’t think so. My snarky inner demon conducts a one-sided conversation in my head.

“Okay.” I fake a smile, easing out of his embrace. “We can discuss the details later. You can’t be late for work.”

He totally pushes his luck, kissing me again. “I’m taking you out to dinner after the funeral meeting.”

Oh yay, great. That is just what I’ll feel like doing after such a morbid meeting. “That would be nice.” I don’t gush, because I don’t want to overdo it.

“Wear a pretty dress. I want to show you off.”

Blech. My stomach dips to my toes as I remember how often my father expressed similar sentiments. A shiver works its way through me at the thought that Charlie could end up being exactly like my bastard father. Imagine I’m stuck with him, and he turns out like that?

An icy chill creeps up my spine, and it’s a struggle to mask my true emotions. But I do, slapping another fake smile on my face. “I’ll see you later. Don’t work too hard.” I waggle my fingers at him, and he blows me a kiss.

Gag.

The instant the door closes, I flop down on the bed, rubbing at my mouth, wanting to erase the taste of him still lingering on my lips.





“If Father could see you working Charlie like a pro, he’d be so fucking proud,” Drew says, later that afternoon as we walk through the expansive grounds at the back of the house.

“Please don’t say shit like that. And don’t talk about that bastard unless it involves our plans to annihilate him. Otherwise his name is mud. He’s Voldemort. Got it?”

“Sorry, A.” He pulls me into a quick hug. “I’m just proud of you for holding it together. I know it’s not easy.”