Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(81)
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he said, dropping his arms. “I have no choice but to leave, Francesca. Surely you understand I have business that takes me away at times.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, emotion bubbling in her breast. “Your flying away right now has nothing to do with what happened last night.”
“No. It doesn’t,” he said sharply. “Where is all this coming from?”
She stared down at the bedsheet, not wanting him to see the tears that stung her eyes. She wanted to spit in anger . . . in hurt. “Yes. Where’s it coming from?” she mused bitterly. “Stupid, naive Francesca. Why didn’t I remember this was just a sexual thing, a matter of convenience for you? Oh, and your cock, of course. Let’s not forget that crucial player in the game.”
“You’re acting foolishly. I got a phone call. I must leave. That’s all there is to it.”
“Why?” she demanded. “What’s the emergency? Tell me.”
He blinked, obviously taken aback by her blunt demand. She noticed the corners of his mouth had gone pale in anger. “Because I need to. There are certain things that are unavoidable, and this is one of them. I’m not leaving for any other cause than that. It should be reason enough for you. Besides, your sullen behavior hardly makes me want to confide in you,” he added under his breath, striding away. Fury rose in her. It was too much, having him dismiss her in this way yet again, especially after she’d laid herself open to him last night . . . after she’d thought he’d done the same to her.
“If you leave right now, I won’t be waiting for you. It’ll be finished.”
He spun around, his nostrils flared in anger. “Are you daring me, Francesca? Are you throwing down the gauntlet? Are you truly so vindictive?”
“How can you ask me that when you’re the one who is running away because of what’s happening between us?” she exclaimed, sitting up in bed, holding the sheet over her breasts.
“The only thing that’s happening between us is that you’re acting like a selfish brat. I have an emergency to attend to.”
“Then tell me what it is. At least give me that courtesy, Ian. Or do you think that given the rules of this godforsaken relationship, because of my supposed submissive nature, that I don’t even have the right to ask that?” she seethed.
He reached for the jacket he’d placed on the back of an armchair. Belatedly, she noticed his packed leather suitcase next to his briefcase. He really was leaving. She felt blindsided all over again. He shrugged on his suit jacket and regarded her with a glacial stare.
“As I said, I have no desire to explain myself to you when you’re behaving this way.” He picked up his luggage. “I’ll call you this evening. Maybe you’ll feel better about things by then.”
“Don’t bother. I won’t feel better. I can guarantee that,” she said with as much dignity . . . as much coldness as she could muster.
The color seemed to rush out of his face. She had a wild urge to take back what she’d said, but her stubbornness—her pride—wouldn’t let her. He nodded once, his mouth set in a hard line, and stalked out of his bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a brisk click that sounded horribly final in her ringing ears.
Francesca clamped her eyelids shut as misery settled upon her like a weight.
* * *
Three days later, she sat in the Department of Motor Vehicles office in Deerfield, Illinois, studying the motorcycle “Rules of the Road” on Ian’s tablet. Yes, she still planned never to see Ian again on any sexual basis, and no, he’d definitely believed what she’d told him on that sunny Friday morning, because he hadn’t tried to contact her since he’d left. She kept trying to tell herself she was glad he wasn’t calling her, but somehow, her self-convincing didn’t feel all that persuasive.
What was that expression that had shadowed his face when she’d told him not to call her? Why is it that both in that situation three days ago and also on that occasion when he’d freaked out upon finding she was a virgin that he’d been the one who looked abandoned, not the other way around? The thoughts made it feel as if her heart were being squeezed by a giant invisible hand.
No, she wouldn’t dwell on such things. It was impossible to pierce the dark, complex inner workings of Ian’s soul. It was folly to even try.
It surprised her a little that she’d continued with her driving lessons with Jacob, given her and Ian’s break. But she’d become strangely fixated on the idea of getting her license. Maybe part of her believed what Ian had told her. It was an important milestone of development that she’d passed up because of her emotional issues as a child and teenager. Her compulsion to drive somehow related to her wanting to take full control of her life for the first time. School was going well. Her painting for Ian would soon be finished.
For the first time in her life, she really did feel like she was starting to gain control . . . not just fumbling along, surviving from day to day. She wanted to be in the driver’s seat of Francesca Arno’s life, just like Ian had suggested. If it was destined to be a train wreck, well . . . at least she could say who was responsible.
Her eyes burned from all her studying on the tablet. She’d already passed the regular driver’s test, but the motorcycle test remained.