Marry Screw Kill(36)

“Harlow,” I say in a slow cadence, and watch her face tilt up toward me. The sadness I see from her internal struggle hits me like a punch in the gut. “You’re James’ fiancée. What you do with him is your business. It’s between two consenting adults.”

Her chin begins to tremble and she turns away from me. Her behavior makes me question how much she wanted to be tied up this morning.

“Look at me and tell me it was consensual.” I ball my hands in fists and push them into the couch as I wait for her to answer me, but she can’t seem to form a word in reply. The longer I wait, the more I see red.

“It’s complicated,” she whispers while peeking at me through the strands of her hair, but I can barely make out her words over the stupid TV.

I find the remote lying on the coffee table and hit the power button. The room grows silent and heavy. I’m going to press this point to find out the truth until she gives me a straight answer, no matter how awkward the topic.

“Consent isn’t complicated. It’s either yes or no. Which is it, Harlow?” She turns her eyes down again, which isn’t a good sign. A simple yes from her lips would end this conversation. Instead, it’s just beginning.

She begins to cry, and her delicate shoulders start to shake. Each sound and movement rips me apart inside. Next thing I know, I’m hauling her into my arms before I give myself a moment to think. I want to shield every inch of her from harm, cover her up, and help dry her tears.

She curls herself against my chest and I cradle her like a child. I want to absorb the pain she’s feeling, carry it for her. My need to help her is more than an everyday compassion for someone hurting. I’ll be damned, but I’m falling for this blond beauty and want to do anything I can to see her smile like she did last night.

I may have my arms wrapped around her, but she has me wrapped around her little finger. In twenty-four hours, this beautiful, distraught woman has planted herself within my soul. She might be living with my uncle, close to marrying him, but she sits in my lap broken from his control on her life and choices.

I press my nose into her silken waves and take a deep breath. My eyes close and the sweet, flowery scent calms the beast at war inside me—the one that wants to protect every golden strand of hair on her head and punish my uncle, the bastard who stole the joy of this beautiful woman in my arms.

She stays cuddled and secure in my arms until her last tear is shed. After a couple quiet minutes, I return to our conversation in hopes she opens up to me.

“Do you feel ready to answer my question?” I whisper into Harlow’s hair and tighten my hold on her. “I need to know.”

“I’ll try,” she mutters against my chest, so close to my heart. She makes no attempt to move off my lap, and I’m more than fine with that. I hope my embrace can give her the strength she needs to continue. She keeps her head buried in my chest, hiding her face from me. I would love to see her baby blue eyes since I can read more than words in them, but maybe it’s better for her to tell the truth in this secret-like place.

“Do your best.” I press my lips to her head in a silent kiss with hopes of passing on some reassurance.

“I don’t want you to think bad of me.” She shudders in my arms, as if the thought of confessing the truth frightens her.

“Never, Harlow.” He had you tied up to the table, not the other way around.

“I haven’t seen my best friend Emma in weeks.”

Finally, she glances up at me and I see the effect of all the turmoil. Red-eyes filled with unshed tears and a downcast frown that reveals the weight of her world.

“Why?” I ask.

“James. He doesn’t care for her lifestyle.” She sniffles and wipes her eyes. “He claims she has loose morals.”

“That’s golden coming from him.” She grimaces at my comment and I change course.

Attacking James, though I want to discredit him in every way possible, will not help this woman muster up the courage to speak. My focus needs to center on her.

“So, what does that have to do with this morning?”

“It sounds so crazy, but I let him, you know …” She pushes off my lap and sits down beside me on the couch with our legs almost touching. I ache to have her back in my arms, to feel her soft curves folding into me again, but I sense she needs the distance between us.

She gazes down at her hands and twists them together as we sit there in silence. Gone are her eyes from my view and the loss saddens me, but I wait without pushing for more.

“We’ve never done that before, though he’s wanted me to.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “He agreed to let me see Emma if I gave in to him. I feel so ashamed.”

“Let me get this straight. This was the first time you let him do this, and only so you could see your friend.”

“Yes. Yes, to all of it.”

Harlow begins to cry again and I settle my hand on her back. With a light touch, I pat between her shoulders, hoping to soothe away her tears while I attempt to push down the anger rising up in me. I’m battling coming off as a jealous boyfriend versus a concerned friend. My goal should be keeping a level head no matter how hard I want to rage. One thing is certain: my uncle is one messed up motherf*cker. The final ounce of respect I had for him just disappeared in my barely concealed anger.