Secrets Vol. 2(15)

Burned? There's a story there, a part of him that I want to know. I can't not ask. Carefully, I say, "Why'd you enlist? I mean, most families would have disowned a kid over something like that."

Now he glances at me. His eyes are cold as stone and I visibly flinch. "What makes you think mine didn't?" His words are filled with scorn for someone else, but some of it drips onto me.

I falter. My mouth hangs open. "But, you're the only heir - " I sputter, shocked, not believing what he's implying. A sole heir wouldn't be disowned. That's extraordinarily bad. I can't even imagine what he'd done. Enlisting doesn't seem big enough to warrant such a reaction, but as I look at him, I know I can't ask. I seriously doubt my mother would have been disowned if there were no cousins, if there were no one else to claim my mother's birthright.

Hedging, he says, "You seem to know some things, for a girl who hates rich people so much."

I laugh, but there's no joy in it, "Yeah, well, let's just say life wasn't kind to my parents. I saw things from the wrong side and it took its toll on me." Suddenly I stop talking. That's my darkest secret. It fills me with anger and shame to even bring it up - anger at my Grandmother for treating her daughter so cruelly, shame that I'm not more like my mom. She has backbone that I'll never possess. I look out the window, but I still see Cole out of the corner of my eye, watching me.

"I understand," he says and glances at me again. "Things struck a little closer to home for me and it didn't matter that I was the sole heir. I enlisted to prove a point. They disowned me prove a point." He's staring out the windshield. His voice is cold. He doesn't look at me. Gripping the steering wheel of the Porsche, his knuckles turn white. I feel like I've picked open old wounds for both of us and desperately wish I could take it back. The pain in his eyes floods me and I want to take it away. That distant look, the feeling that he's not good enough - that he'll never be good enough - is plastered across his face.

Turning, I stare at him with my jaw hanging open. There's a word that's lodged itself in my throat, something I was going to say - but I've forgotten what it was.

It can't be true. He couldn't have been disinherited. Cole Stevens didn't have his family's millions? But, he's said it all along - he made Le Femme, it was his blood, sweat, and tears.

Oh my God. Staring, mouth still agape, I don't know what to say. I want to tell him that I understand, but I don't get it the way my mother does. I don't know what it feels like to have everything one day and nothing the next. His parents blindsided him. They chose money over love. They rejected their only child.

I finally say, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Shrugging, he says, "It's not your fault, so there's no reason to apologize. And no one knows. It was part of our agreement." He laughs and shakes his head like it's some cruel joke. "I was allowed to keep my name - my f*cking name - if I didn't tell anyone that I'd lost my inheritance. Even that wasn't mine. Anyway, it's a long story, but the short version is that you should never piss off a Stevens'. They have long memories and will tear you apart when you least expect it."

The savageness in his voice startles me. "But," I say softly, "you're a Stevens." You're not like them. You can't be, I think.

His eyes are on the road, staring into the inky night. "I know."

When we arrive at the studio, I'm exhausted. I stumble out of the car and follow Cole inside. The other two people staying here are already asleep. Before Cole leaves me to find my room, he says, "That shoot will be first thing tomorrow. If you have body jewelry, wear it." He doesn't look at me as he speaks. Instead, he walks over to the front desk and picks up a pile of mail, and sifts through it. My heart hammers. I nod and silently walk off to my room with my heart in my throat.

Sleep finally comes, but my dreams make me restless. I dream about Cole as a young man. I see the haunted expression in his eyes - the fact that he knows there is no such thing as forgiveness. He learned that lesson too well. There is no way he will ever forget.

The dream fades to Edward. His eyes are a void of black. Bleeding twin trails of ink spill down his pale cheeks. He says, "You destroyed me." He reaches for my throat, his fingers moving toward my eye with a black nail in his fist. I know that will make my eyes bleed black like his, that my heart will never heal. I know I'm dreaming, but I scream anyway.

I wake, frightened, and trembling. The sun is barely over the horizon. I swing my legs over the side of my bed and rub my eyes. I breathe deeply trying to push away the nightmare.

There's a knock on my door. "Come in," I say. When I look up, Cole is standing in the doorway. I'm wearing cotton shorts and a thin cami. They're dorm pajamas, which means they're guy safe. At least that's what Emma and I used to say.

Stubble lines his cheeks. A white tee shirt clings to his torso. Dark jeans hug his narrow hips, and he's barefoot. Cole seems to have something against shoes. His eyes are red like he hasn't slept. "You all right? I heard you scream."

"Yeah. Fine." I don't elaborate. I look up at him and push the rat's nest that is my hair out of my face. "What time are we shooting? Tell me it's not in fifteen minutes." I'm only half joking. Cole's a morning person. Apparently that's still true even though he's only had a few hours of sleep.