Unveiled (Torn #6)(22)



Maybe Dimitris’s love was my own delusional making, too. Who f*uking knew anymore? I was cracking, and there was no way of stopping it. I felt off my rockers, ready to detonate any second. God help me for whatever I said or did next.

I had never seen him so vexed until tonight, and for some insane reason, I wanted to get away from him. Seeing his face and how callous he had been minutes before merely reminded me of what Brody had spoken about in the coffee shop, and I wasn’t ready to deal with that.

Taking another hasty swipe of my wet face, I pulled out of the parking lot, driving as if cops were on my tail. I had never drifted through traffic at such a speedy rate. One would think I raced cars for a living. It was irresponsible and negligent, yet I had never felt freer. Was this why Mom had done it? Because it was an easy way out of her problems? It wasn’t as if I was truly contemplating suicide. No, of course not. However, being in this position made one think of crazy things, and I could easily see why someone would choose the reckless route out of their perdition.

It was rather surprising, given the tight leash cops had around the folks of Santa Barbara, that no one stopped me. I was going over a hundred at one point, and in the back of my head, I was waiting for the loud siren and the red flashing lights to come after me, yet the coast was clear. Guess today isn’t going to end with a loud bang, I derisively thought. I mean, after the kind of day I’d had, I was wishing for a person to say “cut” like they did in movies, because this kind of shit-cakes didn’t just happen, thumping one problem after the other without pause, except in overly dramatic movies. But, hey, given how my life had been as of late, one could make it into a film. It was definitely filled with enough angst and drama to capture Hollywood’s attention.

I could just imagine the horror of the Greek population if I “sold” my story that way, though. They’d probably hire a bounty hunter because I had disgraced one of their finest Greeks. Oh well. As they all stated in those vile newspaper articles, I was a whore, a cheater, a man stealer, anything along the lines of disgusting; therefore, they could all go f*uk themselves, thank you very much.

The moment my house came into view, I gunned the gas pedal harder, past caring that I was over the residential speed limit of twenty-five miles per hour to almost five times that until I hit the driveway, drastically parking behind Trista’s Mercedes. I felt like a possessed woman as I yanked at my purse then exited the car, slamming the door shut with all my might.

Three steps in, I could hear Dimitris’s car screeching to a halt behind me. Suddenly, my legs felt shaky. For him to chase after me after he had persisted that he was about to fly out of the country … Well, it couldn’t be good. The sound of the powerful engine itself gave away how incensed the driver was. Oh. f*uking. Well.

I was counting until I heard the car door open and close, my heart jumping from every sound he made.

“Do you plan to f*uking kill yourself, Lindsey? Have you no care for how recklessly dangerous you were driving in heavy traffic?”

Spinning around to face him, I didn’t let his livid demeanor faze me. I simply gazed at him, waiting for him to get out whatever it was that was bothering him. Gripping my leather purse handle as I panted heavily, I took in his wild eyes as he charged at me.

“Have you nothing to say, woman?” he demanded, uncaring that he was bellowing so loud the neighbors could very well hear the drama unfolding without trying. “What’s gotten into you?” he almost spat in my face. “Have you lost your bloody mind? Or are you trying to punish me because I didn’t want to marry you? That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Go home,” I said as calmly as I could, not wanting to lose it out on the street. “I’ll see you in New York.” Giving him a cutting last glance, I dismissed him by calmly walking away from him, heading towards the entrance of the house.

I had barely cracked the door open when I heard Trista’s voice. “Dude, the Greek God’s been scouring for you. Where the f*uk—OH!” She paused, giving me a shocked look before her eyes landed on the space behind me, and then she scuttled away towards the stairs and into her bedroom.

Wise girl. She knew what trouble looked like, and it practically defined me right that instant.

So he decided to follow me inside, I thought heatedly. Great. Just great. It wasn’t like I had any armor left to keep taking shots. If he planned to lecture me about my driving skills, he could shove it back to where it came from. Any more talks about marriage, Claudine, Brody, or my past actions would send me off my rockers, which left us with nothing to talk about, really. I didn’t even bother going to my bedroom, deciding to confront him right out there in the open.

“What do you want from me, Lindsey?” his voice came out eerie, like he was pushed to the limits by my actions. He probably was.

“You,” I readily said before facing his grim face. “I just want you.”

“You have me—you know you do—but what you’re asking of me,” he paused, letting out a short breath before saying, “it’s just not conceivable. You can’t rebel each time you don’t agree with me. A functional relationship doesn’t work like that. What you did just now—you frightened me, Lindsey! You can’t act like a spoiled child and not consider the consequences of your actions. Grow up, or the people that care around you won’t survive long.”

“I’m sorry. You just…” I frowned, blatantly frustrated with him. “After what happened with Carter and you announcing that you’re leaving a day early… I just wanted to be with you a little while longer. It kills me to know you’re easily accessible to Claudine. I want you—all of you—and these little moments you have with her … it’s driving me crazy with jealousy. You’re mine, and I expected more from you. What happened to that promise you made me when you came here months ago, that you’d do everything in your power to have me in your life? What happened to that promise, Dimi? It’s not even about the marriage anymore, it’s Claudine. I hate whatever it is that you two have.”

Pamela Ann's Books