Lady and the Champ (28 page)

I know I shouldn’t say anything. Arguing with him never gets me anywhere but back up in my bedroom nursing bruises. “It’s my business, not yours.”

His eyes narrow. “Not unless you can pay me back for the little business loan we arranged. You know that. And you’re pretty deep into back payments at the moment.” He swirls more spaghetti around his fork. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter in the long run. When we get married, it’ll be half mine anyway in the eyes of the law.”

“Married—” I start, almost choking on the word, but he’s still talking.

“Even though technically it’s mine already. I paid for it.”

He’s right. Sort of. His money paid for it; my money hasn’t been sufficient yet to pay back the loan. Otherwise I wouldn’t be putting up with him on a daily basis. Otherwise I wouldn’t be living in his house and allowing him free access to my body. He has me bent over a barrel. Between a rock and a hard place. Whatever cliché you prefer, but none of them quite match the level of anger, hatred, and despair that’s become the everyday normal for my life over the last several months. The backs of my eyes start to burn, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to break down in front of Sal.

“So, we’ll get married,” Sal continues, and my stomach lurches, “and then I’ll take care of the bakery. I’ll figure out some way to turn a profit, even if it means collecting on the insurance money.”

I know exactly what he’s talking about. “Well,” I spit, and I know, again, that I’d be better off if I just kept my big, stupid mouth shut, “I guess you know best.”

I turn on my heel and head upstairs. At least I have my own room—I can lock the door and not have to worry about Sal busting in and demanding sex, or just busting in and hitting me. I flop ungracefully onto the bed and sob, because there’s not one damn thing else I can do.

* * *

S
al doesn’t bother
me that night—thank God—and the next morning he seems pretty even keeled. Which is a nice change. I go about my business, trying to pretend my business is really mine, trying to believe I can really accomplish something with my life. It’s a nice delusion, I guess.

Things stay quiet for a couple of days, which is a welcome relief. Then, one morning when I’m on my way out the door to go to the bakery, Sal says, “We’ve got dinner tonight. Try to be home a little early so you can be sure to be presentable.”

Great, I think. What the hell has he got going on now? But when I get home, early as requested, he’s all smiles.

“Did you forget it’s your birthday, Sarah? Go get changed—I’ve got a big surprise for you at dinner.”

My brain is just stupid enough to jump a little in anticipation. Maybe he’s actually going to do something nice for me. After all, it’s my birthday. I hadn’t forgotten, of course, but I hadn’t been thinking about it much, either.

I change into a lacy black dress and heels and drape a string of pearls around my neck. I look good. Damn good, if I do say so myself. Sal makes an approving noise as I come down the stairs, and as we head for the car, he actually takes my hand. It’s almost affectionate.

What the hell is he up to?

The restaurant he takes me to is pretty upscale, so I’m glad I erred on the site of fancier clothes. I see several familiar cars in the parking lot—dark sedans, which are thoroughly stereotypical but still practical for the mob types Sal hangs with. I can’t imagine he’s invited a bunch of his colleagues for my birthday party. He doesn’t like me enough for that.

When we go inside, the maître d’ greets Sal with a wide grin. “Everything’s ready, Mr. De Luca.” He turns to me. “And you must be the birthday girl.”

“Um, yeah, I guess I am.” I’m starting to get nervous now, and even more so when the maître d’ loops his arm through my elbow.

“This way, then,” he says, and leads us both toward the back part of the restaurant.

The whole back section is a separate room, and as Sal and I enter the door, everyone at the tables stands and starts to applaud. “Oh, my God,” I whisper. He really
has
invited all his colleagues for a birthday party. I recognize several faces from the party, and of course I recognize Phil Spada, Sal’s boss.

And there’s Nick Angelino. His gaze catches mine and he gives me a smile that’s just a shade too warm for plain courtesy, but I don’t think anybody sees it but me. Sal certainly doesn’t; he’s too busy shaking people’s hands as he moves after the maître d’ to our seats near the middle of the big table.

Once we’re seated, I try to focus on what’s going on around me. I’m getting birthday greetings left and right, from people I know and even more people I don’t. It’s overwhelming, especially since I’m still nervous about what Sal’s ulterior motives might be.

Maybe it’s just a birthday party.
My conscience nags me with this, but I know better. There’s never a “just” anything with Sal. Or with any of these men, for that matter. It would behoove me to remember that.

I forget it again, though, when I catch sight of Nick again. He’s sitting next to a pretty girl in a dark-blue dress with an incredibly low neckline. He seems to be chatting her up, but I don’t get the sense from their body language that they’re a couple. Certainly not a long-term couple, by any means. There’s a certain distance between them that tells me they were probably thrown together specifically for this party. That’s fine. He might be expected to take her home after dinner, but that doesn’t mean he will.

He meets my gaze again, as if he senses I’m looking at him. I look quickly away, but then I can’t keep from glancing back not even a second later. Nick grins, and my whole body goes hot. I’m so happy to see him I can barely contain it, but at the same time I’m so acutely aware of Sal next to me and what his reaction would be if he knew what I was thinking. If he knew what Nick and I did the other day in the back rooms of the bakery.

I can feel the warmth of Nick’s mouth on mine, the shape of his hand burned onto my breast. My nipples go hard and start to tingle as if he’s actually touching them. I have to make myself switch my attention or surely someone will realize I’m paying way too much attention to Nick and not enough to Sal.

The food arrives along with wine, and it’s enough of a distraction that I’m able to keep my eyes to myself for a few minutes. It’s wonderful food—fork-tender steak, pasta cooked perfectly al dente, fresh vegetables grilled and seasoned so they taste like summer. My stomach’s twisting around itself, not sure if it’s terrified or elated, but I still manage to eat because the food’s just that good. And from time to time I feel Nick’s eyes on me, and sometimes I shift just a little so I can meet his gaze.

The surreptitious glances start to feel like a love affair all on their own. I lay a hand on my lap, my fingers idly brushing the inside of my thigh. What if it were his hand? What if he could come right under the table, climb up under my dress, and bury his face between my legs? My whole body goes weak just thinking about it.

I shouldn’t be thinking about it. I should focus on Sal. But I can’t help it. After a few seconds it’s like I can actually feel Nick’s tongue on me, stroking, stabbing, teasing. My clit starts to throb, and the pulsing spreads up inside my body. My pussy feels hot and swollen. I squeeze my legs tight together, trying to get the sensations back under control, but the action only turns the heat up higher.

Finally I resolve not to look at Nick again for the rest of the evening. That doesn’t last long, but the next time I glance up, he’s paying attention to the woman who’s probably his date, and he doesn’t look back.

That’s fine. I need to chill the hell out before I draw any attention to myself. I feel like I’m so aroused, Sal must be able to smell it. That’s ridiculous, of course, but still. I clear my throat, dab wine from my lips with my napkin, and focus resolutely on the last few bites of my steak.

That’s when Sal pushes up from his seat, wineglass in hand. He taps the glass with his spoon. He’s going to make a toast, obviously. Toast to the birthday girl, I assume, and my face goes hot. I blush too easily, I know, especially when I’ve had a bit to drink.

“Attention, everybody!” Sal calls, and the chatter and general hubbub around the table fades. “I’d like to make a toast to Sarah, the birthday girl, who’s been by my side now for…” He glances at his watch, which garners a few laughs. “Several months now.” More soft laughter. I know exactly how long it’s been, practically to the minute. I’m sure he actually doesn’t, unless he’s been counting down the minutes until he can fuck me over by yanking my business out from under me. I struggle to make myself watch him with a smile on my face. I hope I look like an adoring girlfriend and not like I’m nauseated.

“Happy birthday, Sarah,” he says, “and many happy, healthy returns.” He turns toward me and I have no real choice but to stand and touch my glass to his. As I sip the wine, I want more than anything to see what Nick’s doing, but I know I can’t. I keep my focus on Sal.

“Now,” Sal goes on. “I also have an announcement to make, and I hope you’ll indulge me for a few more minutes.”

An announcement? I wonder what that’s about. Everyone at the table is listening raptly. Out of curiosity, I search out Phil Spada, just to judge his reaction. His face is set in a slight smile, completely appropriate for the situation. There’s nothing to read from his expression at all, except that maybe he’s pleased I’ve made it to another birthday.

“Like I said,” Sal is saying, “Sarah and I have been together now for a while, and it’s becoming more and more clear to me that she’s, well…” He trails off, turns to let his eyes meet mine. There’s warmth in them, which surprises me, but a second later I realize it’s just put on for the crowd. The corners of his mouth are still tight, no matter what kind of smile he’s managing, no matter how adoring he’s trying to make himself look. “Well,” he starts up again, “she’s the girl for me. So I’m very happy to announce tonight that Sarah and I have decided to tie the knot.”

He turns toward the others at the table and lifts his glass. “As of yesterday afternoon, we’re officially engaged.”

 
M
y face goes hot
, then icy cold. I just stand there staring. I have no idea what to do. I barely feel it when Sal reaches out to touch my arm, tracing his fingers down to my hand and lifting it. He kisses the back of my hand and then slides a ring over my finger. It’s got a big diamond in it, and the light flickers back from the facets—the only thing I really see right now. My hands are shaking, but I can’t feel the tips of my fingers.

He lifts my hand again to kiss it now that it’s properly bejeweled. The ring feels heavy, like I’ve got a brick attached to my finger. Then Sal pulls me against him and kisses me, right there in front of Phil Spada, Frank, Leo, Chris…all of them.

And Nick.

I barely dare try to look at Nick, but I do. I have no idea what kind of expression is on my face. It feels like a frozen smile, but for all I know I’m grimacing with the desperation squeezing tight in my chest. Nick meets my gaze. The soft smile is gone, his mouth thin and tight against his teeth. His green eyes spark. They shift to Sal, and it wouldn’t take much stretching of the imagination to see lasers shooting out of them, drilling holes in Sal’s head.

But of course it doesn’t happen, and I’m left standing there while Sal moves aside, letting the various dinner guests approach me.

“What a wonderful birthday present!” an older woman tells me, pressing my hand with hers. “You must be so happy!”

“Congratulations! You’ll make a beautiful bride.”

“Happy birthday! Have you two decided on a date yet?”

It goes on and on. My voice switches to automatic, and I thank everyone for their well wishes as they come to shake my hand, to shake Sal’s hand, to
oooh
and
aaah
over my ring. I’ve gone numb, which is good, because if I could actually feel anything I’d burst into tears.

Nick comes up to me, too. I suppose if he didn’t it would look strange, since everyone else in the room is congratulating Sal and me. He takes my hand and presses it between his own. Muttering, “Congratulations,” he looks deep into my eyes as if he’s trying to get me to read his mind. I nod and say thanks, not sure what he’s trying to get across to me. But he wants something from me, I can tell that much. The idea of it calms me a little.

There are a few more toasts to my health, to Sal’s, to our future life together. Finally the spotlight moves off us, and the guests start to mill around the room, breaking off into small conversational groups.

Sal is still next to me, though. I need to get away. I lean over and tell him I’m going to the ladies’, then I hightail it out of the room, tears choking me all the way out.

Going to the ladies’ room will be too obvious; if Sal realizes I’ve been gone too long, it’s the first place he’ll look. So I head the other direction and make my way to the back part of the restaurant. There’s a door that says EMPLOYEES ONLY; I glance around and see no one nearby, so I push it open and head into the big, dark room beyond it. It’s a storage room of some kind, with shelves covered with supplies—bags of flour, pots and pans, canned goods, bottles. Surely nobody will look for me here.

My breath is catching in my chest, trying to make sobs, but I won’t let it as I make my way as far back into the room as I can. Finally I reach the back wall. I let myself slide down to the floor, where I put my head in my hands and finally let it all out in wrenching, tearing, painful sobs that make my chest hurt.

It’s a full-on ugly cry, definitely not the kind of thing you want anybody witnessing. It’s so bad, in fact, I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to stop.

I’ve lost control of my emotions; I’ve lost control of my life. All I wanted was a little bakery to call my own, and now I’m stuck with an abusive boyfriend who won’t let me out from under his thumb.

Fiancé,
I correct myself.
Apparently he’s your fiancé.
I look down at the diamond on my hand. It’s huge, reflecting the faint light in the room, trying to twinkle. I can’t be happy about it. I can’t be happy about any of this. All I can do is cry.

There’s a faint sound suddenly, and I freeze. Is somebody in here with me? I picture rats, and the idea makes me even more nauseated than I was. I try to drag back the sob that’s in the process of escaping from my mouth. There’s another sound, and the light in the room shifts. Somebody’s opened the door where I came in.

Dammit. Did they follow me? Did Sal send somebody after me? My hands start to shake. I won’t go back to that room where everybody can see what Sal’s announcement has done to me. Won’t let them see that I’ve been crying. I shrink back against the wall as far as I can.

“Sarah?” The voice is quiet. I can tell it’s a man, but I can’t tell who. I press my hand against my mouth, biting my finger to keep my sobs under control. Then a dark shadow approaches and fills the space between the shelves in front of me. “Sarah?” he says again.

It’s Nick.

“Oh my God.” I leap up from the floor and throw myself at him. I’ve got no pride left; I can’t afford it. “Nick.” The sobbing starts again, and I’m not even embarrassed, not really. But my heartbeat has sped up, and suddenly my breath is rasping in my throat. I feel like I might be about to explode. “Nick, please.”

He returns my embrace, his arms gentle around me. How is he part of this mess, where all these men do nothing but exert control whatever way they can? How is it that he and Sal have the same job, the same boss? I can’t get my head around it.

His voice is still gentle, and he cups the back of my head with one hand. “Shhh, Sarah. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not. It’s not okay. It’ll never be okay.” I struggle to breathe. “I can’t marry him, Nick. I never said I would. He never even asked me—he just…” I stop, trying to catch my breath.

“Slow down,” he says quietly. “You’re hyperventilating. I think you’re having a panic attack.”

I nod and try to get myself back under control. “Deep breath,” he says. “Deep breath.”

Finally my breathing eases back to a more normal rate. I clench my fists against Nick’s chest and look up into his face. His eyes are glittering in the dim light. “I can’t marry Sal. I just can’t. I don’t want to. He’s… He hits me, Nick. I can’t live with that. Help me. Can you help me?”

His hands tighten on my arms, and I see his mouth press into a hard line. “Come with me. Right now. We’ll get the hell out of here. I’ll take you to my place. You can stay there. Sal won’t know where you are, and he won’t be able to force you to do anything. I promise.”

I nod, scrubbing my hands over my cheeks to wipe away the tears. I have to look horrible, my nose running, eyes red and swollen. But Nick’s looking down at me like there’s nothing wrong at all, and what I can see of his expression is gentle, almost caring.

Still, I have to remember who he is and who he works for. “What’s in it for you?” I ask him. Because there’s no way he’s offering to help me just out of the kindness of his heart.

He chuckles. “Nothing for now.” Then he hesitates, and his hands stroke over my shoulders. “Okay, not necessarily
nothing
. For now, I just want you to come with me. Stay at my house. And then maybe we’ll talk about finishing what we started back at the bakery.”

Of course. There’s always some bargain to be made. With Sal I traded myself for my bakery. Nick wants me in exchange for protection. It’s wrong, and I know it, but at the same time something about Nick feels different than Sal. I don’t feel dirty when Nick touches me. Even after what he just said, I don’t feel like he wants to use me. Maybe I’m kidding myself.

But then he lowers his head, and his lips brush against mine. I lean toward him with a soft moan that I can’t help.

“You deserve better than him,” Nick murmurs against my mouth. “So much better.”

I press my mouth against his, wanting to be closer. The panic is starting to leave me. “I probably deserve better than you, too,” I mutter.

He chuckles. “No doubt.” But then he drags me close up against him and kisses me hard, his mouth pressing hard into mine. His tongue moves between my lips, touches my tongue, dances with it. I open wider, letting him in.

It’s like the kiss from before, at the bakery, but different. He’s a bit more reserved, like he’s trying to be gentler, or persuasive, rather than just doing his best to slake a thirst. I don’t mind either way. He tastes good to me. Like something I need.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

He reaches up and strokes my hair away from my face. I can’t be beautiful—not at the moment, anyway. I’ve been crying my heart out for, God—fifteen minutes? Thirty? There’s no way I’m not streaky and swollen. Yet he seems to mean what he said.

His mouth moves away from mine, his lips walking up the side of my face to my ear, where he nibbles a moment, nipping the curve of my ear all around the row of earrings. Then he draws the lobe between his lips, lets it go. One of his hands lowers, cupping my breast, teasing my nipple through my dress. I let out another involuntary gasp. He’s pressing closer to me, pinning me against the back wall of the storeroom. I let him. Right now I don’t want to be anywhere else. God knows I don’t want to be with Sal. And while I’ve still got some doubts about Nick’s motives, I figure anything is better than going back home.

God, I hope I’m right.

I push the thoughts out of my head—all of them, leaving just a blank space behind. Right now I only want to feel.

Nick is giving me every opportunity to do just that. While one hand continues to tease my breast, the other moves down, cupping me between my legs. After a moment his fingers start to walk against my thigh, inching my skirt up until he can move his hand under it. Then his fingers are right up against my panties.

“You’re so hot,” he mutters, fingers questing. He kisses me again while he explores between my legs, testing me through the cotton of my panties then sliding one finger under the edge and into the hot wetness beneath. A finger slides inside, and I jerk with the shock of it.

Two fingers inside, then he’s pressing the heel of his hand against my mound, and I start grinding against it.

Yeah, I’m humping his hand, and I don’t even care. It feels good. It’s something I’m doing on my own, just because I want to. No matter what Nick’s ulterior motives might be, he has yet to do anything I didn’t want him to do. In my world, that goes a long way, and how sad is that, really?

At the moment it doesn’t matter. I keep rocking on his hand, his fingers driving inside me, the heel of his hand rubbing against my clit with each wavelike movement of my hips. Heat builds between my legs. He kisses me, taking my mouth hard, and then bites down the side of my neck. His teeth dig into my shoulder, and suddenly I tense, shudder, and I can feel wetness sliding along his fingers. He laughs against my skin, his teeth still tight. Some perverse part of me hopes he’s left a mark.

“Nick,” I breathe when I start to slide down from the climax. I reach down between his legs, feeling the hard length of his erection, but he tips his hips back.

“No,” he says. “It’s okay. Later.”

I look into his face, barely able to catch the glitter of his eyes. “Later?”

“Yeah.” Reaching down, he lifts the hand I’ve got curled around him. It’s my left hand. He kisses my palm, then he takes my ring finger into his mouth. His teeth nip down the full length, until they close right behind Sal’s engagement ring. Then he slides back, and I realize he’s keeping the ring behind his teeth.

It comes off my finger. I feel a strangely euphoric sense of relief seeing my hand bare. And then Nick grins. He’s holding the ring between his teeth, the diamond in front, catching the faint light and tossing it back.

He pulls it back and spits it across the room. There’s a faint “ting” as it hits the floor.

“Let’s go,” says Nick, and we go.