Life Before Damaged Vol 7 :The Ferro Family (Life Before Damaged #7)

T
his book is
a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by H.M. Ward

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.

LAREE BAILEY PRESS

First Edition: July 2015

“
N
o
.”

Pete's sapphire eyes snap to mine. He's been avoiding my gaze ever since he stopped kissing me, but now I have his full attention. He takes his hands out of his pockets and tucks them under his armpits, arms crossed tightly.

“What do you mean, no? Moving isn’t optional; my mother doesn’t want you disappearing on her again. Pack your bags and be ready in an hour. We have a nice guest suite waiting for you in my wing.”

His normal arrogance is enveloping him like armor. It’s what keeps him sane, but it shuts everyone out and costs him everything. I wonder if he knows. I wonder if he realizes what this barricade he erects around himself costs him.

Pete glances around Erin’s loft, his handsome face curling into an unattractive sneer. It’s obvious he thinks this is a hellhole. Where I see freedom and independence, he sees crumbling bricks and exposed pipes that are ready to collapse.

“Camp is over, Gina," he snaps at me. "You've been in the wild long enough. You don't need to slum it anymore, doing dishes or whatever it is you do around here.”

Every muscle in my body becomes rigid, and my jaw locks tight. I feel my gaze narrow as I try to keep my hands off his neck.

“You prick! Are you that blind? Can you seriously look around and not see what I see?”

Pete’s proud smile waivers for a second, but when he turns that blue gaze my way again, I see nothing but an arrogant man unable to see past his own nipples.

“Fuck it, Ferro.” I throw up my hands and step toward him, head swaying as I walk. I poke his chest with my finger, one poke for each word. “I. Am. Not. Going. Anywhere.”

Pete looks down at my finger on his chest. I leave it there for half a second. His chest doesn’t rise and fall—he stops breathing—frozen in place. It’s awesome for the three seconds it lasts.

Pete grabs my finger and pulls my hand into his, offering a panty-dropping look as he does it.

“We both already know what you really want.”

Snatching my hand back, I jerk away from him. My face crumples as I spew whatever venom I can create.

“Bend over and suck yourself, Ferro. I’m not leaving. You can’t make me and, if you try, I’ll shove Erin’s bat so far up your ass you’ll have two dicks.”

His jaw drops. Suddenly he blinks and steps back. His shoulders hunch forward a little, and he lifts his hands. I can’t tell if he’s afraid or laughing at me.

“This isn’t funny! Stop being such an asshole for five minutes and think about someone else for once. My pre-wedding living conditions were never part of the deal. I signed on the line to pretend I have feelings for you in public places, to swoonily get engaged to you on New Years’ Eve, and marry you in the summer. I’m doing those things. Nothing’s changed, except one tiny thing that doesn’t matter to you at all.”

Pete’s face softens. He steps toward me, tilting his head to the side inquisitively. His voice is soft when he speaks.

“What changed?”

I don’t answer. He swallows hard, and the air fills with crushing silence. I grind my teeth in an attempt to shut up, but it doesn’t work. That look on his face is wrong. It’s like I just offered him a puppy. What the hell is wrong with him?

“Pete!” I yell his name and throw up my hands, exasperated. “Can’t you see? I’m happy here! It’s the first time in a long time that I’m laughing again. I smiled today. Do you know how rare that is? Especially after the person I love most sold me off like fricken cattle.”

Pete presses his lips together. He takes a step toward me and places his warm hands on my arms. They’re folded across my chest tightly, putting a barricade between us. His dark lashes lower as he studies my fingers.

“Gina—”

“Get lost, Ferro, or I’ll hand her the bat.” Erin’s voice is dark and dangerous. I have no idea how long she’s been standing there.

Pete ignores her and continues to watch me. He squeezes my arm. “Come with me. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Disgusted, my jaw drops and I step away from him. Pete’s hands fall to his sides.

“I have nothing to prove to you. I'm enjoying caring for myself and pitching in around the apartment. My favorite thing, Master Ferro,” I arch my eyebrow and smirk at him, “has nothing to do with sex or money. And I’m not giving it up yet, so go be a good little messenger boy and tell your mother I am staying right here. If she needs to contact me, she can call my cell phone.”

Erin rips a piece of paper in half and hands it to me. I pull one of the pens from my hair. After jotting down my number, I stuff the paper in his hand.

“Now she knows where to reach me. If she’s still not happy, she can stuff her opinions up her ass. Who knows? Maybe she'll like it and smile for a change.”

Erin’s eyes go wide. She mouths, DAMN, before disappearing into the bathroom. I know she’s trying to give us space. She can’t tell if I want him here or not. I can’t blame her since I can’t decide. One second he’s great and the next he’s an asshat.

Pete pushes his hair out of his eyes and smiles at the wrinkled paper. He smooths the note, folds it, and puts it in his pocket. His mouth quirks up to one side as a challenging expression transforms his face.

“Just one question?”

I glare at him. “What?”

“May I quote you on that?” He smiles and lowers his gaze before looking back up to meet mine. I think he’s laughing inside. “I’m sure my mother would love to receive that message verbatim.”

I stand there, tapping my one bunny slippered foot against the floor, arms folded over my chest. My brows rise defiantly, implying I’m all backbone and not made of jelly.

“Go ahead. Use air quotes. Write it on her forehead if you have to, but get my point across: I’m not leaving.”

Pete smiles that charming fake grin of his, and nods. He collects his helmet and heads toward the door.

“This is between you and her," he says over his shoulder. "I can’t wait to see how it goes down. By the way, I love your outfit. I want you wearing that on our wedding night, friend.”

Pete leans in and chucks my chin. I shake it off and frown at him. He looks me up and down, taking in my less-than-sexy pajamas. He places a hand on his chest, mocking a heart attack.

“Seriously, what guy wouldn’t want his bride dressed like that?” With his sexy smirk in place, he winks at me. My stomach dips and falls into my slippers. Pete turns away before I can say anything and disappears through the door. Before it closes behind him, my bunny slipper flies across the room and hits the back of the door. I can hear him chuckling down the hallway as he disappears into the night.

M
rs. Ferro has been silent
, which freaked me out at first. I half expected her to show up later that night.

Over the three days since Pete left with my message, the only repercussion of our conversation has been for a Ferro Family chauffeur to arrive for my convenience. He seems constantly available, shuttling me from place to place in a discreet black sedan, quiet and professional from the driver's seat.

While it appears to be a kind and generous gesture on her part, I know it's her way to ensure I don't make a mad dash for Syrupland and a new Mountie boyfriend. I love Canada. Monitoring my movement is her way of intimidating me, but I won't give in. Constance Ferro will not dictate where or how I live—at least not until I marry her son. Until then, I intend to enjoy my life as best I can.

After dancing the weekend away at the swing club, Erin, Ricky and I close the festivities with a Sunday evening party at Ricky’s place.

Ricky's loft is located directly below ours and could be a carbon copy, minus the paint stains and scattered artwork. Instead, his place has a retro, male bachelor pad look to it. Vinyl records, a vintage pinball machine, a pool table, and a collection of Betty Page posters in various stages of undress make the place feel vibrant and hip.

An earlier makeover shopping session with Erin was hellish in the moment, but so totally worth it in the end. With my new tight-fitting jeans, a plaid shirt tied at my waist, and Erin's masterful hair and makeup job, I resemble a 40's pinup model. Plus, the new threads look great with the leather jacket Pete gave me. Badass bonus!

Gina: 1.

Pete: no jacket.

I’m laughing again. A smile constantly lines my lips. My confidence is at an all-time high, and the party is in full swing, fun and upbeat, with people smiling, dancing and singing along with a karaoke machine up on the mezzanine. The brave and vocally blessed walk upstairs to perform while we dance like fans at a rock concert on the floor below.

Everyone here is a stranger, save Erin and Ricky, but a group of particularly boisterous men catch my attention. They seem to own this party. They are definitely thrill seekers, with an adventurous beach-boy, skater thing going on. Whenever a member of their group is done singing on the mezz, they let themselves fall, arms folded across their chests, from the top floor into the waiting arms of their friends below. I screeched so loudly when the first guy fell, the whole room noticed and laughed. It was classic Gina. Erin will never let me live it down. And my face was red enough that even in the shadows, people could tell.

Old Gina would have hidden under a table for the rest of the night. New Gina owns it. I threw up my arms and spun around, laughing. It didn’t make my blush go away, but everyone cheered. If you got it, own it. I’m embracing my inner dork, and she’s thriving.

Erin and I dance among the crowd of people. It feels so great to let go and forget life for a while. I close my eyes and let the rhythm take over. My arms and hips do as they want, and I become one with the music. It's liberating.

Dancing has always been my salvation and my escape. This is where I excel. When I'm dancing, I can be the person I want. I'm music's slave, losing myself in a trance of beats and lyrical sensuality.

The room warms as people pack in tighter. My clothes stick to my slick skin as I work up a sweat, not caring how I look. My red lips spread across my face in a wide, happy smile. The music shifts suddenly and we adjust.

The new song is a bit edgier, with a dirty, gritty rock beat to it. I pause to find the beat, and then surrender to the music once more. I'm in my own world, grinding my hips against an imaginary dance partner, hands above my head.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I feel a pair of eyes on me. I glance up and, among the crowd of people dancing, dark brown eyes stare into mine. It's one of the thrill-seekers. He's handsome, with tan skin and chestnut hair that has obviously passed the needs-a-haircut stage. It curls out at the ends and around his face.

He has the friendliest smile—it’s warm—like butter. I love butter. I want to marry butter! I laugh and keep dancing.

I noticed Hot Guy earlier. He arrived a bit later than the others. They all greeted him with boisterous cheers and slaps on the back. Women have been flocking to him non-stop all evening, but he's staring right at me, smiling. It's not an icky, predatory look, either.

We both keep dancing on opposite ends of the floor, giving each other occasional glances and flirty smiles. Why would the hottest guy here be interested in me? My thoughts are interrupted by a familiar voice at the microphone.

"This one is for my bestie,” Erin strangles the mic and continues, “and I need you guys to get her up here. Knowing her, she'll run out of the room crying within the next second. Gina, baby! Get your skinny, bony ass up here!"

Erin points a finger at me from the mezzanine and crooks it in a ‘come here’ way. Her evil smirk is on. The crowd around me follows her gaze to me, then shoves me toward the stairs of the mezzanine. I pass Hot Guy on my way up, and he puts a hand on my lower back, nudging me toward the stairs.

"Have fun, Mystery Girl," he whispers in my ear.

I turn my head around just enough to see him out of the corner of my eyes and say, "You may want to cover your ears, Mystery Guy. I've broken mirrors by singing in the shower."

As he starts to laugh at my comment, I run up the stairs to meet Erin. She hands me the second mic.

"I can't believe you made it up here without being carried," she yell-whispers. "I'm impressed."

Feeling bold, I grab the mic and talk into it while pointing my finger at the people watching me.

“Prepare to have your asses rocked off.” They laugh. That sort of came out wrong.

Erin presses a button on the karaoke machine. The title of the song appears on the screen as the opening notes ring out from the speaker below. It's a popular song about surviving a bad breakup and coming out stronger, female empowerment in musical form. The crowd below cheers as they recognize the song. Hot Guy is looking up at me.

When the words start to flash across the screen, Erin and I give it all we've got. The vocal range of the song is much too high for me. I sound like a cat caught in an accordion. Screech, shrill. Screech, shrill. Wow, I suck. But I keep on signing, missing every single note. It’s a spectacular failure.

As expected, some people cover their ears and cringe, but I don't run away. With Erin by my side, we lovingly massacre the song with our singing voices. I glance down at Hot Guy once in a while, and he just laughs, giving me a thumbs up.

We're bringing suckage to new levels. Someone is holding up their phone. You Tube, here we come. Instastar! I walk up to the edge of the stage and sing my heart out to the crowd, and they cheer on my fansuckingtastic rendition of the song.

Our performance eventually ends and everyone applauds and cheers our overwhelming mediocrity. Erin gives me a hug after which I hand her the mic and back up to the edge of the stage. Erin's eyes go wide.

"Gina, what the hell are you doing?"

I raise my eyebrows at her and look down briefly over my shoulder, making sure there are people below and that they have seen me. Hot Guy nods and moves in closer below the mezz. My heart pounds furiously, and I feel like I can fly. I'm invincible.

I can do this.

"Gina, are you fucking insane? Get back here!” Erin's face is a jumbled mixture of skepticism and terror. She doesn't think I've got the guts to do it, but she's also scared shitless that I might do it anyway.

I wave my fingers at her, smirking as I cross my arms over my chest and pivot. I clutch my shoulders, lean back, and let myself drop.