Page 38 of A Sinner's Virtue
“What do you mean?”
I don’t know what I’m doing, why I feel like I just need to tell him my story. Maybe it’ll make him leave me, and then I won’t have to worry about trying to be good enough for him.
“I was owned. When I was seventeen, my father owed some people—some very bad people—a lot of money. He didn’t have it, so he gave me to them instead. As payment. The men then auctioned me off to recoup their losses, I guess. And I was… Well, someone bought me. I was owned… and he…” My heart races. My eyes burn. I can’t keep going. I shake my head and skip to the end. “Mikhail and Izzy found me. They saved me.”
“Zoe, I’m sorry that happened to you. I really fucking am. No one should ever go through something like that. If those fuckers were still alive, I’d end them. But something tells me Mikhail and Izzy got to them first,” Marcel says, his voice calm. So eerily calm.
I nod. “They’re all dead. They can’t find me anymore. But I can’t go back to that. I don’t want to be owned. By anyone. Ever.”
“That’s never going to happen to you again, Zoe. I won’t let it.” Marcel picks me up, settling me on his lap before his lips press to my forehead. “I promise I won’t ever let anything happen to you.”
“You can’t promise that. You can’t control the world,” I tell him, and he grins.
“Watch me.”
I climb off his lap and off the bed, walking into my bathroom. Where I grab the robe from the back of the door, shoving my arms through the sleeves and wrapping the soft fabric around myself. “It’s okay if you want to leave. You don’t have to stay,” I say as soon as I walk back out to the bedroom.
“You want Chinese or pizza?” he asks, ignoring the easy out I just gave him.
“What?”
“For dinner, Chinese or pizza?”
“Pizza?” I reply, though I can hear the question in my voice. I’m still confused as to what is going on right now, why Marcel isn’t running for the hills.
“Great. Pick a movie. I’ll order the food.” He taps the empty side of the bed, his way of telling me to join him.
I really don’t know how I found this guy, or why he’s being so understanding of my issues. I get I probably can’t keep him, but I’d sure like to.
“Oh, by the way, we’re having dinner at my house tomorrow night, with my brother and El. She’s, ah, been through a lot lately and I figured a family dinner will do them good. And truth is, it’s probably about time you met them,” Marcel says casually.
I stare at him, open-mouthed. “You want me to meet your family?”
“Yes.” That’s all he gives me. No further explanation.
“What if… I don’t know, Marcel. I can’t control when I’m going to freak out.”
“First of all, you don’t freak out, babe. It’s your body’s reaction to a past traumatic event. Completely normal. Second, I couldn’t give a fuck if you did. I’ll be there, and if you need to leave, I’ll get you out of there so fast your head will spin. Now, pick a movie, and don’t overthink it. It’s just dinner.”
Just dinner. It’s not just dinner, though. It’s meeting the family.
I’m nervous, but that’s to be expected, right? Meeting the family for the first time isn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do. It’s not the hardest either. But I want Marcel’s family to like me. I never had a huge family growing up. It was always just my mother, my father, and me. They didn’t have a bunch of relatives—well, none that I knew of.
Now, I have Mikhail and Izzy. The whole Valentino/Petrov clan. Although they didn’t have much choice when it came to accepting me or not. I think they’re all afraid of what Izzy would do to them if they didn’t.
A man who looks just like Marcel, except crankier, walks in first. Followed by another man and then a woman. I’m gathering the last to enter are Gio and Eloise. Marcel’s eldest brother has that presence around him that screams boss. I’ve met enough of them now to know it. It’s the woman who has my skin going cold, though.
“Everyone, this is Zoe. Zoe, this is everyone,” Marcel says.
“Hi, I’m El. It’s so great to meet you,” the woman says with a small, tight smile. Forced or pained. From the looks of her, maybe a bit of both.
I can’t stop staring at her. Someone’s hurt her. How is she standing here pretending she’s okay with her face covered in bruises?
“Hi. Zoe. Can you… ah… show me to the bathroom?” I introduce myself while my thoughts are going a million miles an hour, trying to figure out a way to get her away from the men in this room.
Eloise looks to her husband and I can see the terror in her eyes.
“I can show you,” Marcel says.
