Page 127 of His Pretty Little Duet

They use.

He did both.

He remains neutral, eyeing me with scepticism shifting over his rough, hard features. Then a hint of approval taps at a corner of his mouth—a tick of a grin. "Okay. Let's discuss your father. But if you are set on talking business with an old man then it would be customary to offer him a whiskey."

I breathe out my relief, nodding at him in agreement. "Okey dokey. I can do that. Clay keeps his whiskey in the office."

His grin slides a hint further, and his arms widen, indicating that the next move is mine. That I should lead the way. It's a kind of act because, I am certain, he knows exactly where the whiskey is kept.

Even though I know the way to Clay's office, I second guess myself at a few corners in the hallway, but Luca pretends not to notice.

When we enter the rich navy-blue office space with the delicate wooden trimming around the recessed ceiling, I rush towards the glowing cabinet and cringe as I try the glass door, hoping it's unlocked.

It is.

I pour into a short glass, stopping at about halfway up the globe, but as I go to screw the cap back on the bottle of whiskey, Luca says, "And one for yourself, my girl."

I look at the carpet and notice the cream-coloured fibres entwined with slightly darker ones, the image of me on my knees as I tried to rip the miss-coloured fibres out flashes behind my eyes.

I clear my throat.

Pouring myself a glass that matches his, I ignore the memory. I sit down on the sofa opposite him, setting his glass down on the table between us. And his silence is so powerful; I bet men and women spill all their secrets and show all their cards as he assesses the scene in effortless pensive silence. "I don't know what to ask because I don't know anything about him. All I know is that he is my blood, and everyone hates him, and I can't help but feel— Were you ever…friends?"

He grabs the glass. "No." He leans back and hangs his thick arm over the back of the leather sofa, rocking the amber liquid in his glass with his thumb and forefinger. "I despised him from the moment we met."

I swallow hard, those words moving deep into my heart as though he were talking about me. I lift my chin to hide the vicarious hurt. "Why did you despise him?"

"You are not your father."

"I didn't say?—"

"Bad blood within the Families isn’t uncommon, but made men take an oath and we keep the peace. There is alotof bad blood when it comes to your father and the people I care about. A lot of pain. Deceit. A lot of disappointments. You—" He pauses, measuring me up, and my chest tightens under his scrutiny. "Your existence, my girl… is not part of those disappointments or that bad blood."

I exhale hard over the sentiment laced through that statement. Despite the fact I can’t read him for the life of me, he clearly has a view of my very visceral thoughts. I'm as transparent as a glass castle. Behind that thin sheath, I'm testingmy place within his family, dipping my toe in to see if he'll accept me.

He nods at the whiskey I have clutched in my lap, and I smile, bringing it to my lips. The smoky scent that reminds me of Clay caresses my nostrils, then my mouth as I take a small sip. It is like drinking a bushfire that tore through vines of overly ripe fruits and berries. It is sweet and chaotic, delicate yet masculine; I hum around the flavours.

I fuckingloveit.

I'm a whiskey girl now.

"You like whiskey. Good girl. Now, what do you want from this new world you find yourself in, Fawn? It is a part of who you are, so what part of it do you want to accept?"

I swallow the woody fire and clear the scorched aftermath before saying, "I just want to be with Clay, be what he needs, but he's…"

Married.

The word drops into my mind quietly, my mouth parting to say it aloud.He has a wife.And I like her. Which makes this whole arrangement even stranger. It would be easier to hate her. The rational parts of me know that she is just his business partner, that they don't share a bed, have never shown any sexual affection, just mutual respect, but a part of me wants to be greedy.

A big part of me.

I wantallof him.

A white dress.

To walk down the aisle.

To be his everything, like he is mine.

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