Page 14 of That Emerald Vow

“No!” I scream as I move backward to get away from him.

“Charlotte Thatcher, what has gotten into you?” yells my mother as she walks into the entryway. My uncle is already two feet away from me by the time she gets to us. “I’m sorry, Demetri. She must have lost her mind.”

“Mother—”

“Don’t you dare. Apologize,” she orders.

I fight back my tears as I stare at his shoes. “I’m sorry, Uncle . . . I just meant . . . that you are so busy with important things.”

He takes his perfectly manicured finger and lifts my chin to meet his eyes. “Never too busy for you.” My mother takes his coat from him as he says, “I’m going to the bathroom to freshen up.” Without looking, I know there’s a growing bulge in his pants from getting off on my fear.

Stupid, stupid girl. You never let them see fear.

A sharp pain radiates from my arm where my mother grabbed me. “You insolent girl. I have told you time and again to behave with your uncle.”

“But, Mother, you know he—” I start to say.

She hisses at me, “All I know is that you are a liar and a disgrace to this family. No one will ever love you, Charlotte. You are unlovable. Which is why I know nothing happened back then. You just always want to be the center of attention.”

You are a liar.

You are unlovable.

I wipe away the fallen tears. “Mother,” I whisper, pain etched in every letter of the word.

“You are only good for one thing. Being a whore like the women your father . . .” she says as her voice cracks and she lets the sentence trail off.

I don’t dare say anything because maybe she’s right.

She takes a deep breath. “Now take this and go clean up. You look absolutely disgusting,” she barks before leaving me with my thoughts.

“Char, wake up.” There’s something brushing my cheek in soft, rhythmic motions. It feels nice—comforting. “Come on, gem.”Mmm.My lips twitch to smile—liking that nickname.

Damon, that’s who calls me that.

My eyes flutter open, realizing who I’m with. Damon’s worried expression is the first thing I see, but it turns into a warm smile as he notices I’m awake. My heart constricts and warms at the idea of someone caring about me.

I haven’t had sex in months, since the recent incident with my uncle left me feeling . . . hollow, dirty—just wrong. But this feeling of comfort from being in someone’s arms as they show their care and worry . . . this is a new form of intimacy for me. And it scares me all the more. Sex is easy. This right here is hard.

“Char, you’re okay.” I look around and realize we’re on a bench on the sidewalk near the bar. I take a deep breath and remind myself I am safe. It was just a bad memory.

“Yeah. I-I just . . .” I don’t know what to say. “I just got a little lightheaded. I didn’t get much sleep today and probably just need some food.” I can’t very well tell him I fainted from paranoia. I thought we bumped into the man from my childhood nightmares—both when I’m awake and asleep. The man resembled my Uncle Demetri so closely,I panicked.

He’s still absentmindedly rubbing his thumb across my cheek. I can’t help but lean into it, and that’s when I realize I’m wrapped up in his arms—fully nuzzled up to him like this is home. The comfort feels jarring, especially after the memory that played when I fainted, making me quickly shift to sit up next to him. Instantly, my whole body feels cold and misses his warm and kind embrace—aching for it.What the hell is going on?I can’t wrap my head around these foreign feelings of true want—need.

I can see a twinge of pain in his own eyes that seems familiar, but his mouth is smiling. “Well, if it’s food you need, it’s food you’ll get. Come on.” He offers his hand to me as he stands up.

I turn to look at the bar. “But what about the rest of our night?”

“Rain check, of course. Plus, getting to know you better will help me hone in on the type of guy you want.”Someone like you,I think. My brain goes back to the conversation I had with Lily a few weeks ago about her giving someone a chance.

“I just . . . I’m excited to see him this weekend . . . But then, the more I think about it . . . I don’t know . . . we’re different people now,” she says, fidgeting with a loose thread on a pillow.

I place my hand over hers. “It’s okay to be different people. That’s a good thing. You don’t want to be your teenage self or date the teenage equivalent of anyone.”

“Yes, that’s true . . . But what about what we do at night? Who would be okay with that? It’s making me think I’ll never find anyone who knows every part of me and still accepts me.”

I turn my head and purse my lips in disapproval. “Shut up.”

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