Page 88 of Sinfully His

Maybe for the first time in my life, I had a genuine opportunity to live it on my terms. I just had to figure out what those were.

More and more tears poured from my eyes as I ripped the wax from my body. It felt transformative, like I was removing the layers of other people’s expectations for my life. With each bit that was peeled off, there went another mask that had been shoved onto me by someone else. Another role I didn’t want to play, stripped from my skin.

I wouldn’t be an Upper East Side socialite.

I wouldn’t be the dirty secret of a sinful priest, hiding in the basement of a church.

No one was going to tell me who, or even if, I was going to marry. No one was going to dictate how I lived the rest of my life.

No one was going to decide for me anymore.

Finally, when my body was free from the wax, I stepped into a shower, running the water as hot as I could and scrubbed every inch of my skin. Picturing more and more of the expectations other people put on me, the assumptions they made about my future and my life—washed off. I scrubbed it all away.

My mother’s training, to be a well-behaved doormat that took a beating without complaint and then went to do whatever it was my mother wanted me to do. Gone.

I scrubbed off the training Father Manwarring gave me. The expectations for me not to make a sound while he punished me with his cock. The demands for me to be his good girl, his whore, to swallow whatever he gave me and take what little kernels of attention and affection he deigned to give me at any moment and never expecting more than that. Gone.

I scrubbed it all away until my skin was stinging and raw. Only then did I step out of the shower, feeling like I was nothing but limitless potential.

Mother was gone. Father Manwarring only had the control while I was in his presence. Clearly, the answer was to get out of his presence and find out who I was with no one else’s influence.

Before I got dressed, I grabbed my phone and quickly Googled the Royal Academy of Art.

It was four a.m. my time, which meant it was nine a.m. in London.

I dialed the admissions number and held my breath, ignoring the burn of my lungs, and waited for someone to answer.

“Hello, Royal Academy of Art. How may I direct your call,” a bright British voice sounded on the other end of the line.

“Hello, yes, this is Rose Astrid. I just received a letter that was dated a few months ago. Apparently, I was accepted into the program, but I did not know. Is there someone I can talk to in order to see if this offer is still valid for the next term?”

CHAPTER 37

THOMAS

It had been so long since I had walked into this house with an invitation, I almost expected it to feel overwhelming, or to have some type of emotional reaction. It just felt weird, like walking the halls of a school you graduated from.

Still, I received the invitation for a family get-together. It was to be the entire extended family as well. Including the Astrids.

If Amelia was there, then more than likely Rose would be there, too. She left so quickly after I had untied her, I didn’t have time to talk to her again. I had wanted to pick her up and carry her to my bed, lay her there and tend to her, make sure that she was okay and I didn’t push her too far.

Then I had planned to spend the next several hours convincing her to admit her love for me. If the pain of burning wax didn’t work, then I was going to go for overstimulation. Hours between her legs licking and sucking and making her come over and over until she was so delirious the only thing that she knew was how much she loved me.

But then I heard that fucking tacky woman with her garish lipstick, Mrs. Donahue, wandering around the hallways under the church looking for me. I told Rose to hide, and I wouldget rid of Mrs. Donahue. Instead, the little minx took it as an opportunity to sneak out.

Fine.

I would give her some time to come to terms with the truth and then I would pull it from her lips.

When I walked into the living room, I didn’t really recognize anyone there other than my sisters, Charlotte and Olivia.

Charlotte immediately stood and ran into my arms, and I wrapped her in a tight hug, spinning her around a few times as she giggled the same way she did when we were children.

“Oh, I didn’t think you were going to come. I missed you so much. You need to meet my husband. Don’t worry, he’s not nearly as scary as he looks.”

A large man in a suit and a bolo tie behind her grunted something about being scarier than he looked.

Still, I offered my hand to shake and welcomed Reid into the family. He, Marksen, and my sisters were apparently in some heated debate about a TV show in Montana? And cow herding? There were not enough words in the English language to properly describe how uninterested I was in that conversation. Olivia, picking up on my disinterest, whispered in my ear that Luc and Father were in the billiards room, discussing billions instead of bovines.

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