Page 11 of Forbidden Pawn

“Don’t act like a silly little pearl clutcher. I’m sure a girl like you has seen a hard-on before,” he says. A condescending smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Take it as a compliment.”

“A girl like me?” I frown at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t act stupid. And get dressed. I have seen enough.”

I fix my underwear and pull the sweater over my head before reaching for the pants on the floor.

I hate him. This was so utterly humiliating, and so unwarranted. But I knew something like this could happen. It’s what I signed up for. In fact, I signed up for worse.

And worse could still happen to me, especially after what he just did to me.

“Are you hungry?” He says, as I’m struggling to get back into my jeans.

The question catches me off guard, and I respond with an aghast look before I press my lips together and suggest a nod.

“Good,” he says, already turning away from me. “Me too. I’ll get us something to eat.”

And with that, he walks away, obviously expecting me to follow him into the back of the house.

And I do, like an obedient puppy, with my lips sealed and my eyes wide open.

Chapter 7

June

I’m sitting across from him at a large, polished dining table and have never felt more out of place, the shame of what just happened still lingering deep inside me.

The dining area is a bright and inviting space right next to the open kitchen, with giant French doors that lead out to the garden at the back of the house. The room is softly lit by a modern chandelier overhead and a soft tune of classical music is playing in the background.

This unexpected layer of normalcy is bizarre, to say the least. I didn’t expect him to live like this, and I definitely didn’t expect to sit at a dinner table like this. Everything here is so orderly, pristine and so… normal. Well, normal for rich people, I guess. My father and I didn’t live like this, at least not after he had lost his business. We used to have a pleasant home out in the suburbs, with a beautiful garden at the back, but he had to sell the house when things went bad and we moved into a small apartment in the city. The same apartment I now share with Tracey.

We also didn’t eat like this. I’m staring at a simple yet elegant meal before me, unsure what to think.

“Grilled salmon with a side of asparagus and a quinoa salad,” he declared when he put the plate in front of me.

He’s already eating, while I feel like my throat has been closed up by a giant clamp. I’m starving, but I must have left my appetite back in the city, or at least outside the walls of this marvelous house. A house that was paid for with blood money.

“You’re not eating,” he remarks.

“Did you make this?” I ask. I saw him take it out from the fridge, before he warmed up the salmon and the asparagus, but it’s hard to believe that this is takeout food.

“No, Enzo, my chef did,” he says. “I don’t have time to cook most days. I’m a very busy man.”

“Of course you are.”

He throws me an impatient look, before he says: “It’s not poisoned. I’m not trying to kill you.”

“What is with you and poison?” I laugh as I pick up my fork. “Besides, it wouldn’t be good for you if I was dead.”

“I’m aware,” he retorts.

For a while, the clinking of our cutlery is the only sound that joins the soft piano music playing in the background. The food is amazing, probably one of the best meals I’ve ever had. But I can’t let him know that.

From what I know, Grace’s family never struggled financially, like me and my father did. The Reids are nasty, but they are wealthy. Or at least, they used to be. I don’t know what caused their current money problems, because I never cared to ask, but I have a feeling that there’s a lot they’re not telling me.

“So, tell me a little about yourself, Grace,” he demands. He speaks without looking at me.

Oh, great, small talk.

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