Page 9 of Forbidden Dark Vows

He has adapted a quote from the book and switched the word ‘moors’ with ‘library’.

“Did my—did someone put you up to this?” I’m reluctant to let the book go, but I know I can’t keep it.

“I had some help from Harry,” he says sheepishly. “Have dinner with me, Ruby.”

Harry helped him? I find myself saying yes without even understanding why, but all I do know is that I’m even worse at reading men than I thought I was.

He has already bookeda table for two in a cozy corner of the kind of restaurant I can barely afford to peek through the window of. He tells me to order whatever I want from the menu like I might be swayed to choose something cheap because he’s paying. So, I order lobster, the most expensive thing I can find.

He talks about his role in the new movie, and his family, and Italy, which is where he was born and where his parents still own several homes and quite a lot of land.

And I think about how much my mom would love him for a son-in-law.

A man comes over when we’ve finished our main course and shakes Alessandro’s hand, clapping him on the back like they’re lifelong buddies. He drags a seat over from a nearby table and sits down, and my breath catches in my throat when I recognize Kurt Russell.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Kurt Russell!

If she could see me now, my mom would have me in the nearest bridal store and trying on wedding gowns before I could blink.

Alessandro introduces me to Kurt Russell, who leans over, takes my warm hand in his, and kisses me on the cheek. I’m never going to wash my face again.

He picks up the book Alessandro bought for me, strokes the cover the way I did when I opened it, and says, “I remember reading this in high school and hating it.” My stomach twists, my first crush crumpled like autumn leaves. “But I read it again last year and boy do I get it now.”

I’m floating. The waiter will have to grab my feet and drag me back down to earth any moment now.

Then, Alessandro leans closer and places his arm around my shoulder, his thumb stroking my left breast. I sit forward and reach for my wine glass which, I realize too late, is empty. Kurt Russell signals to the waiter to bring another bottle, and they settle into a conversation about upcoming movies and the roles they’d love to audition for, given the opportunity.

I drink my wine, and only half tune into the conversation.

Alessandro’s hands are everywhere. He’s paying attention to the conversation, but his eyes are everywhere too, and I’d bet my last dollar that he could tell me everyone who has walked in and out of the restaurant, and what they had to eat.

“Great guy,” he says about Kurt when we’re leaving. “Helped me a lot when I was first starting out.”

I keep quiet; he doesn’t need an answer. This is his world, and I just want to go home.

A chauffeur-driven limo is waiting outside for us. I give the driver my address and climb in, Alessandro sitting way too close, his thigh pressed up against mine.

I move away from him, and he moves closer. He strokes my cheek with his right hand, but before I can ask him to stop, his fingers are inside my coat, and underneath my sweater.

“What are you?—”

His mouth closes on mine, and the image of the woman in the pool with her tongue in his mouth floods my mind again. I try to pull away, but he grips my chin tightly, his fist like warm metal, his fingertips digging into my skin.

I squirm and wriggle, trying to twist my face away from him, but his tongue is probing, filling my mouth, and I can’t breathe.

He pulls away long enough to whisper, “God, you’re beautiful,” like it’s the standard compliment that he rolls out for every woman he wants to fuck.

I try pushing him off me, but somehow, he is on top of me, pinning me down, and my senses are filled with one thought:I need to get away from him. But his hands are everywhere, inside my sweater and my pants… Something gives—I think it’sthe zipper of my pants—and I feel so exposed, so vulnerable, and I wonder why the car is still moving… Why hasn’t the driver stopped?

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, his breath entering my lungs.

He doesn’t even say my name. I’m just ‘baby’ to him, like every other woman he has ever screwed, and it gives me the shot of rage and energy that I need.

He raises his upper body a fraction to maneuver his hand inside my panties, and I slide my arms between us and thump his chest with both hands, pounding his ribs like I’m battering down a door. He pulls his hands out of my clothes and grips my wrists to stop me.

It’s all I need. I raise my knees and shove him off me, rolling out from under him and landing on my knees on the floor of the limo. I drag my coat back around me, and shuffle backwards, putting as much distance between us as possible.

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