Page 37 of Control: XXX Vadim 1
He looks away, and his gaze turns distant. “No. Not quite.”
“You don’t like to talk about your childhood,” I surmise. “That could be a good thing. Mine was so boringly typical that there isn’t much to talk about.”
“Oh?” Real interest flashes across his features.
“My dad was an investment banker,” I admit. “My mother was a glorified housewife—but damn good at it. My uncle Conroy runs one of the largest vineyards in the country, and I had the typical, milk toast, country club, basic bitch white girl upbringing.”
And there is no shame in that.
“But you were married…” He busies himself with pouring water from a pitcher into two glasses, but I sense that he’s very interested in this topic.
“For seven years,” I say tiredly. “I met him the day after I got drunk at a high school yacht party and flashed my tits to a group of guys who took pictures. Then I fell off the upper deck and sliced open my back. Wine is my Achilles heel.” More so whenever he is involved. “My parents were scandalized. My Dad was terrified I’d be ostracized, and my mother couldn’t stop crying at the thought of me being labeled a dirty slut. So, I panicked. The very next day, while bandaged and high on painkillers, I joined a bible study class at my private school, and there I met James Andrew Walker. Jim for short. He told me I was pretty, I told him I was born again, and with my newly reformed attitude, no one could judge me for my hellish lapse in judgment. My parents were happy. I was happy, or at least I thought I was…”
“The marriage was unhappy?”
I nod. Then I shake my head. “Not necessarily at first. We dated for a year before then, but… It was like nothing I did made him happy. How I dressed. How I acted. What I did. Didn’t do. I couldn’t conceive onhistimeframe—” I don’t go into the details, and luckily he doesn’t ask. He just listens, as watchful as ever. “I couldn’t have sex the way he wanted. Every day spent with him made me feel like some dirty, disgusting, worthless failure. He was prominent in the church, you see, so I always had to be a ‘model wife’ for his congregation. Apparently, I failed, because one day, I came to our beautiful home and found him waiting for me with his beautiful secretary whom he’d been sinning with in secret for a year, I think. This, after we were basically separated already so he could ‘reevaluate things.’ The newer model was pregnant, so divorce city for me. Marital bliss for them.”
Saying it all out loud hurts more than I would have anticipated. My eyes burn, and blinking rapidly can’t keep one rebellious tear from breaking loose.
“After that, I told myself that I would never, ever beat myself down for anyone else. I would never change who I am to please anyone. If I want to run off on a crazy sexual adventure, then damn it, that’s what I’ll do.”
I look at him, expecting the judgment I’m so used to seeing reflected at me these days. All he does is nod in silent agreement—and in a way, his acceptance is so much worse.
“What happened between you and your brother?” I ask, turning the tables. “You weren’t close growing up?”
“You could say that.” He’s distant again, staring off beyond me. “We weren’t close, and for the most part, we grew up apart—he lived with our grandfather after our father’s death. Then our uncle…” Disgust colors his voice, making me suspect that he doesn’t care very much for that particular family member either. “Even so, we were very much reminded of each other’s existence.”
“Ah. A sibling rivalry.” Lucky for me, I was an only child, but I saw firsthand how nasty sibling battles can go. Uncle Conroy has two sons who constantly vie for his favor. “Let me guess. You were the good twin, and he was the bad?”
“I was the reminder,” he says softly. “Of everything he never wanted to be.”
“Beautiful, smart, and stubbornly brooding?” I wonder playfully.
He blinks and refocuses on me. His expression is skeptical rather than amused. As if he can’t quite understand why I’m trying to joke with him.
“Order something sexy for me in French,” I command, spotting our waitress arriving just in the nick of time. “Something sweet.”
My heart stops at the devious gleam flashing through his gaze. After scouring the menu for a few more seconds, he turns to our waitress, opens his mouth, and proceeds to utter the most panty-melting stream of words I’ve ever heard someone speak before. In English or otherwise.
Well, almost. Nothing tops his grunted slip-up from last night, but this comes close.
I smother a groan and try to disguise how my cheeks set on fire by looking down to read my own menu. Once he’s finished, I sneak a glance at him through my lashes and hiss in irritation.
He’s smugger than ever.
“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering you a selection of items,” he explains, gathering up the menus for the waitress to take. “I will discover which you prefer to dine on the next time you find yourself drunk and hungry while in my bed.”
I nearly choke, and I rush to take a sip of water, clearing my throat. “Sorry to break it to you, Vadim, but you won’t enjoy having me in a bed with you ever again. Because we aren’t having sex again,” I feel the need to clarify. “Ever.”
He raises an eyebrow, deliciously confused. “You mean to deny yourself of my beautiful cock?”
No fair.I suck in a breath, my brain stalling. When my thoughts come back online, all I can think to utter is, “You’re damn right. I’m starting to think that I need to guard myself carefully around you.”
Fire flashes through his gaze. “I would never hurt you,” he growls—and at the back of my mind, I take comfort in that. Though Jim had said the same thing at one point.
“Not like that,” I say softly. “More like… I think you enjoy playing mind games with people, while keeping them at arm’s length. Which is fine, I guess. I just don’t think I can last on your emotional merry-go-round for long.”
Admitting something so honest should feel more alarming than it does. There’s just something about him. His face, maybe? I feel so safe when it comes to our conversations.Which is why you need to run far and fast, girl,my inner-bitch warns.Preferably now.
