Page 12 of Thorns of Desire
ATHENA
Icouldn’t breathe.
The world was dark, suffocating me with each passing second. I thrashed my arms and legs, desperate to escape. Fire was getting closer, licking at my skin.
I woke up with a gasp, a muscular leg hooked over me and a pair of strong, corded forearms folded around my waist. I looked around wildly, certain I was back in that box. The scar on my shoulder burned, but I resisted the urge to reach behind me. My chest tightened painfully before my eyes found the window and I breathed a sigh of relief. The moon was glimmering over the city. There was a way out of here, a way to escape, even if I had to jump.
All was well with the world.
My attention returned to the man sound asleep next to me. The same man who’d thoroughly fucked me, leaving every inch of me blissed out and boneless.
But reality called, and I had to pee.
Careful not to wake up Manuel, I slid out of bed and padded toward the bathroom. Once I took care of my business, I washedoff and pulled on a robe that was about five sizes too big but smelled like him. I brushed my teeth with a new toothbrush I’d found in a cabinet and combed my fingers through my hair.
I caught my reflection in the mirror and paused at the woman staring back at me. My lips were swollen and pinkish burns from his rough stubble marred my skin. I was sure the look on my face was a testament to the fact that I had been to sex-heaven and back.
Padding into the bedroom, I reached for Manuel’s discarded clothes, and as I did, a wallet tumbled out, its contents scattering over the floor. Shit. Kneeling down, I reached for the first item—a license—and glanced at the photo. A name caught my eye.
Manuel Marchetti.
Marchetti…
“What the fuck?” I murmured under my breath, certain my eyes were deceiving me.
I focused my gaze and read the name again.
My heart stopped. A memory flickered in the back of my mind, and recognition slammed into me in full force.
“Manuel Marchetti,” I whispered the name I’d nearly forgotten.
My breathing turned shallow as my heart thumped so hard, I feared it’d burst out of my chest. It couldn’t be… Yet, in my heart, I knew he was. Yes, he was older, his features sharper, and Jesus, he was a lot more handsome, but he was the very same Manuel Marchetti who dated my mother all those years ago—however briefly. The one who’d caught us red-handed in our little deceit.
And the one I’d…
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
Walk of shame.
It was bound to happen at some point in every girl’s life, and today was my turn. I just wished it didn’t have to come after such an incredible night. And I certainly didn’t expect to lose my panties and bra in the process. After learning the identity of my one-night stand and being unable to find my undergarments, I put my dress on and hauled ass out of there.
I strolled through the streets of Paris as the city awakened, the cool breeze cooling my still heated skin as images of my night flashed through my mind like a B-grade Hollywood montage.Whydid I have to have that last shot at the club? Unfortunately, the memories from all those years ago came ripping in, no matter how hard I tried to shut them down.
“What if we get caught, Mama?” I whispered, staring at the heavy concealer hiding the bruises on her neck and face. After last night’s events, neither one of us slept a wink. We huddled in our apartment, waiting for dawn. Mom didn’t want to run. She wanted to finish her last performance and get paid for it. Part of me understood, but that didn’t mean I had to be happy about it.
“Baby, I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary,” she claimed. “You love me, right?” I nodded. “Do this for me, then. Don’t be like your father.”
I never wanted to be like him. All Mama did was love him and he hurt her, leaving her full of pain and suffering.
“I’m scared,” I whispered.
“You know the words, Athena,” she answered in a rough, broken voice. Mother’s vocal cords were damaged and they’dneed time to heal. Right now, she sounded like a smoker. “Your voice is even better than mine.”
I shook my head. “But you have a date afterward. How will you explain?”
My mother was a beautiful woman even when she wasn’t wearing a shimmering gold Oscar de la Renta gown. Her vibrant green eyes, olive skin, and dark hair had men falling at her feet. She had no issues using it to her advantage by pulling the wool over their eyes. Everything she did was for us.
“Let me worry about that,” she rasped. “You sing like our lives depend on it.” Ironically, they did. We needed the money from this performance to escape back to the States. “Can you do that for me, yavrum?” My baby. Mama never reverted to Greek unless she was stressed or scared.
