Page 38 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
11
Sin
It wasn’t meant to be like this; it wasn’t. Let her go; you don’t care; you don’t.
"Sin?"
Ava glances up at me, her features pinched.
"Get out of the way."
I walk past her and she grabs at the hem my pants. "What’s wrong?"
"Nothing." Everything. "Leave, now."
"I thought you wanted me."
"Not anymore." As I say the words, I realize that it’s true. Fuck that and fuck her and fuck the woman who distracted me enough for me to stop a blowjob half-way.
I stalk to the living room.
"Who was she?"
"None of your business." And she isn’t. Not mine either. My Bird is an irritant to be dealt with. With her messy pink hair, the jeans and plaid shirt that she’d tucked in, teamed with a pair of chucks… pink, of course. Does the girl own any other color? If she’d intended to highlight how young she is, she succeeded. Every time I see her, her freshness takes me by surprise. No one was meant to look this chaste, this squeaky clean—enough to highlight the differences in our life paths and experiences, right there. I want to taint that wholesomeness, want to mark that pristine air that accompanies her. Mark her, defile her… Fuck. I curl my fingers at my sides. What I feel for her goes beyond hate. I want to destroy her. Then build her up again, a finer, sophisticated version of what she was. Fuck me. When had I thought of this? Breaking her down was part of the plan. Anything else? Unacceptable.
I’ve come this far, haven’t I? I’ve inched forward toward my goal.
I’d had her on my turf… Then I’d lost her.
I stalk toward the open door, buttoning my shirt up. "I want you gone when I return."
I prowl out the door, down the steps.
Peter straightens. "She went toward the hill." His eyebrows knit.
I ignore him.
Don’t need my hired help telling me that I was wrong in what I did.
Max darts out of the house; his collar shines in the sun.
I head toward Primrose hill, start up the slope, Max at my heels.
By the time I reach the top of the hill, the shadows have lengthened. I pass a group of people huddled on the grass, then a couple sprawled on the bench. His head is in her lap and she bends down to kiss him. Romantics. I snort under my breath.
Life is not about love and hearts and all that stupid shit that Hallmark dreams up in a bid to keep people buying its products. Suckers fall for that crap; good thing I am not one of them.
A squirrel darts past. Max barks and gives chase. That's his weakness. He sees one of those little critters and loses his shit. Like I seem to do with her.
I reach the top, turn to take in the view.
The vista of the London skyline stretches out before me. Lights twinkle, reflecting the setting sun. I survey the space. Where the hell could she be?
I stalk to the edge, past the signs that highlight the landmarks of the skyline. Can’t see anyone. I angle my body to turn, when… There! A shock of pink catches my attention.
I head toward it.
Find her hunched into herself, seated on the ground, facing away from the crowd. Her shoulders are bent. She’s drawn up her legs and her chin rests on her bent knees. I hesitate. She seems alone, lost in her thoughts… so fragile. Hurt radiates off of her… Nah, must be my imagination. Since when am I so sensitive to the feelings of others?
