Page 41 of Bared Betrayal
“So, you’re going back?” I want to sit next to him, but images of me getting fucked by his father on that same couch have me reaching for a bottle of red instead.
“Where have you been?” Sebastian turns in his seat, watching me pour two glasses of wine.
“Oh, I was at a fitting,” I lie. My life before him belongs to me. Every detail, every piece, every moment is my burden and mine alone. Sebastian doesn’t know anything about Maya. He doesn’t know who I really am.
I force a stiff smile. “You know those appointments last for hours.”
“That’s odd.” He frowns as I hand him a glass. “I just talked to my grandmother earlier. She called to let me know you hadn’t even contacted the designer yet. What’s going on, Kal?”
There’s no accusation in his tone. There should be. I just lied to him, and I let his father fuck me. Twice.
“What is the matter with you, babe? Don’t you want to get married?”
“Of course, I want to marry you,” I blurt, way too eager and fast. I’m pretty sure my guilt is written all over my goddamn face right now.
Sebastian gets up and rounds the couch. My gaze drops to the edge, and I can practically hear the lashes of Gabriel’s belt as leather peppers angered welts on my ass.
“Kal, what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I lie again.
“So, you still want to marry me?”
“Of course I do.” Another lie. It’s just lie upon lie upon lie. “I love you. You’re my best friend.” I reach out to hug him. “You know that.”
Sebastian barely encloses his arms around me before leaning back, scowling at me. “Then why aren’t you taking any of this seriously?”
“What do you mean?”
“My grandmother went to great lengths to get you on this designer’s client list, Kallie. So the least you can do is make an appointment and show up. We’re on a timeline. The wedding is in a few weeks, and you’re out taking walks.” He’s talking to me like I’m a small child who can’t understand simple thoughts.
“Why don’t you ask your grandmother to go for the fitting? She’s doing everything else. She might as well pick the dress and wear it herself. Hell, let her stand in front of the priest and marry you. This is turning into her wedding, anyway.”
“Jesus.” Sebastian all but slams his wine glass on the kitchen counter. “This is not what I expected when I decided to surprise you by coming home for a few days.”
“Did you come home because you wanted to surprise me or to force more wedding plans I don’t want down my throat? Wedding plans that aren’t even mine, yet I’m the goddamn bride.”
“Of course not. Okay, listen. I don’t want to fight. I hate it when we fight.” He takes a step closer, resting his hands on my shoulders. “Let’s take a second and try to calm down. There’ve been a lot of changes happening, a lot of pressure with the wedding coming up.” He tucks a hair strand behind my ear. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Then let’s have a glass of wine, order takeout, and talk about the guest list and location.”
Is he fucking for real right now?
“Okay?” he pushes, his eyes never leaving mine. It’s mind-boggling how Sebastian has light green eyes, yet they still remind me of his father’s. This is so fucking twisted. I can’t even look at Sebastian without thinking about Gabriel.
“Okay,” I concede. I just don’t have the energy to bicker or fight.
Sebastian starts unbuttoning his shirt as he moves toward the bathroom. “Oh, by the way, an envelope came for you earlier. It’s on the coffee table counter. Weird. There was no return address.”
Icy fingers of fear slide down my back when I see the nondescript envelope on top of a pile of junk mail. My name is written on the front with perfect cursive handwriting, and I instinctively know that whatever’s inside it is not something I want to see.
The minute the door clicks closed behind Sebastian, I dart around the couch to the white envelope. My heart thumps hard in my chest as I slice it open. It nearly stops altogether when I see what’s inside.
It’s an old, yellowed clipping from the local paper. The headline reads,“Missing sisters found alive.”
I read the article like it’s a story I don’t know. As if it’s the first time I learn of the two girls who got snatched from their parents’ front yard one winter night in January, only to be found weeks later, battered and bruised, malnourished and dirty. Two girls who got stolen as children saved and returned as victims only. Not survivors. Just victims. Because the truth is, they didn’t survive. They might have been found alive, and their wounds might have healed, and their parents might have welcomed them back with tears and love. But they didn’t survive. This is not surviving.
There’s a note stuck to the back of the newspaper clipping, and I hold my breath.
“Does he know who you really are?”
