Page 20 of Pretty Pink Poison
Bane, Ezra, and Rafe Black stood stoic near me, Ezra with a bike helmet under his arm like he was ready to flee at any moment, Rafe only half listening, and Bane.
My heartbreak and my soulmate all wrapped into one.
I’d avoided him and his brothers as much as I could these past two months. I didn’t write in my diary, nor did I leave thewindow open for Bane to come through. Instead, I’d found a silly journaling app called Oracle to spill all my secrets to instead. I knew Bane wouldn’t have access to that at least. It was my only therapy, even if I didn’t confess everything there.
The truth was I couldn’t be near anyone after what had happened at Rafe’s. Not after what I’d pieced together.
Rafe’s arm went around my shoulders, and I stiffened, thinking of the rough hands that pushed into me while I was in his bedroom begging to be let go.
But then Bane’s hand went to the small of my back and I shivered at his touch. It still felt right even if he’d betrayed me. I remembered the horrific mask now, one Bane would have never chosen and how it whispered in my ear that he knew about my mask kink. It was the moment I knew it wasn’t Bane. It was the moment I realized I’d welcomed another man between my legs.
“He talking about my place?” Rafe whispered, and I cringed at the thought of the morning after.
The truth was, every one of us had our little secrets. But my father’s outburst? It was uncalled for. He’d pushed a private matter into the public, asking for exposure from his closest allies as if he knew someone had disobeyed his requests regardingmysex life.
We could’ve cut the tension with a butter knife. A dull, blunt butter knife. The kind that wouldn’t even make a clean cut through any of the soft cheese on that charcuterie board, let alone something this thick.
I could feel the Blacks’ eyes turning toward me. Mr. and Mrs. Black had the audacity to look disappointed, waiting for me to speak up and answer. I didn’t.
Not only because I was embarrassed but because I couldn’t.
No one was supposed to know about my pregnancy in this room, about the night I could barely remember. I’d only told mymother in a desperate search for a connection in a time where I didn’t have any.
When I hadn’t got my period, I felt the panic, but I felt the devastation more when the bleeding had started. Eight weeks in and I didn’t know how I could save the baby growing inside me, only that I wanted to.
I’d called my mother, I’d begged her to help me, begged her to do anything just this once.
And she’d come, she’d driven me to the hospital, she’d held my hand even as the nurse told me, “You lost a lot of blood. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing we can do to save your baby.”
My baby.
My child.
The only brightness that had come from such dark.
The heart monitor picked up how fast my heart beat, how fast my emotions raced, and then my mother said, “Well, it’s for the best, because your father won’t ever have to know.”
And those words caused something in me to die.
The beating of my heart even slowed as I turned to stare at her.
I hardened my heart. As hard as stone. As hard as a diamond in a Diamond Syndicate would want.
She’d finally done it. Made me one of them.
And now she stood next to my father, with her wavy raven black hair straightened perfectly to frame the high cheekbones she gave me, giving me exactly the same look she’d given me when I accidentally broke that priceless vase when I was five.That I’m disappointed in you and of course I told your fatherface. I had been hoping for sympathy, or maybe support. She’d even promised that she wouldn’t tell anyone, but I should have known better. Her loyalty was to my father and the Diamond Society, not her only daughter.
That’s specifically why I’d tried to not wear this pure, white dress tonight. I freaking knew that somehow her words would backfire. “No one knows you were pregnant, Bianca. Or that you shouldn’t be wearing white. So, let’s keep up appearances, okay?”
So much for appearances.
The dress mocked me now. It was supposed to symbolize innocence, and that I was ready to give my hand in marriage. What a pretty, perfect picture of innocence I would never make.
It was about as believable as me being a virgin at this age like the rest of them.
My father’s voice sounded again, demanding answers, throwing gasoline on the fire. “Does no one want to own up to it?” he bellowed.
Bane’s low, quiet voice was a balm to my rattled nerves even as I felt the warmth of blush on my cheeks. “Want me to make him stop?” he murmured in my ear, his breath warm and familiar though it caused butterflies of nervousness to erupt in my gut.
