Page 13 of Mine to Love
“One, don’t pretend you don’t love Brinkley. Two, don’t compare Delilah to a dog. And three…” I shake my head and smile. “I’ve always been adaddy.”
Damon bursts out laughing. “Get the fuck out of here with that shit!Who are you?I don’t think you’ve ever cracked a joke in your life until now.”
“Yeah, I could ask you the same question. I think Ana’s talkative nature has rubbed off on you. I couldn’t get a word in back there.”
Damon nods. “Yeah, lots of Ana has rubbed off on me.” I shake my head, knowing that he can make the joke, but I can’t entertain it out of respect. “But before we get too far off track, that long story of yours has a short ending.”
“What do you mean?”
Damon’s flat expression lets me know it’s all business now. “One of the men on that bus was identified as part of the cartel.”
I uncross my legs and lean forward in my seat then. “The one with the gun,” I say. Damon nods.
My brows furrow as I consider what this means. The Amatos have a long-standing alliance with the cartel in Mexico. Being half Mexican, I’ve always been the one to keep our working relationship smooth, but it’s slipped my mind with everything else that’s been going on. Now I understand Damon’s ire even more. Aidan and I came to an agreement that I would handle communication and conflicts with those formerly aligned with the Amatos, even though he’s technically the one in charge. Serena Santos and the Mexican cartel fall under my purview, and it seems I owe her a visit. Although, first, I want to know whyher man, ormen, is snooping around my city without proper clearance.
12
“Alrighty, welcome toRomantic Chic Boutique,”Ana says as we enter the everything-pink, flower-filled space packed with dainty dresses, lingerie and more—all of which I’m sure is way too small to fit over my hips and stomach. Oh my God! How embarrassing will it be if I can’t find a single thing to fit me here? Especially after we drove all this way and dragged this poor girl out of her house after something tragic. She said Gio helped save her life, and it makes me wonder if it was in any way similar to how he saved mine. And, if it was, it makes me question if New Orleans is truly the best place to settle? Even more so, I wonder what world Gio operates in? It seems death and danger surround him. Yet, I suppose they surround me too. My mind overcome with thoughts, I take a deep breath and try to refocus on the room before me.
Ana’s store is small and narrow, almost shot-gun style. Yet, it is beautifully designed and decorated. The wood floors are painted an interesting mauve color while the brick walls are painted a brighter shade of pink. There are two fireplaces, one on each end of the far wall. And, at the front of the store, there are two sets of glass French doors overlooking a quintessentialFrench Quarter street. They allow tons of sunlight into the room. It’s then that the gorgeous, tiny, red-head Ana flips a switch and the large, crystal chandelier in the center of the store illuminates, making the space even more enchanting.
“Wow, it’s beautiful,” I say. “But you’re getting married in a week. The last thing you should be doing is helping me,us. I feel like this is all too much.” I glance at Delilah. She’s already found herself seated on the floor nearest one of the French doors playing with both dogs. At least she’s trying to. The two of them, Ru and Brinkley, are more occupied with each other. Brinkley does not look happy with Ru’s plump butt smack dab in the middle of his plush bed.
“There are many things that aretoo much.Doing a bit of shopping isn’t one of them.” Ana says, as she finally slows down enough to make eye contact with me. “Besides, everything for our wedding is handled. It’s just going to be a small, family-only event at my brother’s house here in the French Quarter. And, with recent events, as Gio put it, I could use the distraction.”
With that, Ana’s green eyes drift from my face down my body. I suppose she’s taking in the makeshift outfit or perhaps, judging which of her store’s clothes will fit me. I follow her gaze and wonder what a mess I must look like. “So, how did you and Gio meet?” She asks, her voice much higher pitched and peppy as she hurries to the table topped with lingerie-clad mannequins.
“Oh, well, that’s a long story,” I say, shyly lowering my head and following behind her.
“Distraction. Remember?” She poses her question with a sweet smile and then reaches for a white-lace bra and panty set that is absolutely stunning, but I fear too delicate to work for me.
“Right, well. It started with me walking into a bar in search of a job and it ended with me becoming Gio’s live-in maid.”
“Interesting!” Ana says, her brows raising as she hands me the lingerie. “You can tell me more after you put this on. The dressing room is right over there, and there is a robe inside you can put on overtop. While you’re changing, I’ll start pulling items for you.”
“Oh-kay.” I take the set from her and quickly glance at the size. Hmm, this might actually work. The fabric feels so soft. And, while bras aren’t the most comfortable thing in the world, this Southern heat has me in desperate need of one. The under-boob sweat just feels even grosser with skin-to-skin contact.
Moving toward the dressing room, I give Delilah one last glance and find she’s calmed the little white dog down enough to pet him. Ru gets in on the action and licks Brinkley’s head, which has the little white cotton-ball practically rolling his eyes. I smile and let out a small chuckle.
Inside the dressing room,I carefully slip off Gio’s t-shirt-turned-skirt in case it’s all I have to wear home. And then I unknot and unbutton his white dress shirt. It’s a nice garment with thick, sturdy fabric. I don’t know how I’ll ever get the crease out of it from where I tied it. But it wasn’t quite wide or long enough to work as a dress alone, so I had to improvise. It was nice of him though to leave the items he did for Delilah and me. And I suppose this is nice of him too.
Even though all this fuss makes me uncomfortable, he’s not wrong. We need things and I can’t exactly exist in his dress shirts with no underwear for the rest of my time in New Orleans. That thought allows my reluctance with this shopping experience to fade. Yet, it is replaced with an amplified version of the anxiety I had when I walked into the store. We need things.Ineedthings. And now, I just hope it isn’t too much trouble to find them. I don’t want Gio’s kindness and generosity to give way to impatience and frustration.
Naked, I avoid eye contact with the floor-length mirror before me until I have the lingerie set on. In truth, I’d prefer to avoid eye contact altogether. But I suppose I should see what the fit is like. With the soft, feminine fabric caressing my curves, I slowly lift my eyes, taking in my body from the ground up. As I do, I find my reluctance to face the mirror has less to do with my insecurities and more to do with the memories my naked body evokes.
I remember every one of Clive’s touches and the injuries or marks they left me with. I remember the dirt crusted into my bloody shins and knees from when he pushed me to the ground. I remember the bruises all over my legs from being lashed with his belt. I remember the way my stomach turned purple and how it hurt to breathe when he broke my ribs. As tears well in my eyes, I don’t even see the lingerie. All I see is him. All I see is the pain from my past.
There’s a scar on my lower back and on my left butt cheek from when he chased me around the house with a knife. That was when he was drunk and mad that his football team had lost. Apparently, he’d placed a bet on the game, and he’d lost a good bit of money. His rage turned to me when I walked through the living room at the wrong time. And then, of course, the tiny, round mark on my shoulder blade. That one was the most painfully earned. But I didn’t earn it. I didn’t earn any of them.Earningimplies I deserved the torment I endured. But I didn’t. I just have to remind myself sometimes.
Turning my attention away from my backside, my tear-filled gaze reaches my breasts. It’s then that I remember his other touches—the ones of similar nature to those I endured last night. I feel empty as I remember all the times I prayed hewould just fuck me instead of chasing me and beating me. How disheartening is that? But that was my reality.
At least when he fucked me, it was a short-lived violation. The torture would only last as long as his erection did. Then he would fall asleep, and I’d be free until the next time he had an unrelenting urge to hurt me. But, all the other times, there was no telling when it would end. The uncertainty, unsure of when Delilah might come out of her room or return from playing outside, only made it worse.
I pinch my eyes closed as tears drip down my cheeks. Covering my mouth with my hand, I back away from the mirror and stifle my cries as emotion rips through me. My chest heaves as I struggle to control my breathing. My body shakes as the painful memories course through me. Dropping to my knees, I hunch over and rock back and forth in the corner. The simple movement is something I do in moments like this, when it all feels too much, when my body doesn’t feel like my own and my mind feels like a storm—an uncontrollable, unstoppable tornado of torment that leaves me unable to think of anything else save for the thickness of the walls.
After all these years and even after leaving him, I still analyze us and try to make sense of a senseless situation. I teeter between blaming myself and knowing I didn’t deserve what happened to me. I constantly have to pull myself from my self-loathing and redirect my anger. I’ve even made excuses for him, because the reality of what happened between us—what he did to me—is almost too heartbreaking to admit. I don’t want to admit it. And so, it lingers inside me. Or, at least, it has.
My husband never loved me, and we never truly had a relationship. It was all a lie. I think seeing Damon and Ana today, even just in those few moments, has forced that suppressed truth to the surface. There’s no denying the difference between us. While they look forward to celebratingtheir love for one another, I know that mine and Clive’s marriage certificate only made it easier for him to make me his prisoner. And what he did to me within those walls was more than just physically violating. It was emotionally manipulative and verbally abusive. It was walking on eggshells every day for years. It was captivity with no hope of escape until I created some for myself.
