Page 22 of Patch's Bride
I try my best to work out what happened last night. I eliminate being taken advantage of right off the bat because there is no circumstance in which I would have said no to the guy I’ve been crushing on literally for years. That much I’m certain of.
Last night was the first time I ever drank alcohol in my life. I remember everything right up to the point where we were dancing. After that, things are a blur. I remember something about him bragging that he can hold his liquor. I decided to test that by pouring him shot after shot of whiskey. I had three or four more amarettos, because they were flipping delicious. The burn going down not so much though.
Then the next thing I remember is crashing into bed. We tore off each other’s clothing and then were writhing on the bed, skin to skin. Then spikes of pleasure and that’s about all I can recall.
My stomach churns. The last thing in the entire world I want is to be trapped in a marriage with a man who only touches me because he’s too drunk to stop himself. I wanted my first time to be special. But was it my first time? I don’t feel any different, and there’s no ache between my legs. Should there be an ache?
Did we actually have sex or did we just fool around?
“God,” I whisper, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead. “What did we do?”
Patch’s head pops up from under the blanket. His eyes blink open. He squints at me sitting there on the far side of the bed, naked, wrapped in a bedsheet. I can see wild panic jump onto his face.
“Oh, fuck no. This did not just happen. What the fuck were we thinking?” His voice is rough, annoyed, and it sounds like he has a dry mouth, like me.
He bolts out of the bed, dragging the blanket with him until it’s wrapped around his waist. Jesus Christ, this man has a body to die for. He’s totally ripped and with his tousled hair, he could be a male centerfold. An image of his big cock springs to mind. I snap my eyes closed, trying vainly to erase the image from mymind. But no, my brain is not letting go of that image for love or money.
And of course, I start to panic again. Panicking is kind of my thing. I clutch the sheet tighter around me. Words come out of my mouth that my brain didn’t approve because it’s still drooling over that mental image of an almost naked Patch.
“I’m sorry… this is probably all my fault. I shouldn’t have been drinking. This wasn’t supposed to happen.” My voice sounds stressed, even to my own ears. I sound desperate, ashamed, and I wish the floor would open up and swallow me.
Patch is standing a few feet away, gaping at me. One hand comes up to claw through his hair. He seems a bit discombobulated.
My brain is on fire with all the reasons this was a really bad idea. Us having sex was not part of the deal. This was supposed to be a marriage on paper only. He said no romantic relationship and no sex. He promised me protection, and I agreed that I wouldn’t ask for more. This was supposed to be survival. And here we are. Naked in bed together, with a raging hangover.
“I can’t believe I had sex with you, that my first—”
“We didn’t have sex,” Patch interrupts. “We might have fooled around a bit but that’s as far as it went.”
I don’t know if that makes me feel relief or something else… More words spill out before I can stop them, but this time, I’m mostly whispering to myself. “This can’t happen. I can’t afford to get distracted. I have more important things to think about besides my stepfather and this fake arranged marriage.”
The second the words are out, I slap my hand over my mouth because I don’t want to complicate our situation by bringing my sister into it.
Patch’s frown deepens and he takes a step closer, still clutching the blanket around his waist. “What kind of other things?” he asks suspiciously.
“Nothing. I didn’t mean to say that. It was a mistake. Can we please not talk about it anymore?” I’m blabbering again and I need to shut up. I clutch the sheet tighter, wishing he would give it up. “What I mean to say is we had a deal. Getting sloppy drunk and falling into bed wasn’t part of it.”
Patch cuts me off in a stern voice, “Beth, just tell me what in the hell is going on.”
“It was nothing,” I say, forcing myself to slow my panicked words.
“You’re not a good liar, Beth. Your expression and tone of voice give you away.” He steps closer, bends down and takes my hands in his. “If I’m supposed to protect you, we can’t afford to keep secrets from one another.”
Patch has a good point, but I feel like my world is slowly unraveling. Looking away, I tell him, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore because you’re not listening to me.”
“You’re hiding something. I’m pretty good at telling when people are not being honest.” Giving me a lopsided grin, he adds, “It’s a hazard of the trade.”
When I hesitate again, he gives my hands a squeeze and tells me, “You know that you can trust me, sweetness. Whatever it is, I’ll help you with it if I can.”
I suddenly feel all my willpower crumbling. Maybe I can trust him with the most important thing in my life. I haven’t been able to work out a solution so far on my own.
I tell him in a shaky voice, “I have a sister, an older one.”
His expression turns confused. “I’ve known you since you were in first grade. There was never an older sister.”
“My sister’s name’s Lila. She’s actually my half-sister. When my mother and bio dad got married, he had a two-year-old daughter with a very rare metabolic disorder.” My voice cracks but I keep pushing the words out. “It progressed quickly and by the time she was thirteen she needed special breathing treatments every day. Between needing oxygen, medications, and specialized care it was too much for my parents to manage at home. She’s in a special facility. We call it a care home because everyone has their own personal space. Lila needs care around the clock by professionals who know how to treat her condition. But…” I trail off, unsure how to tell him all the details without talking for hours.
“But what?” he asks. “Tell me the rest. Make me understand, Beth.”
