Page 29 of Queen Rose

Aria

Easter Sunday brunch is uncomfortable at best. Between Christina moaning to Conner about whatever lip-plumping treatment she paid big bucks for—that she should have saved her money on, frankly—and my parents discussing who needs to be on the invitation list to the birthday party I don’t want, I wish I could sneak away and go sit out on my balcony instead of listening to all the bitching and arguing. It’s seemingly unending, but at least there’s one bright spot—they aren’t focused on me. Not at the moment, anyway.

Picking up my fork and knife, I focus on cutting the ham on my plate into tiny, precise pieces. One at a time, I put each bite in my mouth and chew, dutifully consuming my meal so I can escape as quickly as possible once I’m allowed.

“Aria. Have you gotten things all set up for the trip to the lake?” Christina’s face pinches, and her eyes narrow on me to the point where she’s almost squinting.

Ah, shit. I should have known we wouldn’t be able to get through this meal without it coming up. I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

Christina peers at me like I’m hiding some big secret, which, I guess I am since I haven’t mentioned to any of them that Nate is coming with me. It’s not that I’m trying to hide him—in fact, it’s more to protect him, because once they find out I’m serious about a guy they don’t approve of, it’ll create a whole bunch of drama. I don’t need any more of that in my life. “Yes. We’re all set. Dad coordinated a grocery and supply delivery, so we’ll be good to go when we get there.”

Conner shoots a look at Dad. “Will, refresh my memory. Is your lake house one of the ones with five-bedroom suites or seven? I’ve forgotten.” His lips twist, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by me that he’s clenching his napkin viciously in his hand. I don’t know if anyone else notices his weird behavior, but I sure as hell do. It doesn’t bode well.

To his credit, Dad looks at Conner like he’s grown an extra head or two. “Seven. What reason would I have for buying the smaller one?” He picks up his mimosa and takes a long swallow. “Just with us alone, we need three bedrooms.”

Conner noisily clears his throat. “Yeah. Of course.” He draws in a breath and aims a none-too-subtle glare in my direction. I’m the only one who notices, and I’m sure that was his intention. He slicks his tongue slowly over his lower lip. “I’m assuming you’ve thought through sleeping arrangements already?”

I stiffen, and fuck if he didn’t see my reaction. I give my best whatever shrug. “There are ten of us—seven bedrooms and lots of couches. We’ll be fine. Everyone will have a comfortable place to sleep.” I wonder if Conner views my answer as a blow off. Because I’m not stupid. I know what his real question was. That fucker is super curious about who I’ll be staying with. Madly jealous.

News flash, Conner. None of your damn business. As if I’d tell him.

When I’m finally able to slip away after we finish brunch, I feel profound relief. We aren’t the kind of family to go to church or do an Easter egg hunt, so I should be clear to spend the rest of the day on my own.

I hurry to the back stairs, and my brain rushes to where my heart is—with Nate. I hope he’s having fun with Becca and Brandon. I hadn’t wanted to intrude on the holiday, especially since I’ll be stealing him for the trip in a few days, so I’d taken baskets of candy and little toys over late last night for Becca and Brandon to have in the morning. Nate had rolled his eyes and said I was spoiling them. From the soft look on his face and the twinkle of his eye, I actually think it meant a lot that I’d thought of them.

There’s a big difference between giving sweet children something special that they don’t normally have and spoiling them. I know what spoiling is, and Easter baskets isn’t it. Spoiling is giving someone something until they are no longer appreciative of it. It took me a lot of growing up to realize that what I have isn’t normal. And of course, sometimes that image I have to maintain makes it seem like I’m another rich bitch. But I’m not. I never was. I’m just a girl trapped in my own circumstances, made to act like someone I’m not to make my parents happy. Yet, they never seem happy with me anyway, so I’m unsure why I continue to bother doing things that make me unhappy.

As I climb the stairs to the second floor, I draw my phone out of the pocket of my skirt and pull up the photos of the kids with their Easter baskets again. They’re even wearing the cute bunny-ear headbands I got for them. So freakin’ cute. See? Spoiled kids wouldn’t have these sweet, ear-to-ear grins.

Pain sears through my scalp as my head snaps back. My hair is caught tightly in someone’s grip. I lose my footing and let out a choked cry, falling backward. I collide with what I know has to be Conner’s chest, and his arm belts around my waist. No. Don’t. Not now. Not when I have Nate. Not when I finally have something normal and good in my life.

He lifts me, finishing our ascent but doesn’t put me down, even though I twist violently in his arms, trying to get loose. His fingers curl in my hair, making my scalp sting in punishment. All the way down the hall to my room, he manhandles me, his arms and hands bruising and rough. In my room, he kicks the door shut behind us then turns and rams me back into the door. He lets out a pissed-off grunt directly in my face. I wince, my eyes flicking up to catch his hateful stare. His exhale is sharp, his breath hot in my face.

The look in Conner’s eyes is unnerving. And then he reaches up, gripping my throat in his big hand. He squeezes just hard enough that my eyes widen in response. This is new. And I can’t catch a breath.

His voice is growly and low, each word firing from his lips with deadly intent. “You let him mark you.”

I blink, confused. “What?” So many things race through my mind in a fraction of a second.

“Don’t play stupid.” His hand tightens on my throat, the fingers digging into my skin. “The boy you’ve been sneaking out to see. The one who fucking plays around in the dirt. Nate.” He spits Nate’s name like it’s some repulsive thing. Easing back, he cocks his head to the side. “His mouth has been on you, Aria.”

I shake my head, all while struggling to breathe. “N-no.” Oh God.

“No? Then what the fuck’s this bruising?” His jaw clenches tight. “Here. On my good girl’s neck.” He draws the pads of his fingers over the spot where Nate had spent a lot of time kissing and sucking on my skin when we were last together.

I’m such a fucking idiot. No matter whether I’d thought it was noticeable or not, I should have been more careful, should have taken the time to cover it up.

But somewhere in the back of my head a little voice told me to leave it be. Rebel.

Conner’s breathing is heavy, like he’s run a mile, and his chest heaves against mine. He’s on the verge of something, I can tell. I squeeze my eyes shut. No. My heart rate takes off into the stratosphere.

“Have you let him touch you anywhere else?” When I’m silent, he comes closer, our mouths no more than an inch apart. “You’ll fucking answer me. Right. Now.”

With my jaw set, I whisper, “No,” as calmly as I can, even though my heart is about to come out of my chest, it’s beating so hard and fast.

He grips the front of my dress with both hands, and turns us around to face my bed. He forces me to bend over and plant my hands on the mattress. I have no idea what his intention is but my heart is up in my throat, robbing me of the ability to scream like I want to. For several seconds, all I hear is his harsh breathing. But then he drags his hand up the back of my bare thigh, under my dress, and cups me between the legs. “This pussy is mine. What are you trying to do to me? Make me jealous?”

I shake my head, trembling hard. “N-no. Why would I do that?” You psycho.

His one hand continues to move further up my leg, while the other flips the skirt of my dress up to reveal the thong panties I’m wearing. His ragged inhale is audible, and he grabs me by the hips, yanking them back and forcing my torso to the mattress. He presses on my upper back with one hand to hold me down. “I really wish you would”—his hand crashes down on my left ass cheek—“stop. Fucking. Lying.” Each word is punctuated with a hard smack, each more brutal than the first.

And just when I think he’s done, he switches hands and moves to the other cheek. The pain intensifies. Conner wears a thick gold ring on his right hand—has worn it as long as I’ve known him. It bites into my skin with every thunderous smack he delivers. I used to love that ring. I’ll never look at it the same way again, just like I won’t ever look at Conner the same way I did when I was younger—back when I thought he was the best thing to ever happen to me.

The beating finally stops, and tears are streaming from my eyes, seemingly without end. Conner presses me into the mattress, his front to my back. He gathers my hair in his hand and uses it to yank my head up off the bed. I sense from his jerky movements and ragged breath that his rage is just barely under control. He grinds his erection into my bare backside, which feels so inflamed and painful I know my skin has to be fiery red with his handprints. Beside my ear, his murmur is wicked and harsh. “Maybe you’ll have your boy keep his hands and mouth to himself this week, huh?”

He delivers one final thrust of his hips before he leaves me there on the bed, gasping for breath and wondering what I did to deserve this.

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