Ch. 41..45: Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Dad Chapter 41-45

Chapter 41

A few minutes later, Fay and Daniel are curled up on her bed, sharing a bottle of white wine and a box of donuts that Daniel swiped from the kitchen. The rest of the room is still a complete wreck - furniture overturned, clothes and books thrown everywhere - but Fay ignores the mess as she bites into her second powder donut, overlooking the dusting of sugar that falls all over her shirt and comforter while she chases her food with a sip of wine.

the bed they were able to set to rights pretty easily.

"So," Daniel says, holding his still-full glass of wine uncomfortably in his hands, "you're seriously okay?" "Yeah," Fay says, shrugging one shoulder at him. "Seriously, I mean, it was scary. But it didn't hurt." "And he just chained you to floor and yelled at you? And then hit you on the...b**t? Once?" "No, he chained me to the table first," Fay says, taking another bite. "To interrogate me."

Daniel stares at her, shocked that she's being so blasé about it. Almost as if she didn't mind it.

And considering Kent's expression when he had stormed up from the basement, it certainly seemed as if Fay had come out of the situation with the upper hand.

Daniel sighs then, looking down into his glass. "It sounds like the sort of thing he does pretty often," he says, letting her in on a few family secrets. "That's why he has the chain in the middle of the floor. He uses it to... initiate people. Into the trust of the family." Fay raises an eyebrow at him, seriously doubting that Kent's previous interrogations have gotten...well. That hot.

But she doesn't say that to Daniel. Instead, she asks another question. "Does that mean I'm like...made now? A made man? Officially in the family?"

Daniel scoffs. "No way," he says with a little laugh. "If you were made you'd be way more shaken by it. He makes you take all kinds of oaths, lets you see the sort of stuff he'll...do to you. If you go against the family." He grimaces a little at this.

"How do you know," Fay says, cocking her head to the side curiously. "Are you made?"

"I've been made since I was born," Daniel murmurs, looking down.

"But you didn't go through like...a ceremony."

He shakes his head no.

"Then how do you know what it's like?" she asks.

Daniel pauses before answering. "He made me...watch. A few times. Made me...participate, a little bit. So I'd know what to do when the time came for me to do the same."

"Oh," Fay says, raising her eyebrows. Then, she considers for a moment. "I think I'd actually like to see that."

"What?!" Daniel exclaims, looking at her with a little disgust on his face.

"What?" she replies, frowning at him. "This is my world now. I'm curious."

He narrows his eyes at her. "I thought we were leaving," he says.

Fay pauses a second. That conversation in the back yard - was that seriously just two hours ago? But it seems like a lifetime ago now.

"Yes," she says slowly. "But in case we figure out that we...can't. Like if we can't get passports or something. Then I guess I want to know everything I can about this life I'm marrying into."

It's Daniel's turn to shrug now as he turns to look out the window. Fay studies him, considering that Daniel has done everything he can to avoid learning more about this life. That he actively avoids it.

So why was she, who was his match in so many ways, so curious?

After a moment, Fay clears her throat. "Daniel," she says slowly, quietly. "Why do you think it is that you don't want this life. I mean, I know why I don't. But you were born into it. Do you think it's something about like...who you are, intrinsically, that makes you a mismatch? Or is it something else?"

He turns to glare at her then. "Are you asking if I don't belong here because I'm..."

Fay blinks at him, not understanding, before the pieces snap together. "No!" she says, genuine surprise on her face. She certainly hadn't been thinking about whether it was because he's gay. "No, not at all. But..." she pauses a moment and takes a sip of wine. "Well, that's where your mind went. Do you think that's why?"

Daniel shakes his head ruefully. "No," he says. "I think it's impossible to be in this life and not be married, not have a family - family, lineage, is...everything. But," he looks her in the eye then, "it's not possible that I'm the only mob heir to have certain...desires. Predilections. Preferences."

She nods, understanding. "I'm sure that you're right."

He stares off into space for a minute, brooding, but Fay bites her lip, unable to help herself from asking her next question. She's in a strange mood today, feeling a little impulsive and powerful, having come out of that basement unscathed. So, she doesn't hold back. "So are you like...seeing anyone?" she asks quietly.

"What!?" he says, surprised, and then scowls. "No, Fay," he murmurs. "I'm not."

"What about Colin?" she asks, surprised. "The baristo at the book shop?"

"That was...nothing," he murmurs, embarrassed. "We were never dating - we just hook up sometimes."

"Oh," Fay says, resting her chin in her palm and taking another bite of donut. "That's disappointing. He was cute."

Daniel sends her another little glare and then looks away. Realizing that he won't hold her gaze, Fay gasps a little.

"Nooo, wait," she says, giggling. "You're lying! You are seeing someone!" She sits up straight then, thrilled. "Daniel! Tell me!"

"Keep your voice down," he says, bossy, unable to keep the little smile from the corners of his mouth as he flings a tiny decorative pillow at her.

"Oh my god," she says, leaning forward and whispering. "Come on, you're my fiancé. We have no secrets. You have to tell me everything."

"Seriously?" he says, raising an eyebrow. "You're not...mad at me?"

"Daniel," she says, leaning forward and putting a hand on his cheek. "We're not together. And we've been through a lot. Whatever happens with us, I'm rooting for you. And I hope that you are for me. I hope that we both find people who love us, under whatever circumstances."

Daniel traces the rim of his wine glass, considering this. Then, after a moment, he responds. "Thank you, Fay," he murmurs. "That might be the kindest thing anyone's ever said to me."

She leans forward and presses a kiss to his brow, not pushing him any further. He's confessed enough today, she thinks. He'll tell her when she's ready.

"Come on," Fay says, leaning off the edge of the bed to grab the bottle of wine on the floor. "Drink up. We've got nothing else to do today. And I'm not going downstairs again until we're sure your dad has cooled off."

Daniel toasts her refilled glass and then takes another sip, looking at her closely. "And," he hesitates for a moment. "You're not mad at me...otherwise?"

She frowns at him. "What do you mean?"

He looks down at his wine again, ashamed of himself. "For not...coming downstairs, in the midst of it all. For not...interrupting. Taking you away. Saving you."

Fay's mouth rounds in surprise. She takes a moment to think about it and then blushes, laughing a little. Actually, she's very glad that Daniel hadn't come into the room in the middle of that. What would he have thought if he had seen - Frankly, what did she think of it all, all that had happened, the heat between them?

She shakes her head, deciding to mull that over when she had a moment alone. Instead, she turns her attention back to Daniel.

"Actually," she says, "no. I'm glad you didn't. I'm starting to learn that I can handle myself in this world. Learning...methods. Of managing your father. Of...figuring out my own power."

Daniel laughs darkly at this. "Don't ever let my dad hear you say that you've learned to manage him."

Fay smirks. Of course, she would never. Unless she really wanted to piss him off, which...well, which she might actually enjoy.

Her face grows serious, then. "I wonder, though," she says quietly. "If your dad would have liked to have seen you interrupt."

Daniel just frowns at her, so she continues.

"Well," Fay says, looking down into her glass. "I think he's expressed that he wants you to...learn the business. Take control. This could have been an opportunity to show him that of what happens to me, at least, you are in charge." Daniel nods contemplatively and Fay is grateful to see that she hasn't hurt his feelings.

"That's...an interesting point," he says, taking a big gulp of his wine. "That's definitely some food for thought." He looks at her then. "I could start with you," he says, "to show him that I'm in control."

Fay smiles and nods happily at him, agreeing.

But deep down, she's starting to figure out the truth:

That secretly? At the heart of it?

She had the control. Every bit of it.

Chapter 42

The next day, I go down to the kitchen in my riding clothes and wait. And wait.

I have my breakfast with Daniel, waving him off as he goes to class, and then have about five more tiny cups of espresso as I wait so me more.

I'm practically buzzing when Kent finally deigns to come into the room, which is, as usual, busy with activity.

He doesn't even look at me as he sweeps through the room, stopping to check on those cooking this morning, and then heading to the back corner, where the older captains sit. He joins them and consult for awhile, making plans for whatever their next move is. I grit my teeth, realizing that I'm going to have to wait a little longer. To pass the time, I cross to the espresso machine to make myself another cup.

Forty-five minutes later, Kent walks swiftly past me, headed for the door.

Pissed - I know he saw me sitting here, I know he's doing this on purpose - I stand up and call after him.

"Kent!" I call.

He stops in his tracks and then slowly turns to look at me, an eyebrow raised. Otherwise, though, his body gives no indication of what he's thinking or feeling. "Can I get a ride, please?" I ask. "To the stables?"

Kent's eyes flick over me and then he gives a little laugh. "No time today," he says as he pushes through the door. "Maybe tomorrow. If I'm feeling generous."

I glare at the door as it swings shuts.

God damnit. This was my real punishment.

Finishing my tiny cup of coffee, I head upstairs and get changed, opting for a comfortable pair of leggings and a sweater. Then, I flop onto my bed, realizing that I have...absolutely nothing to do.

I sigh, glancing over at my books, but not wanting to read them. It's moments like this when I really miss Fiona. She was always a bright spot in my day, making me laugh, filling up my time by dressing me up and playing with my hair like her own little human-sized barbie.

Sitting up, I wonder about where she is now. I hope she's okay, that she got somewhere safe. That she's happy, living a good life.

It's so strange, realizing someone you'd come to love is your biological family in the moment when you say goodbye to them. Fiona was good to me perhaps because I am her cousin. She taught me so many skills that I've found useful already in this mafia life, skills I'm not sure I truly appreciated until now.

I wonder, too, if she was also giving me hints about how to defy Kent. Considering that she was, apparently, here the whole time as a spy herself -

Perhaps she was preparing me to take her place.

I pale a little at the idea, still not knowing - not really - where my allegiances like. With Daniel, certainly, but between Kent and my father, the true real powers at play here? Whose side was I on? Perhaps neither.

But Fiona. She was the one who showed me, first, that there's more to this house than meets the eye. And that if I'm sneaky, I can find some really interesting - and potentially useful - stuff in the house's most under-explored corners. A wicked little smile crosses my face then.

Well. If Kent won't keep me out of trouble by taking me to visit my horse, then I guess...trouble it is.

I bounce out of bed, putting on my slippers, and head out into the hallway.

I look both ways, realizing that I actually know very little about this house. There's a linen closet next to my room, and then on the other side there's Daniel's room. Beyond that is the room that Fiona used, and then some other guest rooms. I blink, realizing that - really - I have no idea where Kent sleeps.

A smirk crosses my face as I wonder if he hangs from the rafters like some kind of evil bat. That would suit his personality, for sure.

Thinking of the rafters, though, my eyes travel up the next set of stairs, which wind slowly upwards beyond my room.

I had asked Fiona, once, where they went, but she had dismissed the question off-hand, telling me there was nothing up there but a whole bunch of junk in storage.

I consider this for a second, mulling over her words. What kind of storage, though? Especially if all of the family heirlooms and photo books were kept downstairs in that little room in the basement...what the hell did they keep upstairs? Suddenly curious, and feeling bold - and frankly, bored - I look around for any evidence of prying eyes and then tiptoe forward, heading up the steps without a sound.

Surprisingly, there isn't even a landing at the top. Instead, there's just an ugly brown plywood door, its shabby material clearly at odds with the fine woodworking in the rest of the house. This, clearly, was installed late.

I reach out a hand, firmly grasping the round knob, and give it a twist - but it doesn't budge.

Disappointed, I drop my hand and screw my mouth to the side. I make a mental note to ask Daniel what's up there and, also, to look up some basic lock picking methods on the internet.

Shrugging, I skip back down the steps and decide impulsively that if I'm denied knowledge of the storage centers above, I might as well explore those below. Without stopping to let myself think much about it - lest I chicken out - I hurry down the stairs and push through the kitchen door.

I walk confidently across the kitchen, not avoiding eye-contact with anyone, but not initiating it either. Instead, I simply glide through as if this is precisely what I'm supposed to do - as if, in fact, Kent expressly told me to do it.

My tactic works and I smile as I push through the little white door, heading downstairs. Nobody stops me and I think - nobody really noticed me going by.

As I reach the hallway below, I realize that this place doesn't hold any terror for me anymore. My experiences yesterday got rid of those, replacing them with...well, with a little tremor of excitement that pulses through me.

I consider this, for a moment - consider whether that's healthy, really. Honestly, a girl like me should have a healthy fear of the mob boss's torture chamber basement. I was still naïve and new to this world - there was still so much danger here for me, and yet here I was, walking through without a care. Really, seriously, who was I anymore?

As I come to the end of the hallway and push through the door into the archives room, I realize that a big part of me...doesn't really care about the changes that I'm going through. That I like myself like this - this bold, somewhat careless new Fay. Maybe this new version of me was just some kind of trauma response to what happened yesterday? But, I shrug as I stand in the middle of the room. Whatever. It's better than being terrified all the time.

I take a minute to look over the stacks of porn sitting in the corner, but then I shake my head, deciding against it. I am definitely curious - especially knowing that some of it is Kent's homemade stuff - but...no. Not today.

Instead, I move to the opposite side of the room, to where the photo books are. Some of them are very old - a hundred years or more, even. The academic historian in me wants to explore those early photographs, but instead I reach for the newer bindings further down, hoping for some information about Daniel and his upbringing.

I take a few volumes over to the little chair, flipping through.

I smile, recognizing Daniel's face in a few of the first photos, but then frown when I realize that they're too old - grainy old photos, with fashion from the 1980s...

I blink, shocked, realizing that these must be pictures of Kent when he was a child. Fascinated, I flip through, looking at the people who must have been his mother and father, his family. I quickly flip to the front of the book where I'm lucky enough to find a picture of a beautiful, dark-haired woman, who is happily caressing her pregnant belly.

This, I'm sure, must be Kent's mother. I study her face for a resemblance to her but frown when I can't find it. Kent's looks, like Daniel's, must likewise come from his father.

Hoping for pictures of Daniel as a child, I put this album down and pick up the next one. I'm shocked, when I flip it open, to see that it's actually Kent's wedding album.

Slowly, I flip through the photos - black and white, surprisingly - and take in all the details of their beautiful Italian wedding. It looks terribly romantic, situated at a beautiful vineyard, the couple's private table set up under a wide-branching olive tree. There is a photograph, right at the beginning, of the beautiful bride, her stunning face quite serious as she looks directly into the camera. Her dress is long, lace, and clinging - the opposite of the one that I had chosen for my own wedding.

Or, well. The one Kent had chosen for me. I wonder, passingly, if it was an intentional choice, remembering that none of the dresses selected for me looked anything like this.

I return my eyes to her face again, her hair tightly pulled back so as not to distract from her severe expression as she raises her chin and looks proudly at the camera.

I find myself quite moved by her, curious about this noble - and, am I imagining it? A bit melancholy? - mafia bride.

My thoughts are interrupted, though, by a single word that makes me jump almost out of my seat.

"Fay." Kent's tone is serious and disapproving as I raise my eyes to see him standing at the door, his feet set wide apart, hands in his pockets as he frowns at me. "I told you not to come down here."

I close the photo album languidly, holding his gaze. "Well, you wouldn't take me to the stable. I got bored." I shrug a little. "You can't expect a girl to stay in her room all day, can you?"

He glares at me, and a little smile tugs at my lips as I hear a rumble growing in his chest.

God, but I do love to piss him off.

 

Chapter 43

"Fay," Kent says, clenching his mouth closed after he utters my name, apparently needing a minute to this."

I give him a fake little pout, seeing how far I can push it. "But it's so interesting down here," I say, turn -very bohemian of you -"

his temper. That little muscle of frustration flickers in his cheek, making my little smile grow. "You're not to come down to the basement. I was clear about attention back to the wedding album. "For instance," I say, my voice light, "I had no idea you'd consent to get married in just a linen shirt - no suit coat even

Kent takes two steps forward and snatches the photo album out of my hand, glaring at me. Then, he glances down at it, as if surprised. We're both silent for a moment while he stares at the photo album. "I haven't looked at this in...years.

I consider him, glad to have a moment to study his tall, muscular form while he's not glaring at me. Hi For instance, did he really need to come down here to yell at me for looking through photo albums? W And what joy does Kent really have to balance out all of the worry, the constant need for control, that My eyes flick back to the photo album, wondering if there is perhaps an answer there.

"Did you love her?"

I blush when I hear myself ask it. Again, my mouth has run away with me - speaking my thoughts befo Kent raises his eyes suddenly, that glare focused on me again. He doesn't answer my question, just to I lean back into the chair, still studying him, feeling as if I've just figured out a little piece of the Kent Which, of course, ticks him off.

"I'm serious, Fay," Kent says, his voice low and serious. "There are rules in this house, and they're in pl "What," I say, narrowing my eyes into a glare of my own, my own temper a little riled at this renewed t week."

ays quietly, surprised into a moment of reverence.

s lined with years of worry - perhaps more worry than most men his age. He carries a lot, I know, but...well, I wonder if he carries more than he needs to. rm, really, was I doing?

mes his time? The worry and need for control that, indeed, results in his panic attacks?

hsider whether it's wise.

e album back onto the shelf as if it doesn't matter to him. But I saw his face a moment ago - I know he's performing a nonchalance he doesn't feel. smile a little again, pleased.

a reason." He folds his arms and glares down at me. "If you do not obey them, you will be punished -"

What, Kent. If I disobey, what are you going to do, chain me to the table in your little t*****e chamber? Again?" I roll my eyes. "We already did that this

Kent opens his mouth to say something - scold me, probably - but I just sigh and press my hands against the arms of the chair, pushing myself up. "Fine," I say, looking at him with exhaustion on my face. "I'll go upstairs."

I walk past him towards the door but he stops me, calling my name. "Fay," he says, half turning to look

I stop in the doorway and wait.

"There are rules in this house. I will not have them broken." Kent holds my gaze steadily. "You can play your little game of defiance all you like, but ultimately?" He stares at me, cold. "I will win. Every time."

A little thrill builds in the bottom of my stomach as I think of the possibility of those challenges, of pushing him, trying him - pushing myself, at that. I'm so interested in this new Fay that I'm seeing develop within me as a result of our interactions. Part of me wants to get to know her more. But the other part? The true Fay, who I've been my entire life? She just wants to live in peace.

"I'll follow your rules, Kent," I say quietly, keeping my face blank. "But in exchange, I will be treated with respect in this house."

He opens his mouth to reply but I interrupt him, holding up a finger.

"And," I say, continuing my small list of demands. "I'm not going to be held here like a little caged pet. I understand that you have to keep me safe, but I can't spend my whole life sitting in my room upstairs."

My face softens then, betraying, I think, a little of the misery that I sometimes feel in his home. "I'm a whole person, Kent," I say softly. "A real person. I need to have a little bit of freedom. A little bit of a life." He stares at me for a moment, considering, and then gives me a small nod.

I nod as well and then turn, heading out the door and down the long basement hallway towards the steps. Just as I reach the bottom, I hear him call my name again.

I turn to see Kent standing at the door to the little records room, considering me carefully. I raise an eyebrow, curious about what he could want.

"Go and get dressed," he says, his voice even. "I can't take you to the stables, but I'll send someone else with you."

My face brightens instantly and I bite my lip against my joy, not wanting him to see quite how happy he's made me. I feel as if I've gained a little bit of an upper hand here, and I don't want to waste it. Still, I can't be rude.

"Thank you," I say, dipping my head before dashing up the stairs to get ready.

Twenty minutes later, I skip down the stairs to the main floor again and then look around. The door to Kent's office is closed, but I hear a whistle and turn towards the kitchen.

There, leaning against the wall, is Jerome. My face breaks out into a smile - Jerome, good. He's always nice to me, and funny to boot.

"Are you ready?" he asks with a grin, standing up straight.

"Yup!" I say, hurrying down the hall with a big smile.

He pauses, the left side of his smile deepening as he looks at me, taking in my excitement. I stand in front of him for a moment, wondering why he's looking at me like that - what he's waiting for - and then Jerome just laughs, shaking his head and moving towards the garage.

"Come on," he says. "Let's get going. Not every day that I get an assignment to go play with horses in the country."

"Oh," I say, following him into the garage. "Are you riding too?"

"No," he answers, holding the passenger side door of one of Kent's Escalades open for me. "No way Kent would let me ride one of his precious thoroughbreds."

He closes my door then and comes around the car, opening the driver's seat and climbing in.

I consider Jerome, suddenly curious. "Sounds like you know what you're talking about, though, if you know their breeds."

Jerome smirks at me as we pull out of the garage. "I spent four years on the rodeo circuit as a teenager," he says, "which is another reason why Kent won't let me touch a horse. He knows I know what I'm doing, but he doesn't want anyone riding his herd like a cowboy would."

I laugh as Jerome circles a hand above his head, miming a lasso.

"Wow," I say, shaking my head at him and grinning. "I had no idea Kent had such...variety amongst his ranks."

"Stick with me, kid," Jerome murmurs, giving me a friendly smile. "I'm full of surprises."

With that, we head down the road, and I study Jerome as we go. Had I just never noticed it before? Or is Jerome kind of...cute?

 

Chapter 44

"Good, Fay! Good!" Jerome says, his voice eager and encouraging.

Kent's trainer couldn't come on short notice, so Jerome is putting me through some exercises on the horse. He watched me ride a bit and then told me to my surprise - that I'm too reliant on the reins. "You hold onto them," he had said, smirking at me, "like the handlebars on a bike. Like they're going to keep you from falling off."

I had frowned at him. "Well," I said, hesitating. "Aren't they?"

Jerome had laughed, looking up at me from his place on the ground next to Heathcliff. "No, Fay," he said. "The best riders barely even use the reins. You've got to learn how to communicate from here." With that, he'd shocked me by smacking my thigh.

Jerome hadn't noticed my surprise, though, instead moving to Heathcliff's head and unbuckling his bridle, replacing it with a halter - a head harness that has no reins at all. Then, he attached a long, long lead rope to a ring on that halter so that we could do some exercises without reins.

So now I'm bouncing around arena as Heathcliff trots in circles around Jerome, who stands at the center, the end of the long lead in his hand.

It was scary, at first, not having anything to hold onto. Jerome even made me put my arms out to the side like a bird, to make me avoid clinging to Heathcliff's mane for safety. But then, as I got the hang of it, I started to understand what he meant.

I really had been holding on to the reins for dear life. But really, it was all about balance and holding on with my legs and my knees.

My arms still out to the side, I shoot Jerome a happy look and he laughs, pleased to see me catching on.

"Well done, Fay!" He shouts to me. "Can you kick him into a canter?"

I hesitate, not sure if I want to go faster. Jerome, seeing my hesitation, laughs at me derisively. He doesn't quite call me a coward but...well, it's implied.

I clench my teeth and screw my courage together, giving Heathcliff a little nudge with my heels. He responds immediately, picking up the pace into a rolling little canter.

I laugh, putting my weight into the balls of my feet and my heels, standing in the stirrups and feeling a bit of a thrill as the wind whips against my face. Jerome whoops with joy and I can't help myself as I laugh a little along with him.

"Okay, Fay!" he shouts out to me. "Go ahead and sit back down, put your weight at the back of the saddle to slow him."

I work to do as he says, bouncing a little, awkwardly, as Heathcliff slows to a trot and then a walk. I'm still laughing with joy as Jerome walks over to us, gathering up the length of the long lead as he goes.

"Atta girl," he says, smiling up at me. "You're riding like a real cowgirl now."

I brush the hair out of my face, tucking it back beneath my little velvet helmet.

"Oh yeah?" I ask, grinning down at him. "You going to teach me how to rope steers next?"

"I'll teach you anything you want," Jerome says, coming close to Heathcliff's shoulder and smiling up at me. "Pretty girl like you, though?" he says, raising his eyebrow, "you should learn how to barrel race. That's what all the rodeo beauties do, and they make good money if they're fast enough."

His smile deepens as he sees me blush. I'm not used to being told I'm pretty. I have to admit though...I didn't hate it.

"What's barrel racing?" I ask, studying Jerome's face as he explains the process of girls competing to see who can be the fastest to run a loop around two barrels and return to the start.

Jerome's a good looking guy - older than me, but only by a few years, with sandy brown hair and a light smattering of freckles over his nose. He's strong-jawed and, like most of Kent's guys, quite fit.

I stop hearing what he's saying as I look at him more. Does he really think I'm pretty? Or was he just saying it as a joke?

Suddenly, Jerome's smile deepens as he realizes that I'm not paying attention to a word he's saying. That I'm just staring at his handsome face.

"Sorry," I say, blinking at him and blushing again. "Um, can you repeat that?"

"Don't worry about it," he says, laughing a little and holding up a hand to help me dismount. "Come on, let's let Heathcliff get his rest."

I nod and take Jerome's hand, swinging my right leg over Heathcliff's withers and hopping down, my butt sliding against the saddle as I go. Much more elegant a dismount, I think, then the time Kent had helped me down and my butt had slid against him as I'd almost fallen. Still, I remember, just for a moment, the feeling of Kent's hands on my waist.

Distracting myself from the thought, I grin up at Jerome. "I think I'm getting better at this," I say, genuinely proud of myself.

"You're doing great, Fay," he says, his eyes lingering on my face a little. Then he clears his throat and looks towards the barn, tugging on Heathcliff's halter to ask him to walk forward. "We'll get you racing in no time."

I walk alongside Jerome, happily chatting with him as we get Heathcliff back into his stall, unsaddled, and ready for his afternoon of peace and quiet.

I have to admit, there is something comforting about being with Jerome. Unlike Kent, I'm never worried about what mood he's in today or how I'm going to pay the consequences of that mood. And unlike Daniel, there's...well, there's a bit of a spark, really. Daniel's great, but it's all books and philosophy and plans for escaping this life. There's nothing romantic there, not anymore, which...well, which gets a little boring.

Jerome, though? I bite my lip, watching him lift the saddle up onto its spot on the wall, his arms swelling with the effort, a little bit of sweat on his brow.

A cute guy who likes horses and, apparently, likes me too?

Maybe there's something here after all. Something worth thinking about, at least.

I'm still buzzing with joy as Jerome pulls back onto Kent's property. Jerome and I talked easily the whole way home, him telling me about his years in the rodeo circuit, and then some other years rustling cattle out West.

It sounded amazing, like a dream, and there wasn't enough time to get all of my questions answered by the time we were home. I almost regretted it, as we pulled into the garage.

"Can you come next time?" I ask Jerome as we climb out of the car, my eyes shining.

He smiles at me as we walk towards the door to the house. "I'll go as often as Kent lets me, Fay," he says. Just before we walk through the door into the house, though, Jerome grabs my arm, hesitating. Apparently, he wants a moment together while we're still alone. "I, uh..." he says, glancing at the door. I glance at it as well. Then he takes a step closer to me. "I had a really nice time with you today, Fay," he says, his face quite close to mine now.

"I did too," I say, my stomach doing a little somersault. We stand there for a moment, smiling at each other, before the door opens.

Jerome is moving before I even realize what is happening, heading towards the house, giving Kent - who is standing there - a nod.

Kent watches Jerome carefully as he walks past, not saying a word. Then, Kent slowly turns his gaze to me. I just stare at him, my eyes wide and my face blank.

"Well, Fay?" Kent asks, crossing his arms across his chest. "Did you have a nice time?" He glances after Jerome again.

"Yes," I say, smoothing my hands over my tight riding pants. "It was...really nice. Thank you. For letting Jerome take me."

Kent just nods and then pulls something from his back pocket. "You have mail," he says, holding out a little square envelope.

Curious, I come forward and take it. There's no address on the front - just my name.

"Delivered by hand," Kent explains. "Apparently, it's an invitation for tonight. The messenger is still here," Kent says, looking towards the front door. "Waiting for your reply." Quickly, I open the envelope, raising my eyebrows at what I see inside.

Chapter 45

"A...beach party?" I say, cocking my head to the side as I study the note.

"It's about an hour away," Kent says, watching me closely as I read. "Friends and family, apparently."

I look up at Kent my eyebrow raised. "Did you...read my mail?"

He stares at me impassively, not needing to confirm. I study the envelope, wondering how the hell he re-sealed it, and then why he bothered to reseal it...

"Fay," Kent says sharply and I look up to see that he's frustrated with me. As usual. "Are you going to go?"

I look back at the invitation and see, in particular, that it's made out to me. No mention of Kent or Daniel. Apparently, it's a private party.

"Am I...allowed to go?" I ask, looking back up at him.

Kent shrugs. "I'll send you with my guards, of course. But there's no real reason to refuse. Unless, of course, you don't want to. You're not a caged pet, after all."

Kent says the final words ruefully, but my lips crook into a smile, recognizing my lanugage from this morning. He was listening, I realize. He's trying.

"Okay," I say, moving towards Kent and then past him, walking down the hallway to where a man is waiting by the front door. "Are you the messenger my father sent?" I ask cheerfully.

The messenger just bows a little, which I assume is a confirmation. "Okay." I say, smiling innocently. "Please tell my father that I'm happy to accept."

The messenger nods, reaching for the handle of the door so he can go deliver the reply.

"Oh," I say, and he stops, turning back to me. "Would you please tell my father that we might be a few hours late? I apologize - I just got the invitation now, and it will take us some time to get ready." The messenger hesitates, and then ventures a word. "We?"

I smile broadly at him. "Yes," I say, turning for the stairs. "My fiancé will accompany me to the party."

As I head up the stairs, I see Kent out of the corner of my eye, smirking. Apparently, he approves.

Daniel mopes in the car. "I can't believe you agreed to this for me," he murmurs. "I hate this kind of stuff, Fay."

"Oh, come on," I say, nudging him with my elbow. "How can you hate a barbeque. At the beach."

Daniel just scowls at me and I laugh at him, smoothing out the wrinkles in my blue-and-white striped skirt, which I've paired with a little white crop-top.

Or, which I should say, Kent has paired with a little white crop-top. Because this adorable outfit just magically appeared in my room after my shower, complete with a wide-brimmed straw hat. Now that Fiona is gone, Kent has no plausible deniability anymore. We both know he selects my clothes for me.

Luckily, he has immaculate taste.

"You really do look pretty," Daniel says, looking at me from the corner of his eye.

"Thank you," I say, preening a little bit. I could tell that Kent approved, too, when I had come downstairs ready to go. He hadn't said anything, but the look in his eye had been enough.

I had hesitated, before we left, seeing that Kent was sending us with two guards each to keep an eye on us.

"Is it..." I had asked, looking at the guns strapped to their hips, a little scared. "Is there any reason to think it will be like last time?" I ask, worried. "With...the guns?"

Kent had looked down at me reassuringly. "No, Fay," he had said. "Whoever was responsible for that won't pull that move again. Besides, this is a much smaller party. And with just the two of you going," he looked at Daniel as well then, "there isn't as much of a sweet target. One bird with one stone, this time. Instead of two."

I nodded, thinking about Kent's math there, and realized that to him I'm not even a bird in the equation. I frowned a bit, but Kent had put a hand on my shoulder, moving on. "Just have fun. You'll be safe," he had said, glaring at our guards. "My guys will make sure of

it." They had nodded their confirmation and then we had left.

Now, we're forty-five minutes out of the city, heading away from the stables and towards the beach. I can already smell the salt on the air. I love the beach - I always have, despite my lily-white skin and my tendency to burn as red as a lobster. There's just something about the beach that just calls to me.

We pull up to the indicated spot and Daniel puts a hand on my arm when I eagerly reach for the door, indicating that I should wait a moment before getting out of the car. I pause, then, watching the guards climb out of the front seat and the car behind us, sweeping the area in order to make sure that we're secure.

When we get the nod from them, Daniel and I climb out and I look around, studying the scene.

I had expected, really, to be taken to a beach house - my father, I've heard, owns several. But, instead, we're at a private beach far away from any buildings. It's just us and the sea, and it's really very, very beautiful.

There are plenty of people milling around - some I recognize as family members whom I had met at the party. Others, though, are completely foreign to me.

One man in particular catches my eye. He's young - perhaps my age, or just a little older than me. He has tanned skin and bleach-blonde hair, but what is really eye-catching about him is that he's covered in tattoos - almost from head to foot. They're all black and white, matching his casual, sporty attire, and I can tell - even from a distance - that each tattoo was carefully considered and finely done.

As I stare at him, he turns and looks directly at me. He doesn't flinch at all, but instead looks almost...unsurprised. That I might stare at him. As I continue to look, he smirks a little and raises his beer to me.

Which, of course, makes me realize that I am just standing here staring at this guy.

Which, of course, makes me blush.

I turn to Daniel, then, trying to cover up my discomfort by remembering the security of him at my side. "Ready?" I ask.

Daniel shrugs and sighs. "Into the lion's den we go," he says, and we walk forward onto the beach.

"Fay!" My father says, coming forward. He's dressed in swim trunks and a Hawaiian-print shirt, which surprises and startles me, just a little. This is a big, Italian man - I haven't seen him in anything less than an Armani suit yet, so such an abrupt change is...well, it's abrupt.

He comes forward and gives me a kiss, shaking Daniel's hand without a word about the uninvited guest. "Welcome," he says, "have a drink! Make yourself at home!"

A waiter comes forward, then, offering a tray of soft and hard drinks. I select a can of spiked lemonade while Daniel takes a coke.

Alden opens his mouth to say more when Romulus runs up to us. "Hi Fay!" he says, waving to me, apparently genuinely excited to see me. I lean down to greet him, excited as well.

"Hey, Rom," I say, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Are you having fun?"

"Yes!" he says, excited, but then he turns his attention to Daniel. "But we're one short for volleyball, do you know how to play?"

Daniel hesitates, looking at me. But I shrug, encouraging him. Daniel's a bookish guy, but I do know for a fact that volleyball is one of his favorites.

"Sure, kid," he says, smiling at Romulus and handing me his drink. "Lead the way."

I watch them head off down the stretch of sand and my father puts his arm around me. "Good, good," he says, "it will be good for the boys to get to know one another, since they will soon be family." He smiles at me and I smile back. "Now," he says, giving me a little tug and pulling me over to where some chairs are arranged around a fire. "You come with me. I have some people I want you to meet."