Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I lift her from the counter and look away first, which is pathetic. She’s five. But then she does something unexpected. She lays one tiny hand on my cheek, right over my scar. She traces it with a finger, then sets it flat again and does the same with her other hand to the scar on her own cheek. And it does something to me. This little thing. This point of connection.
I sit down on one of the kitchen chairs and take her hand from her scar to trace it. It’s still pretty red, but it will fade. And it’s not as deep as mine or my brother’s. It will always be visible, though. Her father did that to her. Maybe not intentionally, but it’s on him all the same. What I believe he intended, though, was much worse.
“You’ll grow into it. Don’t worry,” I tell her.
She does look worried, though. Then she lays her head on my chest and closes her eyes. And moments later, she drops off to sleep in that way kids have. It’s a little disturbing.
A sound comes from the kitchen door, and I turn to find Vittoria standing there. I wonder how much she heard. She looks at Emma asleep in my arms. Without a word, I stand to carry the little girl upstairs. Vittoria follows, and when I deposit her into her bed, I expect Vittoria to stay in the room with her sister, but before I can close the bedroom door behind me, she catches it and follows me out.
We stand there for a long minute, and I’m not sure what she wants. What happened in the library was to put her in her place. But it hasn’t done that. And it hasn’t got her out of my system either.
“Go to bed, Vittoria,” I say, and turn to head downstairs and into the library, where I don’t expect her to follow. But, as usual with her, I am wrong. She walks inside and looks at the place we were. I watch her. She’s wearing a tank top and shorts. Her hair, much like her sister’s, is tangled from sleep. But still, she’s fucking beautiful. And more. I can’t fucking drag my eyes away.
“Thank you,” she says when she finally meets my gaze, a flush to her neck and cheeks. I guess she’s remembering what happened in here earlier too. “Again. For Emma. I didn’t notice when she slipped out of the bed.”
“Were you sleeping in there with her?”
“Of course. I don’t want her to be afraid.”
“Maybe we’re not the monsters you make us out to be, Dandelion.” I walk to where the whiskey bottle is and pour myself one although I don’t drink it. My head already throbs.
“I heard what you said to her,” she says, walking to me but stopping a short distance away. “About growing into it. You were talking about her scar, weren’t you?”
I nod.
“She got it during the accident. Glass cut her face.”
“She’s lucky. I’m guessing the intention wasn’t only to scar her.”
She stops. “What are you talking about?”
I sigh. “Nothing. I’m going to bed.”
“Tell me.”
“Mommy or Daddy have brown eyes, Dandelion?”
“What?”
I snort. “Nothing. Never mind.” I take a few steps away.
“Why?” she asks, stopping me.
“Why what?”
“Why were you talking about her scar?”
“She brought it up.”
“Brought it up how?”
“Comparing hers to mine. She touched mine, then hers. I assumed that’s what she was doing.”
“I didn’t even realize she thought about it. It’s not like she’s looking at herself in the mirror or something.” She sits down on the couch, thoughtful, a furrow forming between her eyebrows. She’s worried about her sister. I get it.
“She’ll be fine,” I tell her. “She may not talk, but I get the feeling she sees a whole lot more than you could know.”
“That’s what worries me,” she says, looking up at me as if looking for an answer. It’s one I’m not equipped to give.
“She’ll be fine. People survive shit. Go to bed, Vittoria.”
“Vittoria? Not Dandelion?”
“Don’t start. I’m fucking tired.”
“I guess you would be, considering the activities of the night.”
I grin. “Activities you quite enjoyed.”
She flushes.
“Are you here for more? I’m guessing your ass is a little sore, but if you want to go again, I can always use another hole.”
She narrows her eyes, stands, and comes to me. “No, that’s not why I’m here.”
I grin. “There we are. Back to our corners. I wouldn’t want you to think fucking would change the fundamentals of our relationship.”
“We have no relationship.”
“Oh, we do. It’s a hate-hate one.” She spins to walk away, but I catch her arm and tug her toward me. “I enjoyed fucking you, Dandelion. I enjoyed having you on your knees before me. And I really enjoyed taking your ass and watching you submit to me, to your own pleasure. Tell me something, do you still feel me?”