End of the Innocence (16 page)

A SLAP
. Hopefully, I would never use it.

♥♥♥

“G
ood. Again.”

I released my arms, freeing Ben’s neck, and waited for him to stand. “I think I got it.”

“You’re still holding your breath when you choke me. And you’re thinking out the moves. It needs to become second nature to you.” He stood, his hands settling to his waist, the dim theatre room lighting putting much of his face into the shadows.

“One more time. Then I’ve got to take a shower.” I didn’t know the time, no clock in the room, but it felt late. And I had promised to meet Olivia at the library, both of us facing mid-term finals.

“I’ll step in.” Brad’s voice came from behind my head, and I turned to see him in the doorway, his dress clothes still on, though he had lost his jacket at some point in the evening.

I frowned. “I don’t want to mess up your clothes.”

He held out a hand, sending a cocky grin down at me. “I’ll let a beautiful woman mess up my clothes any day.”

“Wrong answer,” I grumbled, accepting the hand and yanking it unnecessarily hard when standing.

“I’m sorry, love. I’ll let your beautiful ass mess up my clothes any day.” He winked at me, stepping backward slightly on the blue mat, until we were at least ten feet apart.

It wasn’t about his clothes. I sucked at defending myself against Brad. He was so much bigger, stronger, than Ben. I couldn’t fully wrap my arms around his chest, my moves had to be done perfectly in order for my light weight to properly influence and affect his large mass. And I was not, as much as I’d like to admit it, perfect. Far from it. Most days, I felt like I was two steps above mediocre. I was reminded of my lack of proficiency every time Brad stepped onto the mat.

“Go ahead baby.” I gestured with my hands. “Give me your best shot.”

His best shot ended up forcibly grabbing me, moving me to the floor where he proceeded to pull up my shirt. Took his time groping my chest. I let him enjoy it, putting up a mock struggle until the moment his frisky hand wandered far enough to the right. Then I jumped into action, trapping the arm and rolling, taking it with me to a place that it wasn’t meant to go, a place that meant broken bones or disconnected sockets. And for once, my mediocrity didn’t interfere, and I heard his hand, the three strong slaps against the mats. I released him, rolling over, his arm snagging me into place, a smile on his face as he stole a quick kiss from me. “Not bad, baby. Not bad.”

––––––––

N
ot bad was screaming its way up my shoulder. I winced, taking a break from my textbook and rolled the joint, stretching the limb carefully right and then left, the action catching the attention of Olivia.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just sore.”

She snorted, the perturbed sound catching my attention in the quiet library.

“What?”

“That from some crazy sexual acrobats?” She raised an eyebrow at me over the cover of her textbook.

“No. Working out with Ben.”

“That is so weird. You rolling around on a mat with Brad’s best friend.”

“It’s not sexual, O. It’s self-defense. You should come sometime.”

“As you’ve mentioned a hundred times before. I have Mace. As do you. There’s no need for you to be a black belt to boot. And the CIA-level security system he just installed at your house? Was the retinal eye scan not available? Plus, since when does a trophy wife need protection? You gonna get mugged while walking through Neiman Marcus?” She kept her gaze on her book, my attempt to catch her eyes futile.

“I’m not gonna be a trophy wife.” I ignored the other attacks, the ground covered ten times before. She didn’t know about the attempt on my life eight months before. Didn’t know about Brad’s family or the hidden threats that would exist for the rest of my life. It was something I would never tell her, along with the side of our sex life that involved strangers and kink. She already had enough reservations about Brad, enough irritation toward the man who had stolen her best friend.

She set down the book, her eyes finally meeting mine. “You’re twenty-one. He’s thirty-four. You’re hot. Driving a BMW. Carrying a hard-working family’s second mortgage around on your finger. Probably won’t work a day in your life. Nothing about that screams trophy wife?”

I studied her face, the anger in it. Why was she mad? Where was this hostility coming from? Was it too much to ask that she be happy for me? “You’re forgetting, in that ridiculous equation of yours, that I love the man.”

“No. You’re dazzled by him. Without the money, without his man-whore reputation that presents a challenge, you would have dropped him by now. Not run around, letting him orchestrate your every move.” She closed her notebook, capping the pen, and stood, sliding the items off the desk and into her book bag, the worn item in sharp contrast to the barely-used Louis Vuitton carryall that slouched carelessly by my tennis shoes.

I stood, fighting to keep my voice low, aware of the attention we were attracting from the others at our table. Pens had stopped scratching, eyes stopped reading, an eavesdropping silence blanketed the entire area. “Don’t presume to know how I feel. You have no idea of my feelings, and I shouldn’t have to—at every interaction with you—defend my actions and validate my love.” I watched with dismay as she bent, hefting her book bag over her shoulder.

“Whatever. Becca’s the one who blows sunshine, not me.” She pulled out her cell, her fingers moving over the screen, doing godknowswhat as she turned away. “See you later, Jules.”

I watched her go, my eyes on her as she moved past the main desk, pressing the buttons for the elevator, waiting for the car, and then stepping on, her head never lifting from her phone, never turning to look, my last glimpse the blue material of her book bag as she stepped onto the car.

I sat, trying to sort out my emotions, trying to understand what just happened, anger brewing amidst the confusion.

“Ouch.” The word came from my right, and I glanced over to see brown eyes studying me behind thick glasses, the girl’s mouth twisted into a wry grin.

“Yeah,” I muttered.

“It
is
a kick ass ring, though.” She smiled, dipping her pen in the direction of my hand.

I smiled politely, closing my own textbook with a sigh.
So much for studying
.

♥♥♥

W
hile I planned my future, Rebecca planned my wedding, Olivia cursed my relationship, and arrangements of a completely different nature occurred in the seedy underbelly of the city. Money was exchanged, plans were constructed, and my fate was determined.

For the second time in twelve months, my life was in danger. And just like before, I was completely oblivious.

––––––––

“W
hat’s going on with your law school application?” Brad’s voice came to me through the darkness and I turned, watching the light of the pool reflect off his muscles as he pushed up and out of the water.

I leaned back against the cushion of the pool chaise, my own skin almost dry. We had been swimming almost nightly, the unseasonal heat wave perfectly complemented by laps in the pool. We aimed for dusk, the sunset through the palm trees creating a perfect oasis and a half-hour of darkness before the bugs came out. He cocked an eyebrow at me, waiting for a response as he grabbed a towel off the chair beside me. “I haven’t given much thought to it,” I responded vaguely.

“You should be giving a lot of thought to it. What’s your top choice? We can shoot for admission there.”

I shot him an odd look. “My top choice? I was only going to apply to State. It’s the only law program nearby.”

He shook his head. “State is fine, but we’d be foolish not to use my contacts. Ignore the distance, where do you want to go?”

Where do I want to go?
I hadn’t even allowed myself to think that way. I was getting married, would spend the next umpteen years of my life in this city. Me trotting off to a strange city for law school didn’t seem the prudent thing to do. “Ignore the distance?” I laughed. “Brad, that’s easy to say, but you don’t mean that.”

He stopped in the middle of drying his hair and looked at me. “Julia, this is a huge decision for you. It’s three years out of our entire life; we can make arrangements to make it work. Pick your school, and we will work out the rest.”

“I don’t want to live my first three years as a wife away from my husband. I can go to State. It’s no big deal.”

He frowned, sitting on the edge of my seat, his eyes locked with mine. “I don’t want you to be punished because you decided to marry me. I want you to make the right choices for your career. Do you know what field of law you want to practice?”

More decisions. “No. Not corporate. I died of boredom in the West Wing. Maybe criminal.” I reached out and caught his hand, stopping him as he rose. “Being your wife will never be a punishment. I chose to marry you, and living here is part of that choice.”

He leaned over, placing a soft kiss on my forehead and then leaned in more, brushing his lips across mine. “Regardless, make a list of your top five choices. State can only take up one spot. I’ll see who I know in each alumni base, and Rebecca can start collecting references.” He snagged my towel and held out a hand to help me up.

“I can collect my own references.”

“She can collect better ones.”

♥♥♥

T
he damn man had the annoying quality of always being right. I assembled my list, bringing it to Rebecca with dread, expecting some bitchy ass comment about adding to her workload. But she held the side of sass, glancing over the paper with a low whistle. “Damn girl, you don’t mess around.”

“It’s my dream list. I didn’t say it was realistic.” I grinned.

“Give me a few hours. Brad’s got enough favors hanging out there that this should be a cinch.”

“You’ve got time. I don’t need to send in apps ‘til the end of the next month.” I prepared to leave, standing and grabbing my bag, but was stopped by her outstretched finger.

She grabbed a pink flower post-it and scribbled something on it, then ripped off the top copy. “This is the next LSAT prep course. With those schools, you’re going to need one hell of an LSAT score. I already signed you up last week, per the big man’s instructions.” She held out the daisy-shaped note, and I took it reluctantly.

“I’m really just happy going to State ...” I ventured before she stood up with a start, her chair making a grotesque sound against the stone floor.

“Julia, that man will never forgive himself if you short-change your life because of him. I won’t go getting in your business, but trust me. He worries day and night about making you happy. Pick the damn school you want to go to.” She cocked a hip and fixed me with a look you might give an unruly child.

“You won’t go getting in our business?” The statement was so absurd I literally burst out laughing. I had no doubt the woman probably knew every aspect of our lives, right down to the time of my monthly cycle.

She laughed, then fixed me with a wry smile. “Hey, I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. Now, attend the damn LSAT course and leave me be. I need to find you some references so good that admissions will overlook your paltry three-point-eight GPA.”

I didn’t even question how she knew my GPA, her investigative skills way too advanced for a mortal like me to ever understand. Screw LSAT prep, I needed to take classes in Rebecca 101.

––––––––

M
AY

Days until wedding: 108

––––––––

R
ebecca and my mother had taken over wedding preparations. Like, locked me out of the room, forbade me to touch their plans, taken over wedding prep. Which was great, because the details alone were enough to raise my stress level tenfold. I loved the thought of a big wedding, had Pinterested enough images for a hundred weddings, but when it came to organizing it all? Tasting cakes, picking out calligraphy? My chest seized at the sheer enormity. So I turned it over to them, trading hundreds of hours of details with one weekly update. The more money that poured out, the more intricate details and decisions that were added to the spectacle that was becoming our wedding, the less I cared. The more I realized that the details, the window dressing, was unimportant. Important to us was the whispering of words that would tie us together until death did us part. The words mattered, the packaging did not. All it did was dress up the connection—the connection that no one else understood. No one else really got him and me and why we were so perfect for each other. Trying to explain our relationship would involve trying to explain our sex, and no one outside of our world would understand it.

As the days ticked on, my stress began to grow, the thought of my family and friends across the table from bloodthirsty savages too much for my mind to take. And weddings in an Italian family were apparently some type of giant family reunion where everyone was invited and fully expected to rescheduled doctor’s appointments and cruises and murders, to drive the five or a hundred or a thousand miles to attend. My family made up twenty-two invitations. Brad’s? Ninety-six. On Brad’s mother’s side of the family, every single invite’s RSVP had been returned, all with the box ‘Will Attend’ firmly checked. On Brad’s father’s side—the Magiano dynasty—the only response had come from Maria’s family and twenty or thirty great aunts and uncles. Total silence from Brad’s father, brothers, and cousins. I had cut Rebecca off at that stage of the update, waving my hands wearily and dropping my head heavily on her desk.

“Why were they even invited?” I moaned. “Did Brad know this?”

She looked at me grimly. “Yeah. He said a lack of invitation would be a sign of disrespect. And mentioned something about them showing up out of spite if they weren’t invited.”

I closed my eyes. Yeah. Dom Magiano seemed to have a thing about being challenged. “So ... we have no idea if they are coming.”

“Right. And my ass isn’t calling them for a follow-up.” Her indignant tone broke through my anguish and caused a smile.