Tempting Rowan (Trace + Olivia #3) (24 page)

Everyone talked and chatted easily with
one another.

Except me.

I was retreating into myself once more, and I felt like an outsider looking in. I didn’t belong here. I liked all of them, I really did, but they were so different from me.

“You okay?” Trent leaned over to ask.

“Yeah,” I replied with a small shrug, trying to figure out how to eat the lobster I had been presented with.

“Since we’re all here,” Trace took a sip from his wine glass, waving his hand at his family gathered at the table, “there’s something I’d like to tell all of you.”

We all perked up with interest at whatever the oldest Wentworth brother had to tell us.

“I’m so happy to tell you guys that Olivia has once again let me plant my sperm inside her and have the joy of watching a baby grow.”

“TRACE!” Olivia exclaimed, her cheeks a bright red.

“Congratulations,” Trent raised his glass
, as his mom and grandma squealed in delight. “Another baby will be exciting…especially if it’s anything like that little devil,” he pointed to a grinning Dean who was clapping his hands together and blowing spit bubbles.

“I’m so embarrassed,” Olivia muttered, hiding her face behind a napkin.

Lily wiped away a tear from her cheek. “I can’t wait for another grandbaby,” she sniffled.

“Oh shit,” Trent muttered under his breath. Turning to me, he grinned crookedly, “Next she’s going to expect me to get you pregnant.”

I spat out the sip of wine I had just taken and maroon colored droplets of liquid stained the pristine white tablecloth.

“I was just kidding, Row,” he chuckled, beating my back as I struggled to breathe.

I managed to recover in time to see Trace’s grandma hugging him and then Olivia. I couldn’t remember her name though.

“That’s Grammy,” Trent said, pointing to the older woman. It was like he could read my mind or something. “Her name’s Ellie, but she’ll prefer for you to call her Grammy.”

About that time, I heard someone behind us call, “Hey, bitch!”

Olivia’s eyes widened and her cheeks turned even redder than they had been. Poor girl.

“And that,” Trent said without turning around, “is Avery.”

The woman appeared at our table, draped over a tall brawny guy. She had pretty red hair, styled in waves, and her red dress was beautiful but skin tight. I was surprised her boobs didn’t fall out.
The man beside her—Luca, I assumed—was tall with wide shoulders and shaggy dirty blonde hair that fell over his forehead. A black fedora was perched on top of his head.

“How was the honeymoon?” Olivia asked as the couple pulled up two chairs to the already crowded table. “I didn’t realize you were getting back today.”

“It was beautiful!” Avery exclaimed loud enough that people at other tables heard her. “I didn’t want to come home! It was so nice to be at the beach, and now we’re back home to this crappy snow,” she frowned. Noticing me, she leaned over the table and raised a brow, “Who the hell are you?”

Olivia let out a sigh. “Avery,” she muttered, “manners.”

“It’s fine,” I smiled at Olivia. “I’m Rowan. Who the hell are you?” I mimicked her words and tone.

She smiled. “I’m Avery, this one’s wife, so don’t get any ideas,” she grasp
ed Luca’s shoulder in one hand, and let the other venture territorially over his crotch area. Ew.

Luca, who sat beside me, gave me an apologetic smile but didn’t speak.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I assured her.

“Good. We can be friends then,” she flipped her hair
so that it cascaded over her chest, and went back to talking to Olivia.

“Sorry about her,” Trent murmured. “That’s just how she is. Don’t take it personally.”

“I didn’t.”

“This is Luca,” Trent pointed to the man beside me, who I’d already figured out the identity of. “He doesn’t talk much, so don’t expect him to introduce himself. I think I’ve only heard the guy speak a total of twenty words since he and Trace became friends.”

“Uh…” That was strange and I had no comment. I scooted my chair a little closer to Trent’s and he chuckled.

They all continued to chat effortless
ly, and while Trent tried to engage me in conversation I just wasn’t feeling it.

I felt so disconnected
and out of place.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked Trent, interrupting whatever he had been saying.

He gave me directions and I muttered, “Thanks,” as I pushed my chair away from the table.

I walked briskly out of the ballroom and down the hall.

Luckily, the bathroom he’d given me directions to was empty.

I closed the door behind me and started counting.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

The counting didn’t calm me the way it normally did.

So, I counted again and again and again, until I thought I might go crazy.

I paced the length of the bathroom, muttering under my breath.

Finally, I stopped, grasping the pedestal sink in my hands.

I glared at my reflection.

I didn’t recognize the girl I saw there.

The dress.

The hair.

The shoes.

None of it was me.

I was an imposter.

I didn’t belong here.

This life wasn’t mine.

I didn’t deserve to be surrounded by these people—to laugh and smile with Trent.

I was tainted.

I continued to glare at the girl in the mirror.

I hated her.

I hated
me
.

Before I could stop myself, my fist cocked back and flew into the mirror.

It shattered everywhere, slicing my knuckles painfully and making me scream.

I
crumbled to the ground, some of the shattered mirror shards digging into the bare skin of my legs.

My knuckles were on fire and blood dripped from my fingers onto the floor.

Oh God.

What had I done?

“Rowan!” Trent pounded on the door.

Of course he’d come to check on me. Someone had probably heard the mirror break and my scream.

“Rowan! Open the goddamn door!”

I couldn’t move if I wanted to.

I sat there, cradling my injured hand in the other.

“I’m going
to break down this fucking door if you don’t open it!”

I shook my head
, despite the fact that no one could see me, my throat constricting painfully.

He pounded on the door
and then silence fell.

I stared down at the blood dripping from my knuckles and down my fingers. The pain filled me with an odd sense of satisfaction. The physical pain drowned out what I felt inside. I liked it.

The door burst open, splintering from the hinges. Trent stood there, cradling his shoulder, his chest rising heavily with each breath. His mouth fell open as he caught sight of the shards of mirror littering the black and white tiled floor and my bleeding hand.

“Row,” he gasped, dropping
to the ground and reaching for my hand.

I whimpered as he inspected my bloodied knuckles. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

I shook my head rapidly. “No. No hospital. Please.” My words came out short and clipped as I winced from the stinging pain in my hand.

“You might need stitches. You should go to the hospital,” he pleaded.

“I’m not going.” I pulled my hand away from his hold and cradled it once more.

He sighed, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair and then wincin
g from the pain in his shoulder.

“Fine,” he relinquished, “but at least let me clean you up.”

After thinking it over for a moment, I nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

He grasped my arms and hauled me up. He eyed the mess on the floor and then m
y hand. “What were you thinking?”

That I hated myself.

“I don’t know,” I said instead.

He wrapped one arm around my shoulders and helped me stumble out of the bathroom. My legs were shaky from the leftover adrenaline.

We made our way slowly up the steps and some guests lingering in the hall and foyer eyed us with curiosity.

Once in his bedroom he pointed at the bed. “Sit.”
The tone of his voice told me not to argue with him.

He shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and tossed it on a chair in
the corner, then proceeded to undo the first three buttons on his crisp white shirt. He eyed my hand, which had stopped bleeding, and a frown marred his face. He muttered something under his breath and strode into his bathroom.

I heard him rummaging through a drawer and when he found what he was looking for he came back into the room, kneeling in front of me. He opened the first aid kit, pulling out a set of tweezers, and laying a towel to the side.

“I need to get the shards out of your skin before I clean it,” he murmured, holding my hand up and twisting it in the light so he could search for the small pieces.

I winced as he began to pick them out. My skin was raw and tender and the metal points of the tweezers hurt as they pinched at the debris.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered.

“You don’t understand what?” I asked, my voice hoarse as if I had been crying.

“Why you would do this,” he answered.

I looked down, letting the stray hairs that had fallen loose from my up-do hide my face. “I guess you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Why do I feel like I’m losing you?” His eyes flicked up to meet mine and those pretty baby blues rooted me to the spot.

“Can you lose something if you never really have it?”

His teeth smashed together. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” I whispered as he lay the tweezers aside. He picked up the rubbing alcohol and dabbed it on a cotton ball before cleaning my knuckles. I winced from the burning sensation.

“Why are you so fucking scared of
us
?” He pointed at his chest and then me. “We’re good together, we’re happy. Why would you run from that?”

I’d been scared the night I left the tent, but that wasn’t my reason
for running now.

“I’m not running, Trent,” I shook my head as he cleaned the blood from my hand.

“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” he spat, reaching for the gauze to tape around my wound.

With my hand that wasn’t injured, I reached for his face, rubbing my fingers against the slight stubble on his cheek. “I’m not running,” I repeated. “I’m protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “From what?”

“From me.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle you, Row,” he tenderly lifted my hand as he secured the gauze in place.

“It’s not about
handling
me,” I retorted. “I think you know after what I said today that there’s a lot I can’t tell you. I can’t allow you to…” My gut clenched painfully. “I can’t allow you to love me with these secrets standing between us.” My voice cracked painfully. I hated doing this to him again. I felt like my insides were curling in on themselves.

“Why can’t you tell me
?” He looked at my quizzically, wishing I would spill my secrets to him. “Does it really matter if you do?”

I closed my eyes. I
wanted
to tell him. There had been several times where I had come close to spilling the beans, but I always stopped myself, because I was protecting him from the repercussions of my sins.

It had been selfish of me to give in to my desires. No matter how much I had wanted this time with him, it wasn’t fair to either of us. I was ruined for anyone else and he’d never understand why I had to do this.

“Yeah, it does,” I finally answered. “I wished it didn’t, but it does matter. One day,” I rubbed his cheek softly, “I’ll be able to tell you, but until then, I can’t say anything. I wish I could.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, his eyes closing as he swallowed painfully, “did you sign some contract or something?”

I nodded.

His eyes widened in surprise at having guessed right. “What the hell did you get yourself into?”

“I didn’t kill anybody,” I joked pitifully, “and I’m not in the witness protection program.”

“I don’t understand,” his eyes pleaded with me to speak the truth.

“Good,” I responded.

I lowered my head to his level, where he was bent, and tenderly kissed him. Sadness clung to both of us, as we both knew this was goodbye.
He knew me so well that I didn’t even need to tell him.

Trent kissed me back fiercely as he climbed onto the bed. “I’m not okay with this,” he whispered,
his lips caressing the skin of my cheek as he spoke, “but because I love you, I’m going to set you free.”