Treachery

“We have two weeks. Our family meeting is over.”

I stalk out of the room before the rest of them disperse, and I run upstairs to see if Luca is awake yet. It’s mid-morning, so not too late in the day, but I kept waking her up throughout the night, my appetite for her insatiable.

Pushing open the door, I peek inside to see her side of the bed empty, the sheets rumpled over the mattress and her imprint still in the pillow. The shower runs in the bathroom, and I stare at the door with every intention to let myself inside and take her again.

But I stop myself, realizing she deserves rest, and sit on the bed instead. Grabbing my laptop, I attempt to finish the documents for Luca’s hearing. Unable to focus thanks to the naked, wet woman only a few feet from me, I run my eyes over my room and shake my head at the change.

Sunlight streams in through the window with dust motes softly drifting through, the golden color highlighting a chaotic pile of clothes and bags, shoes and other crap. On the bureau against a far wall sits a lot of girly shit that is in sharp contrast to the monochrome theme of my room.

Where I’m happier surrounded by black and white, grey and chrome, Luca’s wardrobe is a pop of color against my life, jewel tones mostly, nothing pastel or obnoxious.

She wanted to keep her stuff in the prison room I’d once assigned her, but little by little, I snuck her things in here, placed them in neat piles and hoped she’d get the hint that I wouldn’t let her sleep elsewhere.

It took some time, this is Luca after all, and after a few stubborn attempts at moving her stuff back in order to claim her bullshit independence, she finally gave up when everything she moved somehow found its way back to my room within the hour.

I’ve claimed her.

She’s mine.

Even if she’s still fighting me about it.

My fingers tap over the keys, my focus still on a woman who is currently all soapy and warm.

Losing interest in the documents again, I roll my head over my pillow and my eyes land on Luca’s bedside table.

Last night, she relented and finally moved all of her stuff into my room, and I didn’t miss how she placed a small box I remembered hidden in her closet into a drawer that is now within arm’s reach.

Just a small stretch and I can slip the drawer open, take out the box, and see what is so important to Luca that she tucked it away where nobody would be able to find it.

I shouldn’t invade her privacy.

It would be wrong to do it.

I decide against it.

My fingers tap over the keys again just before my head swivels back in the direction of the side table. Eyes sliding to the bathroom where the water is still ru

This is another puzzle piece to her, another secret part that I want for myself.

I can’t be blamed for shoving my computer aside and scooting over to her side of the bed.

This is who I am.

She should know that.

Slipping open the drawer, I grab the small box. It’s nothing bigger than the crayon boxes I remember from when I was a kid, the outside cardboard with a simple flip-top lid.

My fingers tap the side from a moment’s hesitancy, and then my thumbs open the top.

What I see stills me in place.

This is something private.

Something irreplaceable.

Something so important to Luca that she can’t bear the thought of being without it.

She lost everything when her apartment was trashed, but found relief when she saw she still had this.

After seeing it, I realize it holds no value.

To the rest of the world, it’s pretty, but meaningless.

But to Luca, it’s everything.

Why?

I grab one of the small, heart-shaped pendants and read the inscription engraved in the silver. Linda Marie Bailey. Her mother’s name.

I don’t have to read the second one to know it has her father’s name.

“There’s a thing called asking permission.”

My eyes snap up to see Luca standing by the bathroom door wrapped in nothing but a large, white towel. Steam rolls out to curl around her legs, her blue eyes holding mine. “Where I come from, it’s polite.”

I grin. “Where you come from, strange men chase tourists downriver, kill them and then dance around playing fiddles.”

She glares at me. “I did not grow up on the set of Deliverance.”

Marching over to me, she sits on the side of the bed near my hip and takes the pendant with her mom’s name on it from my hands. Her thumb rubs over the inscription, and her eyes tip up to meet mine.

“I couldn’t stand for them to be alone in a cold place. Not all of them, at least.

Still not understanding, I ask, “What do you mean?”

Luca takes the box from me and places the pendant with her mom’s name next to the one engraved with her father’s name.

“These are memorial pendants. They’re hollow on the inside and hold a little bit of my parents’ ashes.”

Without even thinking, I rub my fingers on my pants.

She notices the movement and rolls her eyes.

“It’s not like you actually touched the ashes, jerk.”

It’s a little creepy to keep a small amount of your parents’ ashes in a box in your closet. Worse than that, to keep those ashes by the bed where I have rocked her body more times than I can count.

A lot creepy, actually.

I get the feeling that even with them dead and gone, she can’t bear to be apart. But still...

“Any chance we can move this box back to your prison room?”

The skin crinkles between her eyes. “Why?”

“It feels wrong and gross and a little awkward to do the things I do to you knowing that your parents’ ashes are right there.”

Another roll of those blue eyes. “Whatever. Yes, I can move them back.”

Good.

I know it’s a dick thing to ask, but...ew.

Watching her close the box and handle it with such care reminds me that I owe her something I don’t want to give.

I moved ahead with the decision I made outside of a two-story house in Georgia. The paperwork is tucked away in a folder in my bag, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to give it to her. More transfers need to be done, but the house already stands empty.

Just knowing I will hand her a reason to leave me has only worsened my mood since we returned two weeks ago. I went through with it anyway.

If anybody deserves to be given back what was stolen by my games, it’s Luca.

She pushes to her feet to take the box back to the guest room, but I reach out to touch her arm before she can step away.

“Before you go, I need to give you something.”

This sucks.

I won’t lie about that.

I hate doing what I’m about to do.

Everything inside me is fighting it.

I shove up to my feet and march across the room, dig the folder out of my bag and turn around to hand it to her.

“This is yours.”

That’s all I say, because that’s all I can say. On the inside, I’m begging her not to go home. I’m demanding she stay right here in my house. I’m also grounding her and telling her that she’s mine and that’s just the way it is.

But Luca will have to make her own choice.

She places the box on the surface of the table, sits down and pulls the file folder from my grip.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” I growl because this is so unlike me.

I’m the type that takes without apologizing.

The man who chooses the game and decides the rules.