Chapter 6 After the Storm

I wake up with my head on Foster's lap, his solid thigh supporting my neck. My clothes have dried and the raging wind has passed. We made it through the storm.

Most importantly, the overhead lights have come on and I can see Foster's sleeping face. Thick charcoal eyelashes rest on his cheeks and a pale pink bright spot shines in the center of his lips. The dimple in his chin is still there while he sleeps. It's not a smile-only dimple. It's an all-the-time dimple. I sort of love it.

What a gorgeous and complex man he is. Foster took good care of me last night during the peak of the storm. He could've left with the others, but he risked his safety to rescue me. The more time I spend with Foster, the more things I find to like.

I need to pee. Bad. We have to get up and out of here. We don't even know if the house is still standing up there, but I don't want to face today. The fallout from the party. Dealing with my dad and my brother.

And I don't want to say goodbye to Foster.

When I'm with him, I feel invincible. My family can't reach me, he doesn't care what I'm wearing, well, except for his eyes being drawn to my bikini top for a short time when I first got wet. But after that, he hasn't mentioned my clothes or made me feel like it mattered. When we're together, other stuff that normally bothers me seems inconsequential. We are just two people who survived a storm together while drinking ridiculously overpriced wine.

He wakes up and looks down at my head on his lap. His eyebrows crinkle for a second then he smiles.

"We survived," I say with a grin.

"I told you we'd be safe down here." His fingers sweep away a lock of hair from my forehead before his palm rests flat behind my ear.

Oh yeah. Everything else can go to hell. I just want Foster to keep touching my hair while he's looking at me like I'm a precious gem.

"Milana!" The muffled voice of my father seeps through the door to the wine cellar. I scramble to my feet and dust off my clothes. My sundress is hanging off one shoulder. There's a wine glass and two empty bottles on the floor. This doesn't look good.

Before I head up to face my dad, I grab Foster's hand. "Thank you for last night. You were right. I was being reckless. I enjoyed sitting out the storm with you."

His eyes brighten and he presses his lips together, maybe holding back what he wants to say. Instead, his hand slips under my hair and tightens with gentle pressure around my neck .

Oh yes. I like the Unstoppable Foster Dunham. A lot.

I suck in a deep breath and open the door. "Down here, Dad."

"Milana!" His footsteps travel across the kitchen. "Where?"

"Here!" I step out of the wine cellar and make my way up the stairs.

At the floor level, my dad embraces me roughly and kisses both my cheeks. "Milana, I was so worried when I found out you didn't evacuate with us. You nearly gave me a heart attack."

The house looks undisturbed, but there's debris outside the window.

"It was too late to leave so we took shelter in the wine cellar."

"You were in the wine cellar?" He hugs me to his chest. "The thought of losing a daughter in a hurricane is not something any father should have to live through."

I'm glad my father cares about me, but I was safe with Foster. My dad glances behind me. His eyes widen before an offended frown appears. "Who is that?"

Foster is rubbing his hair and looks sleepy. He's adorable, but his sleeves are rolled up and his arm tattoos are on full display for my dad. A mix of blue and white waves wrap around his corded arms. I think I see King Triton in there too. I need more time to inspect those. "His name is Foster. He helped me get into the wine cellar and kept me safe."

My dad looks from him to me. "That was a ridiculous idea."

When my father follows his expressions of love with criticism, it always stings. He cares about me but I'm "ridiculous." His love is conditional. "We're fine, Dad."

"We?"

"Foster and I."

He gives Foster another once over then disregards him. Foster is staying quiet behind me, but I can sense the edge of energy coming off him.

My dad's frown deepens. "The fundraiser was a disaster."

"I know. I'm sorry." I stare at my feet and take the heat from his gaze.

My brother walks into the kitchen and Foster's shoulder's tense. "Holy crap, Milana. We were looking for you all night." He gives me a quick hug around my shoulders.

"Sure you were. You evacuated early."

"You didn't answer your phone." In other words, he didn't look for me. He just called me.

"I didn't have it. The power went out. We just…"

"What the hell is he doing here?" Donnie points at Foster .

"He helped me."

"He's a punk." Donnie reacts in the same disparaging tone my father used. Why are they being so uncivilized? It was an emergency, for goodness sake.

"No. He's a fight champion. Not a punk," I say, defending Foster from their unwarranted onslaught. Donnie saw him kick Cicero's ass and he probably heard about what went down with Rocco. Now he knows Foster kept me safe. He has no basis to call him names like that.

Donnie scowls at me. "You went missing and show up now with attitude?" He grabs my arm and Foster steps forward.

Donnie holds up his palm to stop Foster. "Keep your distance, Foster."

"Donnie. Knock it off." He's always such an ass. I pull my arm from his grasp and glare at him.

Foster steps back, but his lips are thin and his jaw is jutting forward.

"Listen, Foster whoever you are." My father lays in. Oh no. This is not going to be good.

"Don't say it. Please. He helped me and you guys are being unfair to him."

My dad barely looks at me before he continues with what he planned to say as if I hadn't spoken. "Stay away from her. She's mine and she doesn't associate with street urchins. "

"Dad!" I step forward as if I could physically protect Foster from him, but I know I can't.

"You've had your fun with my daughter. Now leave."

"He's really out of his league here and you know it." Donnie yanks my arm again, and I stumble over to his side.

Foster's jaw works, his eyes on Donnie's hand on my upper arm. His balled fists make it clear it's taking all his effort to hold back and not clobber my dad and Donnie.

I hate that my family is reacting this way. They're judging him because he has tattoos, he's a fighter, and I would guess because he's not Italian. I hate that Donnie is roughing me up in front of Foster. He saved my life and stayed with me through the storm when Donnie ran like a coward. He's the good guy here.

"Foster, you'd better go," I say with my head down. It hurts, but I don't want him to see this escalate with my dad.

"Fine." Foster turns stiffly and strides out the door of the solarium. He walks over the mess of fallen palm fronds and pine needles without looking back.

I pull my arm out of Donnie's grasp. "You guys didn't have to be so rude to him."

"That guy is a big loser," Donnie says.

My dad's face reddens and his eyes cool as he glares at Foster's retreating back .

"Shut up."

My dad hates when I talk like this, but I'm angry at him for hurting Foster's feelings. He told me how he's never been accepted by anyone and then my dad rejected him without even giving him a chance.

Before I say anything else that will get me in trouble, I walk away from them and over to the glass windows next to the pool to look for Foster. I can almost make out a blurry black helmet at the bottom of the drive.

The faint sound of a motorcycle roar permeates the glass of the house as I watch him drive off the property. I'm stuck in my fishbowl and he's gone. I may never see him again. I press my palm to the cool glass. "Bye, Foster."

Sharp pain stings my scalp, and my head is jerked backward. I don't see it coming but a thud hits my cheek and I'm on the floor, my hands flat on the cold Italian tile, my father standing over me.

"Don't ever talk back to me in front of anyone."

He won't stop unless I relent. "I'm sorry."

He's breathing heavy and fury grows in his eyes. I've insulted him and now I'll pay. "Screw sorry." His boot strikes me hard in the thigh. The pain zings up my side. "You're sorry for acting like a floozy streetwalker, picking up low-lifes and bringing 'em home to fuck in the basement. What the hell is wrong with you? "

I know better than to answer. If I'm quiet, he'll stop sooner. Anything I say will earn me more kicks until he loses control and really hurts me. No. I have to stay quiet.

"Remember your place." He points a shaking finger down at me. "I protect you. I'm your shield. You respect that or I'll lower my guard and anyone who wants revenge on me will come for you in a heartbeat. The second they hear you're out from under my protection, your life is over."

The terror in my soul whenever he talks about my safety hurts so much more than the pain of the beating. I wish someone would finally come and end this for me, so I can be free of this eternal dread.

I stare at the floor and try not to cry, but my nose is running and I'm having trouble holding it back. Sometimes if I cry, he feels bad and stops. But that's not why I'm doing it. I'm hurt. Hurt my father treats me this way.

I look up at Donnie and he's glaring at me like I should've known better.

"Donnie, pay a visit to anyone who didn't donate last night." My dad's tone implies anyone who doesn't comply will face the consequences.

"Dad, no. I worked hard on creating relationships with those people." He kicks me in the shin, twice. It stings and I pull my legs in. I need to keep my mouth shut .

"Donnie, pay a friendly visit and get the damn donations."

Donnie nods and I know it's almost over.

"Send that Foster pipsqueak a message too. Mess with my daughter, mess with me."

"No," I cry to the floor and quietly protest.

"Got it, Dad." Donnie grins. He likes it when Dad trusts him with his errands.

God, what a sick sick situation I'm in. I wish I could go back to the wine cellar with Foster.

But I know the truth. My dad will scare Foster away just like he has anyone who has come close to me who doesn't meet his criteria. Rich, Italian, and connected.