5. Theo

"You"re sure he was the target?" Putting the phone on speaker, I head to the mirror to arrange my tie.

"Yeah. We found detailed plans at their hideout. They"d been following him for a while." My friend from the Philly force recounts how they"d ransacked the place and what they"d found.

"At least you can close the case," I add drily.

"True. Thanks for the effort. If it weren"t for you and that woman, more people would have gotten hurt."

I grunt something and hang up.

No one had been able to identify the mysterious woman from the scene of the shooting. Even her gun was untraceable — black market. But she"d been one hell of a markswoman, even drunk. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I remember smelling the alcohol on her breath.

The police had concluded that the target had been an electronics company CEO. He"d recently laid off half of his workforce due to some financial difficulties, but the workers were under the impression that it was a case of embezzlement and poor management rather than just a poor turnover. While the shooters are dead now, the investigators found enough evidence to prove that it was indeed a case of syphoning funds and the CEO is now under arrest and pending trial.

I spare a glance at the clock on the wall and sigh in relief. I still have time.

After being hounded by Martin one too many times, I"d finally accepted his lunch invitation. From what I"d gathered from the mayor, Martin likes to host monthly Sunday lunches with different influential men.

The only reason I"m looking forward to this event is because Martin"s connections might help me advance my own plans.

As soon as I reach his house, I am greeted by a footman who leads me to the drawing room — very old-fashioned. Then again, Martin"s entire persona is the epitome of old money, and his imposing mansion is just what you"d expect of him.

"You are a little early, Mr. Hastings," the footman comments. "The other guests have not yet arrived, and Mr. Ashby is still busy. He has instructed me, however, to show you to the drawing room, where his daughter will keep you company."

I struggle to keep a straight face at his words, mostly because I can recognize this for the ploy it is. Martin"s daughter must be what, twenty by now? It"s not as if he hasn"t tried to orchestrate an introduction before. It seems it"s finally worked out for him.

"Thank you," I reply with a tight smile.

As we walk toward the room, a sweet piano melody resounds in the house. The footman shows me to the door and takes his leave.

A little curious, yet mostly apprehensive, I push through the double doors and enter the room. Inundated by light, the room has ceiling-high windows that face the back of the house, the green lawn stretching into a forest in the distance. I follow the rays of the sun as they bathe a white piano that is situated in the middle of the room.

A girl, no, a woman, is seated at the piano, eyes closed, her hands gliding over the keys and emitting the most melodious sound I"d ever heard. I don"t think she hears me come in. There"s a tranquility to her face, the way it subtly moves to the tune of the song, the small, almost imperceptible movement of her eyes under her closed eyelids.

I stop, and I stare, transfixed.

Her black hair is long, the ends curling inward. It flows down her back almost like an ebony cascade. She"s wearing an off-white gown that cups her breasts in a modest fashion before cinching at the waist and flowing downwards. With her pale skin, she almost looks like Snow White.

I shake myself, a little amused by the direction of my thoughts. I"d never thought myself particularly poetic, but the sight of this woman, so immersed in her music as if she"s living in her own world, makes me wonder if she"s even real. Makes me want to insinuate myself into her world.

I stand there, just watching, for what seems like an eternity. It"s only a soft gasp, followed by an "Oh!" that has me alert again. Her eyes snap open and they focus on me. A deep black, I feel myself falling even more.

She might just be the most exquisite woman I"ve ever seen in my life, her natural beauty so pure and untouched.

"I didn"t know there was someone in the room. My apologies." Her voice is just as melodious as the piano music.

"No, I should be the one to apologize. Your music is beautiful." She lowers her eyes slightly, a blush staining her cheeks.

"Thank you," she murmurs, raising up from the piano and coming to stand in front of me.

"You must be one of my father"s guests, no?" She gazes up at me, her eyes wide and innocent. She"s tiny, her head barely reaching the middle of my chest. Her height, coupled with her slender frame, serves as a friendly reminder that she"s almost a decade younger than me — clearly off limits.

"Theodore Hastings," I introduce myself, holding out my hand to her. She gives me a timid smile, hesitantly putting her hand in mine.

"Bianca Ashby."

The contact is brief, but it"s enough to mess with my head. She probably has no idea what she does to me, the way my eyes follow the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts as she invites me to sit down.

I swallow hard, and I try to think of the most disgusting crime scenes I"ve ever witnessed, hoping the gore will put a damper on my growing erection.

Bianca smiles sweetly at me, but she doesn"t attempt to continue the conversation, too shy to even look me directly in the eye.

"Your father told me you"re in college?" I try to remember anything Martin might have mentioned about her.

She gives me a soft nod.

"And what are you studying?" God, once again, I feel entirely too old for her.

"Social Studies."

"Really? Why?" I wouldn"t have expected that answer from a rich girl. But then, she doesn"t look like the typical spoiled little rich girl.

"I want to help people," she says, lowering her gaze as if she"s ashamed of her dreams. "I want to make a difference for those less fortunate than me. I know I"m in a position of power and privilege because of my father, so I want to do something to give back to society," she finishes saying this, and I can"t help but look at her in awe. She can"t be real, can she?

So gorgeous and poised, and she has a big heart too? I swallow hard, the need to touch her is too overwhelming, but I control myself.

"That"s a commendable aspiration," I praise, and I"m regaled by one of those beautiful smiles of hers.

Fuck! I"m in trouble.

We don"t get to talk much further, as Martin strides in with a few other men. After some brief introductions, we are all ushered to the dining room.

By some luck of fate, Bianca is seated in front of me, so I continue to study her, her beauty something I"ve never encountered before. And it"s not just her looks. There is something about her that pulls me and draws me in.

The conversation flows, and I notice that Bianca continues to smile, but doesn"t say much else. Granted, no one seems to address her directly. Even Martin seems to forget the fact that his daughter is sitting at the table, his stories becoming bawdier and teetering on the vulgar side. Bianca maintains her gentle smile, even though I can tell there"s a certain tightness to it.

I catch her eye and I give her a reassuring nod, hoping it would comfort her to know she is not forgotten. She blushes and looks down at her plate.

"What about your daughter? She"s of age, isn"t she?" One of the older men, Anthony Bering, leers at her.

"That she is," Martin smirks.

"Tell me girl, do you have a boyfriend?" He turns his attention wholly on her, and Bianca shifts a little, clearly uncomfortable.

"She"s not allowed to," Martin comments, taking a sip of his wine.

"Let her answer. Why isn"t she talking?"

Bianca lowers her gaze even more.

"I taught her well, Bering, she knows when to shut up," her father interjects, pride reflected in his gaze.

"She"s a meek little thing, isn"t she? Perfect for plucking. Probably a virgin too." He can"t seem to stop talking, and looking at Martin, he has no intention of putting a stop to this. Bianca"s cheeks are burning, and she is trying awfully hard to ignore the comments.

"That"s not a way to talk to a lady," I interject, sick of this bawdy talk, especially in Bianca"s presence.

"Lady? Tell me, Ashby, how much do you want for her?" Bering chuckles.

"How much are you willing to pay?" Martin raises an eyebrow and I feel my anger rising. Surely, it"s just a joke, as much as it is in poor taste.

"I don"t know," Bering continues, his eyes roving over Bianca"s form. "I don"t think she knows how to please a man. Do you, little bird?" He stands up, his fingers on her chin and raising her head up.

Seeing his pudgy little hands on her, I don"t even think, I just react. In a matter of seconds, I have him by the collar, my fist plunging into his face. There"s outraged gasps around me as Bering falls to the floor.

"I told you that"s not a way to treat a lady," I say through gritted teeth. Bering sputters some threatening nonsense, but I don"t care.

"Are you okay?" I turn toward Bianca to ask, and she gives me a soft nod, her big, luminous eyes wide as she"s looking at me as if I"m her knight in shining armor.

"Let"s not get too ahead of ourselves." Martin gets up, coming around to check on Bering. "I"m sure Anthony here only meant well." I frown at his words, and a glance at Bianca tells me I should drop it. I didn"t realize her father was so callous to her — his own child. But Martin being Martin . . . It doesn"t surprise me. It just makes me feel even worse for her. What is her life even like, having a self-serving narcissist for a father? He clearly doesn"t care about her.

"If you"ll excuse me," I say rather tersely and take my leave before I do something worse. I already feel bad for leaving Bianca there, an innocent lamb for their slaughter, but I need to realize she"s not my concern.

You just met her!

My brain is telling me to drop it, but my heart . . .

Fuck!

I"m almost in the driveway when someone calls out my name. I stop and turn. Bianca is running toward me, her long skirt hampering her movements.

"Mr. Hastings," she says, huffing out a breath as she reaches me.

"Are you okay? What happened?" I immediately ask, my previous thoughts promptly forgotten.

"I wanted to thank you. For what you did in there," she speaks softly, the corner of her mouth raising ever so slightly.

"You don"t have to thank me. I did what anyone would have done."

"And yet you were the only one who did." She raises her head to look at me, and we stare at each other for a moment.

I lift my hand and I tug a stray strand of hair behind her ear, marveling at the softness of the texture.

"You shouldn"t measure your worth by their words, Bianca."

"Thank you." She gives me another tremulous smile before dashing back toward the house.

I stare at her retreating figure and I know.

I"m in deep trouble.

Fuck!

***

For as long as I"ve been seeing Pink, we"ve never exchanged numbers or any personal details. We always scheduled our next meeting in the moment. Which is why I"m here. I will not stand her up, but I need to put a stop to our encounters.

I watch the door of the room open, and Pink struts in, her tits almost spilling out of her top. She drops her jacket to the floor and then she"s on me.

"Pink," I say, stopping her hand from reaching for my crotch.

"What?" she pouts at me.

"We need to talk." My tone is different from usual, and I find that I"m not in the mood for any games.

"We can talk . . . and do other things." She smiles, her hand creeping up my thigh.

"No. That"s exactly what I want to talk to you about. We can"t do this anymore." I grab her hand, trying to put some distance between us.

"What do you mean?" She frowns, tilting her head to the side.

"I"m trying to pursue someone and it wouldn"t be right . . ."

"Who?" She cuts me off, her voice holding an edge to it.

I raise an eyebrow at her. We"d agreed on no personal details.

"You don"t need to know about it." My voice is impersonal as I say this, but it"s better to end things on friendly terms. And going by her reaction, I sense some underlying jealousy.

I stand up and go for the door, but she grabs onto my hand.

"Why? What does she have that I don"t?"

"Stop this," I say, disentangling myself from her. There went my attempt at a parting on good terms.

"No. You must tell me. Does she fuck you like I do?" She scowls, and the viciousness of her words leaves me speechless. Maybe I"ve given her false hope, but while our chemistry has always been amazing, that"s all it"s ever been. And I was clear from the beginning.

"Bye, Pink." I turn toward the door once more.

"Tell me!" She raises her voice. "Does she worship your cock like I do?" On her knees, her hands go to my fly. I swat them aside, locking her wrists above her head.

If I must be cruel, then so be it. At least she"ll understand that it"s over.

"No, but that"s just the thing. She"s too pure and innocent for that." I push her aside and leave. I can still hear her screams behind me, and I shake my head.

Maybe it is my fault. Maybe I gave her too much attention with our weekly meetings, and she imagined there would be more to our affair. It was just fucking. Savage, out of this world fucking, but it was just fucking.

This woman, though, the one that"s been haunting my dreams?

She"s my future wife.