Chapter 18

Eighteen

CALUM

That evening, I’ve prepared the thrown dough for us already, spreading it out on wooden paddles for the brick oven. Shoving the sleeves of my Henley up my forearms, I grab a dish towel and wipe my hands when the doorbell chimes its ancient song. I’ve given all the staff the night off so we can be alone. Well…almost alone.

Grasping the bronzed handle, I fling open one side of the ornate front door as an involuntary grin grips my lips at the sight of her. Beneath her long bright red hair, she wears a frilly, short lilac-colored floral dress with long bell sleeves. Her legs are bare, her feet covered by white athletic shoes. My dick twitches when I realize…she’s not wearing that lavender scent. The newness of her hits me as she embraces me in a greeting like the freshness of spring made human. She looks like Easter.

Snagging her hand, I pull her inside and into my body. “Come on. Let’s make some pizza.”

“Your house. Is big.” Her eyes flick around the foyer nervously.

With a shrug, I say, “It is. Especially when I only use a few rooms.”

Before she left for the night, Monet set out all the pizza toppings in neat ramekins waiting for us to make dinner. “You thought of everything!” She picks up a pineapple and takes a bite, juice dripping down her chin. Sidling up to her, I use my tongue to gather it up and kiss her teasingly before backing away. That woman, the one from that night, it seems she’s here with me now, and she giggles at my playfulness. The sound’s like a sonata only Beethoven could compose. I’m stunned into submission.

I clear my throat. “You’ll need to put your hair back. It’s cooking 101,” I say, pulling an apron over her head and tying it.

She flashes a hair tie at me, and I grip her waist and spin her back to my front, then run my fingers along either side of her scalp, gathering the strands into a bundle, then take the tie from her and make a high ponytail. Letting my arms fall around her waist, I sway gently with her in my hold. Goosebumps erupt on her exposed neck, and she shivers as I place my lips on the crook of it.

“Play my happy Mozart playlist,” I command the speakers above us. The first movement of the “Salzburg Symphony No. 1” rings out, the violins dancing through the speakers with the same excitement palpating in my heart. “So, pineapple pizza girl… What else do you like?”

With a little hesitation in her voice, she says, “Um…I like ham and pineapple with jalapenos on pizza.”

Whatever she just gave me, I want it. She has a preference, and with her dancing in my arms, the decision she just made hits me just as the crescendo of the movement does. Closing my eyes, I revel in it. If only for the next moment, I’ll pretend. Or however long I get this realness reaching into my soul.

It’s Cal and Veracity on a cute date. We’ll watch a rom com and I’ll hold her hand, then tell her dirty things and she’ll suck me off. Maybe she’ll let me put it inside her and then she’ll sleep over in my bed outfitted with clean sheets. Monet will make us pancakes in the morning and we’ll spend the day playing games and taking walks in the forest.

On my birthday, she’ll make me some crochet thing and I’ll smile like it’s the best gift in the world, despite that it’s crooked. When it rains, I’ll camp outside with her in a tent or, if it’s a clear night, I’ll tell her I’m taking pictures of the shooting stars, but really, my eyes will be on her.

And when it’s time, I’ll propose to her with a family ring and put a baby in her. On Christmas, we’ll cut down a big tree from the back fifty, and I’ll decorate it while our children fight over who gets to open presents first, but she’ll giggle like she just did, and they’ll realize what a magical creature is before them…

Let me pretend.

Squeezing my eyes tighter, I try to hold on to it just as she pulls away. Schooling my face, I twirl her toward the toppings.

“Then put it on there. I’ll do the pineapple and jalapenos, too. Sounds great.” Flashing her white teeth, the incisors longer than the others, she sets to work creating art with the food on her sauced dough.

“Do you bring all your girlfriends here to do this?”

“Nah, just my whores,” I say with a smirk.

Her fingers pause, and she glances at me, then closes her mouth, her lips tugging up despite the muscles trying to fight it. “And how many of those do you have, Mr. Von Dovish?”

Taking a floured finger, I tap the end of her freckled nose, the urge to touch her stronger than ever. “Just the one.”

“So, you were listening, then.” With a pat of the terry towel, she swipes the white dust from her nose before sprinkling cheese on top of her board, hand arched high in the air, letting each chunk fall slowly onto the dough.

“I’m always listening.” Shoving my board into the open brick oven, I ask with a tilt of my head if she’s ready for me to put hers inside. She nods. “We can have wine while we wait.” Uncorking a bottle, I pour us each a glass at the sink, then hand her one with a swirl.

“Thank you.” A small sip on the rim imprints her lips against the glass. “Mmm, this is good!”

“It’s from our vineyard. The cellar is full of our own wines. Oh, speaking of, after dinner, I wanted to show you the grow room. It’s my personal grow room. No one is allowed down there, but my date gets an exception.”

Her eyes glass over and widen. If I could see her heart in her chest, I’d swear it stopped beating. “Oh. Um. Okay…” She chugs her wine without tasting it. “Can I have a refill?”

“Sure.” Filling her glass to the brim, I turn around and she’s gone. Or her is gone. That fake, boring character has replaced her with a plastic smile. Like the end of the Allegro, now we enter Andante. The grips at the corners of her lips don’t reach her eyes.

Handing her the stem, she takes another sip while eyeing me coyly, fluttering her lashes wildly. Purposefully. My dick softens.

Once the pizzas are done, we eat at the kitchen counter, me supplying my date with more wine. She’s loose now, cheeks flushed maroon behind the freckled skin. Her fingers tickle up my shoulder, flirting with me, as she huffs loud laughs at everything I say and even at things I don’t.

My rage grows with presto as every moment passes. Hurriedly swallowing my pizza, I don’t even taste it, and I glance at her barely touched plate. Wiping my mouth with the cloth napkin, I stand up, shoving my dishes away. It’s time.

“Let me show you the grow room now.” Clutching her hand, I help her to a steady stand, but even with sneakers on, she wobbles.

“B-but what about the movie?” Her words are slurred.

“We’ll do that later. This is more important.” Moving toward the back stairs, she begins to dig her heels in, resisting my pull. “Let’s go, Jane.”

“I-I don’t want to. Calum, please. I-I can’t.”

As I practically tug her down the stairs, she trips and falls into my arms. Catching her, I carry her the rest of the way, then set her feet on the ground.

Narrowing my eyes, I scold her. “You need to see this.”

Her breathing comes out in shallow huffs as we walk through the narrow stone hall. By the time we reach the third door on the left, she grips her arms and lets the nails dig in deeply. The terror she’s experiencing is edible. I love it. Tastiest meal I’ve had in a long time. Let me eat away your dark soul, puppet.

Before she can run away, I sidestep to stand behind her and fling the door open for her with a flourish, pressing my palm into the lower half of her back to give her a small push inside.

Her screams ring out like Mozart, the melody singing against the stones when our guest tries to peek his head up to greet us.

“This is what happens to any man who touches what’s mine.” Stroking a finger along her frozen cheek, I tell her tenderly, “And you’re mine, puppet.”