Chapter Fifteen

I'm very aware of my surroundingsbefore I even open an eye. This isn't my mattress, these aren't my sheets, and I've been sleeping alone for over a month now, but there's a warm and solid body against me.

Also, I feel deliciously sore, a lingering ache etched at the junction of my thighs.

Jake…

We came to his place and had sex. The entire night. With breaks and naps of course, but I remember us still going at it by the time the night sky was slowly turning into dawn. When I flutter my eyes open, I notice that the sun is completely out now, its warm light bathing the loft.

My interest then shifts to the broad torso under my cheek and the tattoos drawn on it. With a contented sigh, I inch closer to him, tightening the hold of my arm thrown over his waist.

Ah, this feels great.

I hadn't realized how much I missed sleeping with someone. There's something comforting about having a warm body to wake up to—a comfortable coziness to it. And when that body provided that much delight through the night, there's even some pride.

We got a little carried away, and the list became the last thing on my mind. I was too busy enjoying everything he did to me, lost in the moment. We still worked through two items: the striptease and the music.

Hmm… Maybe we could have sex one more time before I leave for my—

Crap!

We were so lost in it that I completely forgot to set an alarm. Moving urgently while ensuring I won't wake up Jake, I rip myself away from him and look around for a clock.

Before I can find one, my eyes land on a surprising witness. A black cat is sitting on the nightstand on my side, staring at me with yellow eyes. So, that's Beelzebub?

Because I don't have time to figure out what Jake's cryptic warning meant, I continue my search for time. When I find a large clock set on a wall, I hold back a curse. It's almost ten. This means I have an hour and a half to leave, get home, shower, change, and head to the restaurant. And I can't, under any circumstances, be late. Not for that.

Scolding myself internally, I untangle my limbs from the sheets, ensuring again that I don't stir Jake too much. He deserves the rest after the night we had. As soon as I find my phone, I order a hired car. Once I'm fully dressed, I gaze at his sleeping shape, the sheets resting low on his muscular stomach. As tempting as it is to wake him up and say goodbye, I worry he'll lure me into more sex. Because I'm late and sore enough as it is, I walk up to the door.

The cat is now on the high console right next to it, by the set of keys I need to get out. Shoot.

"Hey, kitty," I say with a soft voice, bringing my hand closer to him. He takes an interest in it, and I hold back from pulling away. Hana has a cat, so I'm relatively familiar with them.

Beelzebub smells my hand, and to my surprise, he doesn't react poorly. Instead, he rubs his face on it, seeking affection. "You're not a bad cat at all," I whisper, adding my second hand to the mix.

When he starts purring, I have to physically force myself to let go. I grab the keys and unlock the door. I'm as quiet as a church mouse when I exit Jake's apartment, promising myself I'll text him to apologize for sneaking out like this.

The freight elevator isn't too complex to navigate, but I might have made a mistake because it stops just one level below. Two familiar faces appear on the other side of the gates.

"Hey there," Eli greets me as he gets in, accompanied by Mulligrubs.

I pet her when she enthusiastically comes to me. "Hi, you two."

Elijah closes the gates, and we're going down again in no time. "I didn't know you lived in the same building," I say, my hand still grazing Mulli's soft fur.

"Yeah, Jake lets me have one of the apartments for a symbolic dollar per month."

My exhausted brain takes a little too long to process that piece of information. "He owns another apartment here?"

"Oh, he owns the whole building. As well as the art gallery on the ground floor and the tattoo and piercing parlor on the second one. The third floor has four small apartments, and the fourth has two—including mine. And then there's his loft. And the roof."

Heaven's sake. That is quite the real estate investment. Which means Jake is even more successful than I imagined.

We arrive at the ground floor, and my phone buzzes in my hand the moment Eli opens the gates. My car is here.

When we reach the door, Eli kneels to hook Mulli's leash on her collar. "I have to go, I'm late for brunch," I explain with a wince. "It was nice seeing you again, Eli."

"You too. Take care, Gen!"

"Ditto."

A black sedan is waiting for me right in front of the exit, so I slip into it within seconds. I want to believe there won't be too much traffic, but who am I kidding?

The next hour and some will be stressful and tense, which is a shame because Jake worked hard all night to relax me. A small smile appears on my lips as I recall all the things we did. I spend the entire way home reminiscing, hoping we'll get an encore soon. Very soon.

We did things I had never tried before, including some that weren't even on my list. Jake is proving to be a very prolific and imaginative lover. Before him, I generally enjoyed sex—when done well—but I could never sympathize with people who put it on a pedestal and dedicate so much time to it.

Now, however, I'd be willing to spend every single one of my evenings exploring pleasure with Jake, finding new challenges, and pushing my limits over and over. I still can't believe how good it felt to have his fingers in that other part of me. It shouldn't have been this pleasurable, but I exploded into the best orgasm of my life thanks to it. Thanks to him.

Following an intense moment in my apartment rushing to be ready on time, I hail a cab at the foot of my building. I'm clean, have fresh makeup on, and wear a proper outfit—rosewood palazzo pants with a loose white silk shirt tucked in. I wasted most of my time giving myself a blowout—an unavoidable necessity given who I'm meeting with.

The yellow car stops before me, and I enter it while minding my pants so I don't arrive all rumpled and messy. "Columbus Circle, please," I tell the driver. The woman nods and drives right away.

I did everything I could to be on time, and if the roads are clear enough, I should succeed.

When my phone buzzes in my purse, I anxiously expect it to be a message from her, telling me she's already there and waiting. So, when I see it's a text from Ladder Guy, my heart lightens at once.

Ladder Guy

I can't believe you snuck out on me like that. I must have been in a proper coma.

Me

You were. And you knew I had plans.

Ladder Guy

Still, I wanted to make breakfast and eat it off you. With whipped cream and all.

Me

What an unhealthy way to start the day. But food play is on the list, after all.

There's a moment where he doesn't answer, and it gives me enough time to fantasize about him spreading all sorts of things on me and licking them clean. And then doing the same to him. That is something I will enjoy a lot.

Ladder Guy

Woman, what the hell did you do to me? My dick is fucking sore.

Me

My EVERYTHING is sore, Jake. I can barely walk straight.

Ladder Guy

I have no regrets.

Me

Of course you don't. It's good that I won't see you until Tuesday because I need serious time to recuperate.

Ladder Guy

I have all the regrets.

Me

There, there. Your penis will appreciate the rest.

Ladder Guy

Maybe you can come by tonight and kiss it better? I'm sure it would help. I'll kiss your everything better too.

I laugh, hiding my gleeful smile behind my fingers, like I'm not supposed to enjoy this so much. As tempting as it is to take him up on his offer, I'm already seeing Hana tonight. A friend of ours from Harvard has a big unveiling at her art gallery, and we agreed we'd be there ages ago.

Me

I'm busy tonight.

Ladder Guy

What about tomorrow?

Me

No, Sunday is the one day I get to myself. I need it to recharge so I can get back to work without killing any of my colleagues.

Ladder Guy

:(

Me

Tuesday it is. By the way, I saw your cat. He was perfectly fine.

Ladder Guy

I have scars all over my hands and forearms that say otherwise.

Me

You poor thing. Maybe your cat knows your penchant for self-mutilation.

Ladder Guy

Stop acting like you don't like my self-mutilations. You enjoyed the shit out of them all night long.

Christ, I did. I really, really did.

Me

And now I'm in convalescence.

Ladder Guy

Again. No regrets.

"We've arrived, miss," the taxi driver says.

Startled, I look around, seeing that we have indeed arrived. I shuffle through my bag to take my credit card out, and once the ride is paid for, I exit the vehicle.

Before I'm forced away from my phone for God knows how long, I quickly send one last text to Jake.

Me

Me neither. I arrived at my brunch, so I'll be off for a bit. Take good care of that poor, mutilated, and sore penis of yours ;)

Containing my smile, I walk toward the overpriced restaurant I'm meant to be at. God probably reached down to help me because I enter it five minutes before eleven thirty. But while it might be considered on time for most, it'll still be late for the person I'm meeting.

Which reminds me to put my phone on Do Not Disturb. She always found it disrespectful and demanded that if we shared time, we ought to give each other our undivided attention.

Stress is making my heart race and my throat tighten. Ugh, I should have devised an excuse and spent the morning with Jake instead. It would have been a lot more fun than whatever this will turn into.

I easily spot her, with her platinum blonde hair styled into a chic bob with a perfect blowout. Before I even come closer, I know she's wearing one of her timeless Chanel ensembles. Its color will help me determine what sort of mood she's in. The tweed is pink, to my relief, which means she's in a good one.

"Hi! I'm so sorry I'm late," I say as I reach her.

She doesn't contradict me, even though I'm not late, pursing her lips instead. But I expected that, so I don't take it poorly. I bend to give her a feigned kiss on her cheek, my lips never touching her skin. One mustn't ruin Vivienne Kensington's makeup.

When I reach my chair, a waiter is already there, pulling it out for me and pushing it in when I sit. "Darling, you look terrible," is the first thing Mother tells me.

"I slept scarcely, sorry for that."

She rolls her eyes disapprovingly. "I already told you to always keep a gel mask in your freezer. It will help with those horrendous dark circles under your eyes."

It serves no purpose to tell her I didn't have time for that, so I abstain.

She sighs, signaling the waiter to come and fill her glass. "Being a career woman has consequences, Genevieve, which you don't seem capable of handling."

For once, work wasn't the reason for my lack of rest. But she doesn't need to know that. She'd have an aneurysm if she knew I spent the night with a man covered in tattoos and piercings.

I realize just how tired I am when she veers the conversation into a topic I didn't foresee. "Edward called me, you know."

Crap, not this.

I've had her on the phone a few times since the breakup, but it's the first time seeing her in person. It was naive to hope I'd be spared from this.

"He told me what happened and why he left," she continues. "I don't understand why you insist on following the wrong path."

"Why is it the wrong path?"

Her eye roll isn't a good sign. Right now, she wouldn't pick that powder pink skirt suit, but probably something green. Or worse: red.

"You know what I mean, Genevieve. Your father offered to give you whatever position you want in one of his companies. You wouldn't have to work as hard as you do now and for better pay."

"Nepotism isn't a good look," I counter. This tired debate is one we go over a few times a year, and no matter what I say, neither of them realize they won't change my mind about it.

"It's not nepotism, it's your birthright. You wouldn't question the legitimacy of a prince for being born into royalty, would you?"

I frown, wondering if she can hear herself. "Actually, I would. A lot of people are condemning monarchies around the world."

She huffs deeply, clearly bothered by my impertinence, and I decide to hold back. We haven't even placed our orders yet, so I'm in for a very long and tiresome brunch if I anger her this early.

I examine the menu while she does the same. It gives us enough time to recompose ourselves so we can start over. She finds what she wants before I do, so I feel pressured to pick. I settle on the salmon, judging it reasonable enough.

"It's not too late, you know," she tells me once I set my menu down.

"For what?"

"Edward. He told me he would take you back if you promised to dedicate more time to your relationship."

That one feels like a swift punch to the gut. Knowing the two of them spoke behind my back feels like an invasion of privacy. But the fact that my own mother blames me for the failed relationship hurts even more. All the work I've been doing on myself, the reassurance Hana gave me, the confidence I've been building back up… they go down the drain in an instant.

The five years I spent with Eddie, our plans for a future, the family we wanted to have… It rushes back to me like a bullet train, and I can't stop the thoughts that make their way into my mind.

What if this is just a break? Eddie and I can spend some time apart, I hone my sexual abilities, he works on himself, and then we meet in the middle, ready to start over, to get back to our perfect plans. God knows I've gotten better at sex already, and I surely wouldn't be as boring as before. My parents approve of him, and I enjoy his conciliatory temperament. He was the person I meant to spend the rest of my life with, after all, and this whole mess doesn't have to be anything more than a bump on our way there.

We've had breaks in the past, where one of us usually went to spend a few days away for some space. This doesn't have to be the end, but rather a longer, more significant pause in our relationship.

Unexpectedly, Jake jumps into my mind. I'm having a lot of fun with him, but it was never meant to be anything more than that. Good old fun that leaves me weak in the legs and sore between them. He isn't the kind of person one builds a life with. Especially not someone like me. So that means I can keep seeing him for the time being, learn everything he has to teach me where sex is concerned, and then jump back into a stable and durable relationship.

Possibly with Edward.

"How have you been?" Mother asks, ignoring the havoc she just wreaked on me.

"Uh, fine. Working a lot."

"Yes, we've already established that it shows. Weren't you after a promotion or something?"

"Head of the legal department."

She lets out a mocking sound I'm too familiar with, halfway between a sneer and a chuckle. "Your father could give you a position three promotions above this if you allowed him. Look at your brother. Gerry's second in command and he's thriving. You could be by their side if you allowed it."

"I'm happy making my own way up the professional ladder, Mother. Once I've earned it the fair way, I might take Father up on his offer. But I refuse to have preferential treatment."

"I do not understand your insistence on doing things like everyone else. You are a Kensington, not some commoner without any other choice."

The waiter comes, and I silently thank the distraction. Mother orders a salad with the dressing on the side, and when I ask for the salmon, she frowns disapprovingly.

"What is the salmon served with?" she asks the server.

"Roasted asparagus and the chef's rice, ma'am."

"And the sauce?"

"A beurre blanc."

She pinches her lips, shaking her head as if to say that wouldn't do. "She'll have it without rice. And only a drizzle of lemon over the salmon."

"No sauce at all?"

She shakes her head, and the man looks at me for confirmation. Holding back an angered huff, I nod, and he leaves with our menus.

"You have to watch your figure, Genevieve."

"I am, Mother. I exercise four times a week and haven't had candy in years."

"Well, I suppose your body has a proclivity to store fat, then."

The worst part about her hurtful words is that they don't even shock me. Not anymore. Vivienne Kensington always demanded excellence, and I've tried to rise to her standards for most of my life. But with people like her, there is simply no winning.

I can't help but quickly observe her slim figure. She was a model until Father swept her off her feet with the promise of a luxurious life. She still looks the part despite the traces of time adorning her skin. I think that was their agreement before they got married. As long as she stays fit and put together, Father will give her a monstrous allowance.

That would explain why their marriage has been failing for as long as I can remember. Yes, she has more money than she could ever spend, but that's it. Her artificial life is devoid of everything that truly matters, like a loving family.

"How is Father?" I ask.

"Still doing his thing, working, traveling, seeing his whore…"

Oh, so now we openly acknowledge my father's affair? Noted.

"And his health?"

"The doctor tried to set restrictions, but you know your father. Nothing can keep him away from his bourbon and cigars."

And mistress.

When the waiter returns with a basket of fresh bread, my mother dismisses it with a hand gesture before it even reaches the table.

Crap, I should have expected this and eaten something before coming. After all that nocturnal activity, I'm starving. I cannot possibly stuff my face with my mother right in front of me, though. Unless I want her to call me fat again.

"It will be ten years in three weeks," she says gravely.

That instantly replaces my hunger with nausea. My stomach is suddenly in knots, tugging and aching, and I stare at the white tablecloth, unsure what to say.

"I know. In nineteen days, to be exact."

"She would have turned twenty-seven," Mother continues. I also know that because I'm turning twenty-seven. "Will you be coming home?"

"Of course."

We always do this together. Every single year. Father makes sure to be present, even if he has to fly in from halfway around the world. In fact, I put in my request for a day off months ago to make sure I'd be able to spend the day on the family estate.

It's her day, after all. Victoria's birth and death wrapped up in one gruesome date.

"I thought we could do something special this year since it's such a significant number," Mother suggests.

"Did you have anything in mind?"

"Maybe have a few friends and family members over. People who knew and loved her."

"Don't you think it might be a bit much?"

Although my question is innocent, she glares at me with discontentment. "Ten years, Genevieve. I'm allowed to commemorate my daughter's death in whatever way I want."

"Right, of course."

I hate that. I hate that she's so good at making me feel like a child again. I hate that she can crush my adult spirit until I'm left confused and ashamed. But it's something I'm used to, especially when we approach that cursed anniversary. So I clench my teeth and take it like I always have.

"The invitations have already gone out, anyway. Over fifty people have RSVP'd so far."

Leave it to Vivienne to turn such a commemoration into a social event.

"I was thinking about her the other day," Mother says pensively. "And I'm convinced she would have become a mother by now. She would have found a nice, respectable man in college—like Edward—and they would have given me a beautiful grandchild with blue eyes and blond hair."

I knew my sister more than she ever did or will, so I know that the fantasy she has of her isn't right. For one, Victoria was always adamant about building a career, determined to make her own mark in the world. So, I'm not so sure she would have put it all aside so early in favor of a family.

More importantly, my twin was never into boys, but that is a secret I will take to my grave because it isn't mine to share. Our parents weren't open enough to accept it, so Vicky spent her brief existence deeply hidden in a closet—one I couldn't pull her out of, regardless of how much support and encouragement I offered. She was so scared of how they might react that she never allowed herself to kiss another girl. Not even Penelope, the senior she had a reciprocated crush on.

"She would have been an amazing mom," I say, forcing a smile onto my lips. That isn't a lie, and it entertains my mother's delusions.

Whatever she wants to believe, I'll let her. She lost a child, so she's allowed any and every indulgence. That is a truth I have lived with for nearly ten years.

Because I can't handle this in my sober state, I raise a hand to catch the waiter's attention. "Could I have a lemon drop martini, please?" I ask when he comes.

"Of course, miss. Anything for you, ma'am?"

Mother hesitates, and when she asks for an old-fashioned, I know the meal will be rough. Whatever good mood she was in when I arrived is long gone.

So now, I just have to toughen up and endure the next hour.

I really should have found an excuse and stayed with Jake. That would have been a much better use of my time.