Page 63 of Filthy Little Regrets
“I’m sorry I was an asshole.”
Pausing with another forkful halfway to my mouth, I side-eye Mace. His face is lined with regret. “Which time?”
He glances away. “Every time, I suppose, but mostly in high school. I knew people were shitty to you. I never considered how I played a role in how you were treated.”
I could be terrible and make him feel worse, cuss him out, rip him to shreds, but I’ve never been that type of person. At least he’s owning up to it. “It’s not okay,” I tell him. “Your family is powerful. You have influence. With great power?—”
“A Spiderman reference?”
“Rule number two, don’t interrupt me.”
He lifts an eyebrow, but smartly keeps his trap shut.
“As I was saying, with great power comes little dicks.”
A smirk cuts across his face, and I know without a doubt Mace’s cock is big.
“Just kidding,” I say quickly before he can inform me of that very fact. “All I’m saying is, people watch what you say and do, so be careful with how you use your power. And I appreciate the apology.”
“I hear you.”
“Good, now shut up and eat the cake.”
“Right, rule number one,” he mumbles, shaking his head like he’s disappointed with himself.
“Don’t worry, you’ll learn.”
“I love it when you’re mean.”
Flutters erupt in my chest. He has no idea how mean I’m about to be. I hate liars, but I’m going to play the role I have to play to keep my family safe, and if I break Mace’s heart in the process...
So be it.
Our wedding night was anything but sexy. After sharing the cake, Mace said he had something to take care of and left. I’m not sure how to feel about being left alone after saying our vows. I should probably be happy there was no awkwardso are we going to bang to consummate the marriagesituation.
On the plus side, I slept in my room and had hours alone to plan. Mace is smart. If I continue to put up a fight, he’ll see me coming. To do this right, he needs to be distracted, and what better way to distract him than with sex? There’s enough tension between us that it won’t be hard to pretend to enjoy myself. Plus, he knows exactly what to do to make me come. I’ve run through every scenario, and it’s the only viable option.
I can’t fake falling in love to get close to him—that would be too cruel—but I can play the game. Like chess, I need to divert his attention, use whatever I can to my advantage to win.
Step one: give in to the lust.
Step two: find something to use against him.
Easy enough, right?
I’m almost done with my makeup the next morning when the doorbell rings. None of the staff is here. Finishing the swipe of eyeliner, I check my hair for any flyaways before tugging on the onyx, goth-chic shift dress and sliding my feet into black ankle boots. The doorbell rings again as I’m zipping them.
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you,” I mutter, floating my hand along the railing to make sure I don’t fall as I hurrydown the stairs. I have no idea who is here, but the woman waiting on the front porch is not what I expected. A classic tweed Chanel dress is draped over a lithe and elegant frame. The heels are simple but expensive. She holds herself like a lady, one foot slightly in front of the other, hands delicately clasped in front of her, and a friendly smile that’s all lip and no teeth. Her brunette hair is loose but artfully styled.
She’s the embodiment of old money. Not too flashy, but not afraid to show off that wealth either. There are faint wrinkle lines at the edges of her mouth and eyes, and the shape of her face is faintly familiar.
“Hi. Can I help you?”
Her smile deepens. “Cassia, is it? I’m Elaine, Mace’s mother.”
My expression immediately hardens. Even though Rose said only his dad made him fight, how could she not know? Why didn’t she do anything to stop it? Mace is a full-grown adult and can take care of himself, but I find myself suddenly protective. “Mace isn’t here.”
Head pulling back, surprised at my tone, she studies me. “I see. May I come in?”
