do with you-- it’s about who you are. She can’t handle Cosa Nostra,” she said, referring to the Mob family. “She’s just like her mother.”
“She’s not like her mother,” he hissed for the second time that night, although he grew tired of defending her. Maybe they were right. But even if they were, he wasn’t writing her off, not when this thing between them felt so deep.
He said his goodbyes and drove straight to Sophie’s where he tested the door and found it locked. His first thought was to be pleased she remembered to lock it followed by a fear she wasn’t home yet, that she’d gone somewhere with Eddie. But that was stupid. He pounded on the door with his fist, knowing it sounded overly-aggressive, but unable to stop himself.
He waited a few beats and repeated the pounding. Though he heard nothing, he sensed she was inside. Why wouldn’t she answer? Probably because he was banging on her door like he was going to break it down. She put on a good show, but he knew she was scared of him, still.
“Sophie?” he called. “I just want to talk to you. Open up.”
The lock clicked and the door swung open. Sophie looked wary, but stepped back to let him in.
“Thank you for locking the door,” he said, making a mental note to get a key.
She looked surprised at his thanks, clearly expecting a tirade.
“Did you leave because you were mad?”
She didn’t answer.
“Did you leave to get away from me or to prove something to me?”
Her brow furrowed as if she were considering the difference. “Prove something to you,” she admitted.
He ran a hand through his hair, more relieved than annoyed by her answer. She’d wanted him to follow.
He paced the length of living room. “I’m not happy with you,” he told her. “What the hell were you trying to prove? You don’t show up at the Don’s house, insult him and then leave without saying goodbye. And you don’t walk out on a date with--”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted.
He stopped his lecture, surprised. “Yeah?” he said doubtfully.
“Yeah,” she said heavily. Her hair was falling in her face and she didn’t brush it back, letting it curtain her expression. Her eyes danced around at the level of his chest, not quite meeting his gaze. “I didn’t want to be there,” she confessed. “But that was no excuse for being rude, or for blaming you for it.”
He opened his arms wide and it was her turn to show surprise. She stumbled into them with a look of relief. He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the faint smell of citrus in her hair. When they pulled apart, he led her toward the sofa.
“Please don’t use your belt.”
By some miracle, he managed to hide his surprise. She expected punishment? The thought hadn’t even occurred to him, as irritated as he’d been. But it was her fetish, and he knew from being capo you never miss giving a consequence when it is expected.
“I decide if and how you’re punished,” he said evenly. “But right now we’re going to talk about why you were mad at me.”
He pulled her sit beside him, waiting to see if she would offer any explanation.
She rubbed a thumb over the side stitching on her jeans. “I guess I felt like you dragged me somewhere I didn’t want to go, but I know that’s not really true.”
“It’s not true I dragged you?”
She nodded, reluctantly. “You said you’d bend for me. But then you didn’t ask if I really didn’t want to go.”
A flare of irritation erupted. “What is so hard about showing up at a barbecue and just being gracious for two short hours?”
She turned her head and looked pointedly away. He started to snap at her to look at him but stopped when he realized she was blinking back tears. He put a finger on the side of her chin to gently turn her face back to him. She drew in a breath, recovered.
“Why didn’t you want to go?”
Her expression closed. She stared at him a long moment, then turned the tables. “Was my father’s
“She’s not like her mother,” he hissed for the second time that night, although he grew tired of defending her. Maybe they were right. But even if they were, he wasn’t writing her off, not when this thing between them felt so deep.
He said his goodbyes and drove straight to Sophie’s where he tested the door and found it locked. His first thought was to be pleased she remembered to lock it followed by a fear she wasn’t home yet, that she’d gone somewhere with Eddie. But that was stupid. He pounded on the door with his fist, knowing it sounded overly-aggressive, but unable to stop himself.
He waited a few beats and repeated the pounding. Though he heard nothing, he sensed she was inside. Why wouldn’t she answer? Probably because he was banging on her door like he was going to break it down. She put on a good show, but he knew she was scared of him, still.
“Sophie?” he called. “I just want to talk to you. Open up.”
The lock clicked and the door swung open. Sophie looked wary, but stepped back to let him in.
“Thank you for locking the door,” he said, making a mental note to get a key.
She looked surprised at his thanks, clearly expecting a tirade.
“Did you leave because you were mad?”
She didn’t answer.
“Did you leave to get away from me or to prove something to me?”
Her brow furrowed as if she were considering the difference. “Prove something to you,” she admitted.
He ran a hand through his hair, more relieved than annoyed by her answer. She’d wanted him to follow.
He paced the length of living room. “I’m not happy with you,” he told her. “What the hell were you trying to prove? You don’t show up at the Don’s house, insult him and then leave without saying goodbye. And you don’t walk out on a date with--”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted.
He stopped his lecture, surprised. “Yeah?” he said doubtfully.
“Yeah,” she said heavily. Her hair was falling in her face and she didn’t brush it back, letting it curtain her expression. Her eyes danced around at the level of his chest, not quite meeting his gaze. “I didn’t want to be there,” she confessed. “But that was no excuse for being rude, or for blaming you for it.”
He opened his arms wide and it was her turn to show surprise. She stumbled into them with a look of relief. He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the faint smell of citrus in her hair. When they pulled apart, he led her toward the sofa.
“Please don’t use your belt.”
By some miracle, he managed to hide his surprise. She expected punishment? The thought hadn’t even occurred to him, as irritated as he’d been. But it was her fetish, and he knew from being capo you never miss giving a consequence when it is expected.
“I decide if and how you’re punished,” he said evenly. “But right now we’re going to talk about why you were mad at me.”
He pulled her sit beside him, waiting to see if she would offer any explanation.
She rubbed a thumb over the side stitching on her jeans. “I guess I felt like you dragged me somewhere I didn’t want to go, but I know that’s not really true.”
“It’s not true I dragged you?”
She nodded, reluctantly. “You said you’d bend for me. But then you didn’t ask if I really didn’t want to go.”
A flare of irritation erupted. “What is so hard about showing up at a barbecue and just being gracious for two short hours?”
She turned her head and looked pointedly away. He started to snap at her to look at him but stopped when he realized she was blinking back tears. He put a finger on the side of her chin to gently turn her face back to him. She drew in a breath, recovered.
“Why didn’t you want to go?”
Her expression closed. She stared at him a long moment, then turned the tables. “Was my father’s
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