Little did I know, Blakely was the least of my worries that night.
Taya came out of nowhere and gave me a nudge in the direction of the house next door. I looked over and there she was. Her hands stuffed into the pockets of a black robe that barely covered her red satin pajamas. She had to be on a mission to come to a high school gathering in her pajamas. My eyes popped, and I froze. The scowl on her face was enough to tell me how pissed off she was.
“Knox Burton, can I have a word with you please?” She looked straight at me. The flames in front of me distorted her face but didn’t begin to mask the anger in her eyes.
I tossed my full cup in the fire and a few people started to scatter and leave. I walked over trying to her trying to exude confidence.
“It’s just a little get together. We’re not doing anything wrong here.” I stuffed my hands in the pocket of my jeans and gave her a smile in an attempt to calm her. In the end, I just pissed her off more.
“It’s one o’clock in the morning. I’ve been awake for the past hour listening to your lame music and hearing all your high school drama. The cops are on their way, so I suggest you stash your beer and send your friends on their way.” She then turned and walked away.
I turned and looked back at the house, and everyone was already gone, including Axel. That little shit. I knew they were all scared as hell of Ms. Hyland but some back up would have been nice. I didn’t even give her a second thought. I hurried into the yard and began picking up any evidence that minors were here drinking because Mom would fucking kill me.
I sat by the fire alone and waited, and waited, and waited. Thinking that any minute I'd see flashing lights come into view. I glanced down at my phone and realized it had been forty-five minutes. Either they were really busy tonight in the zero-crime town of Redwood, or she fucking played me like a fiddle.
I threw my head back and laughed. “Good one, teach.”
It was from that day on that I realized she was the ice queen. I avoid any confrontation outside of this classroom. After that night, I’m pretty sure she labeled me as a troublemaker. Even so, she’s well aware of my 4.0 and the fact that my mom is her boss. She’s just a temporary inconvenience in my life. At the end of the school year, I’ll never see her again.
I watch as she reaches in a black bag and pulls out an apple. She sets it down on the podium and takes a seat at her desk. “This is your assignment for the hour, sketch it. Papers on my desk at the end of class.” She doesn’t even look at us. It’s like we are all just a big fat waste of her time. Everyone does as they are told, but I sit there watching her, trying to figure her out.
Her strawberry blonde hair cascades around her face, as she looks down at some papers in front of her. Something startles her, and she lifts her pale face, as her pear green eyes catch mine. The light reflecting off them shows sadness. My heart drops deep into my stomach, and I’m as frozen as I was that night at the fire. Only this time, something is different; this time, it’s like she’s letting me see a part of her that no one else does—something less robotic, something vulnerable.
Until she breaks our gaze and tells me to get to work before she goes back to grading papers.
She’s hot as hell on the outside, but inside, she’s ice cold.
2
Claire
I’m five months into the school year, and I still haven’t fully grasped this whole teaching thing. Why couldn’t Jorge find me something with small children. High school students, really? It’s only been five years since I graduated, but nothing has changed. There are still the mean girls who sit in the corner and gossip, thinking they have the world in the palm of their hands. The jocks who think they own the mean girls. And, then there are the kids who really want to be here because they care about their education, but don’t have a leg to stand on because they get pushed around.
For the most part, I keep to myself. I give the assignments, I grade them, and occasionally, I step in to stand up for those who do want to be here. As for the ones who don’t, I don’t have time for their nonsense. I’m too busy feeling on edge, as if Malcolm is going to walk through those doors at any moment.
The vibration of my phone inside the desk drawer startles me. I jump up with enough spring in my ass to catch the attention of Knox Burton. I glance over at him and see him watching me. Like he’s waiting for me to make some kind of move. I tell him to get back to work and slowly slide the drawer open, just enough to get a peek at the text.
Jorge: All is fine. It’s time to stop worrying. It’s time to LIVE.
It’s easy for him to say. He isn't the one living in hiding. If Malcolm even knew for a second how close Jorge and I were, I would have never put him in this situation. My first couple of months at Malcolm’s house were lonely. It wasn’t until my first assignment that Jorge and I grew close. He is the only blessing to come of this, and the one real friend who I was able to keep under the radar, and in the end, it worked in my favor, more than it did Jorge’s. I miss him like crazy. He really was my only friend in the outside world, even if he was on the inside. All of the others that I associated with during our hosted parties and events were all for show. They never gave a damn about me. All they cared about was being in the good graces of Malcolm Rossi. I don’t blame them, because they didn’t know him. They knew of his name, his reputation, and his power, but they didn’t know what happened behind closed doors. Sure, everyone has heard the rumors, but no one ever believed them enough to do something about it. Or God forbid, go against him.
I was the wife of a mafia billionaire. The lonely woman who was surrounded by strangers and often spent her days in her custom made art studio. I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on him. They burned into my soul, and I was scarred for an eternity.
“That’s a beautiful piece.” A masculine voice echoed through me. His warm breath on my neck.
I stroked mint green in the waves of the sea. Ignoring his compliment.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like it.” He stepped in front of me, putting space between the canvas and me.
“You may want to move or your nice black trousers will have a lovely stroke of seaweed across your crotch.”
The bout of laughter that escaped him was almost sinister. I should have known, at that moment, when his dick instantly hardened right in front of my face that I was in for a long haul of trouble with this man.
Instead, I found myself sucking said dick in the men's restroom at the gallery, not even twenty-minutes later. Twelve hours later, I was waking up in the bed of a king. A buffet of breakfast in my lap and my own personal car waiting outside for me. From that day on, he owned me. And, he made damn sure that everyone knew it.
Sarai mio per sempre.
For the first month, I would drink those words up like a fine bottle of Chateau Mouton.
You will be mine forever.
Wrong, Mr. Rossi. I’m free, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.
My lips curl when I think of him losing his mind back home. Searching high and low, sending his men out only to have them come back empty-handed.
I gave up an unlimited supply of money for my freedom, and there’s no amount of money that would ever take me back there. I’ll substitute teach, wear department store clothes, and use handbags that don’t have a designer tag on them. If I allow myself, I think I can find happiness here