“Bash,” I said, rolling onto my side so we were face to face. “Stop. There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“But my family—”
“So they aren’t perfect. Think about who you’re talking to.” I smiled at him. “The only reason you haven’t met my parents is because they’re always at the bar, or passed out drunk on the couch. ‘Dysfunctional’ is inscribed somewhere on our family crest.”
A small smile crept across Bash’s face.
“You aren’t your family. You aren’t your father,” I told him, leaning in to press a kiss against his lips. “I love you because of who you are — not because of them. You could’ve been raised by a troupe of con artists or circus performers and I’d still love you.”
“Yeah?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at me.
“Yeah.” I kissed him deeply, twining my arms around his back and looping one of my legs around his waist. He pulled me flush against him, rolling onto his back so I was sprawled across his chest.
“You know what I think, Freckles?” he asked, his hands skimming down my back in a possessive gesture.
I shook my head.
“Babies have no say about which crib they end up in. I didn’t pick my parents anymore than you chose yours. I think real family is the family you get a say in — it’s the family you build with someone you love. And I know one day, when we’re married and you’re the size of a house, pregnant with my baby inside you…” His hands stilled on my sides as he stared into my eyes. “I’ll have made my real family.Ourfamily.”
My heart fluttered in my chest and my eyes began to tear, but I forced a stern expression onto my face. “Maybe I don’t want babies with someone who thinks I’ll be the size of a house.”
Bash grinned. “Yeah, you do.”
“I don’t like you,” I informed him, trying my best to maintain a glare.
“I know,” he whispered, cupping the back of my neck and guiding my lips against his. “But you love me.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I grumbled, smiling as our kiss deepened and we forgot all about the party still going on inside, and the parents we’d had no choice in.
***
“I’ll grab your coat. Meet me by the car in five minutes,” Bash said, leading me back toward the house.
“Okay,” I agreed, squeezing his hand tightly as we approached the dark mansion. The party guests had all gone home, but I didn’t want to chance an encounter with either of Sebastian’s parents. “I just want to say goodbye to Greta.”
Bash smiled. “She likes you.”
“I like her,” I countered, bumping my hip against his.
He kissed my forehead quickly, then headed for the side door into the house. “See you in a minute.”
“Not if I see you first!” I whispered, grinning as I made my way across the patio toward the back entrance to the kitchen. The glass paneled door swung open on soundless hinges, and I stepped into the dim room. Only the faint light above the stove was left illuminated — all of the other kitchen lights had been switched off for the night. I scanned the space for Greta, hoping she was still awake, and my eyes caught on the light creeping out beneath the crack of the ajar pantry door across the room.
She must’ve gone in there to put away the party leftovers, I thought, skirting around the kitchen island and heading for the small entrance. The sound —a terrified, mewling protest — reached my ears just as I reached the door. What I saw through the open crack made my blood run cold.
Greta wasn’t alone in the pantry.
Andrew’s hands roamed the maid’s body freely, despite her cowering. She didn’t attempt to fight him off, but her distress was clear on her face. He groped at her breasts and though his back was to me, I imagined the lascivious look on his face.
“Shh,” he muttered, moving one of his hands down to the bottom of her uniform. “Be a good girl, Greta. It’s only me. I thought we resolved all this, the last time.”
When his hand moved beneath her skirt,Greta cried out in despair and her wide blue eyes flashed with horror. My mind reeled, searching for an explanation, seeking some kind of justification for this, but there was none. This was no tawdry dalliance between master and maid — no secret affair between two willing partners. This was rape.
I watched my hand like it belonged to a stranger, as it lifted and pushed the door open with enough force that its impact against thepantry wall set the cans rattling on their shelves. The loud bang was enough to stop the progression of Andrew’s hands. When he turned to me, his eyes still swirling with lust, I saw surprise flash in his expression.
He hadn’t expected it to be me at the door.
Greta’s face showed both terror and relief, and as her hands worked to smooth her uniform back into place, she cast a grateful look in my direction.