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Liar, the voice in the back of my head whispers. "Shut up," I mutter.
I left two naked girls in my bed this morning to pick up Sofia, and my heart is beating fast in my chest, my palms are sweaty, and I feel sick. I'm not ready for this shit.
You just feel guilty for cheating. You know you're in love with her, you're just in denial,my subconscious echoes in my mind, and I bang my fist onto the steering wheel, trying to block the voice.
It's been two years since the Hamptons, when I told her I wanted more with her, so it's basically our anniversary. She's nineteen, turning twenty in six months, which is enough time to plan a wedding. We've been spending as much time together as I have available. I've been spending more of my nights fucking random women or Candice, and sometimes her and her friend together, just to keep my mind off a certain dark-haired beauty.
Sofia's not all that I thought she would be all those years ago—nothing like her cold-hearted, bitch of a drunken mother, who used to be the nicest woman, apparently, until something made her flip the switch. Probably her husband's infidelities, even though he swears he only started straying when he heard from a reliable source that she'd been fucking his men behind his back. Apparently, he's broken over it, and has been trying to get even with her however he can. Well, according to my mother anyway, and how she knows, I have no idea, but my Sofia?—
Fuck! My Sofia…where the fuck did that come from?
I shake my head. She's gotten under my skin over the years. She's kind and caring, always putting others first, smart as hell, and currently attending NY State for her nursing degree in pediatrics. She's working her way into my soul without even trying, and I don't like it. Maybe I need to get laid again tonight. I'll have to message Candice later, if I can get away when Sofia is asleep.
Once I pull my car up to her home on the outskirts of New York, the gates open automatically when the guards see my car, and I notice Sofia sprinting to my SUV, before getting in quickly.
I furrow my brows. What the fuck? She hadn’t even waited for my car to stop before she did that shit.
As she leans over for a kiss like she always does, I cup her jaw, noticing something on her face. My own jaw ticks with burning rage when I notice the bruising near her eye. She must see the tension on my face because she tries to pull away, but I just tighten my grip, making her sigh. She places her hand on my jaw and strokes it with her index finger like always. She gives me a small, weak smile like she does each time I see a new mark, and she always gives the same excuse:
"Just being clumsy again, handsome, don't worry."
And she does it yet again this time, too, before leaning forward and kissing me softly, making my grip on her face loosen a bit, so she can pull away.
She sits back, waiting for me to drive, and I sigh, trying to control my anger, knowing she won't tell me. She never does. She sits in tense silence, peering out the window, and my chest tightens. Has she discovered something about our arranged marriage, and that's why she won't talk to me? Is that why she won’t trust me with the truth about the bruises?
I shake my head. Nah, she will never find out, just like she won't find out about me fucking Candice later when she's asleep, or about all the other women I fuck.
I text Stefano to let him know there is another mark, and to ensure her room is packed because, after today, she'll be moving in with me. Then we'll really see if she still “has accidents.”
I put the car into drive and place my hand on the inside of her thigh, trying to calm my rage. Last week, she had a bruise on her hip and, the week before, on her lower back. Stefano is always pissed when I inform him, but every time he checks the cameras that surround the house, there's nothing on them. The first time I noticed them was two years ago when her lip was cut, and she had bruising on her rib cage. She blew it off, and after a meeting with my father and Stefano to inform them of our recent relationship development, and to confirm everything was on track, I mentioned the lip and bruise. Stefano said he would handle it. He confronted Victoria, but she acted all concerned. The staff was interrogated, but no one knew anything, and since then, we've been keeping a closer eye on her. But she still insists she was clumsy. My phone chimes with an incoming text, so I remove my hand from her thigh to read it.
Stefano: Fuck's sake, we're at your Hamptons house. I'll have my second check the cameras, but I doubt anything is on them. I'll get back to you. Just propose and leave the rest to me. I'll find out the truth, one way or another.
I peek at Sofia, but she's not paying attention. Her father clearly believes she's clumsy. I threaten him back.
Me: This has been going on for 2 years. She is about to become my fiancée, so I'm taking over! Fingers will be cut off.
He messages straight back.
Stefano: Give me two days, and I will converse with your father. Two days, Damian, and if I don't find anything, you can take over.
I don't reply back, trying to control more of the rage that's burning deep inside me, determined to find out what's actually going on in their home.
I didn't realize he would never find out what was happening to her and that I would be too distracted by my mistresses to realize things were escalating.
I put my phone back in its holder, before placing my hand back between Sofia's thighs, squeezing them a little, feeling bloodthirsty for revenge. I'm fucking fuming. Clearly, Stefano getting his dick wet and trying to get back at his wife is more important than his daughter walking around covered in bruises!
"Where are we going, Damian?" Sofia brings me back to her, dispersing my anger like always. We're on our way for a picnic on the Hamptons’ beach, where I'll "propose" like a normal person. Fuck my life. I'd rather fuck her into an orgasmic bliss than put the ring on her finger without first telling her about the arrangement between our parents. Still, my printsessa is a romantic at heart. I turn and look at her quickly, my hand still between those luscious thighs, which I can't wait to slide into later, and smile at her.
"It's a surprise, malyshka."
Giving her a brighter smile and softening my expression, she looks at me with eyes full of love, causing my heart to beat loudly in my chest. Turning my head, I concentrate on the road and thumb circles over the soft flesh between her thighs to distract me from the guilt building inside me. She squirms. I smirk, my little minx. When she'd turned eighteen, I took her to Paris to celebrate. We walked all around and did all the fucking tourist shit, but that day I gave Sofia her first kiss under the Eiffel Tower, making her all dazed, and ensuring I had it on camera. It's now the lock screen on her phone. We continued walking for a few hours while I kept my arm around her waist. She took several photos, mainly of us with the attractions in the background. After having dinner by the Seine, I took her back to the hotel and could tell she was nervous.
"Are you okay, printsessa?" I questioned her. She looked at me with a little bit of fear but also a lot of purpose, her dark blue eyes hooded.
"I'm ready; I want you to be my first and only Damian. I don't want to wait any longer."
My pulse raced. I knew this was coming. I'd been making her squirm for a few months with little touches, but fuck, we were supposed to wait until our wedding night. I've been fucking plenty of other women for years now, but hearing her say this has my half-mast cock growing harder than it would with any other woman. Shit!
