Page 13 of Under His Control

There’s a large purple bruise by her left temple, but I’m more surprised by her transformation. The young girl I remember grew into a beautiful woman. She faintly resembles her mother, though the rest of her is different.

Last I saw Alyssa, she was slender with striking angles. Penelope is soft curves and fullness with rounded cheeks and lush, pink lips.

I drag my gaze down her body, lingering on her chest straining her white v-neck shirt, following the curve of her waist to her wide hips and thick thighs in her grey leggings. It’s been a long time since I last slid my hands all over a woman.

And she would feel incredible.

A chill goes through me at the thought. I turn away from her and drop the bedding onto the couch.

What the fuck am I thinking? She’s my ex-stepdaughter. Even if she wasn’t, I’m almost twice her age, which is disturbing enough. Let’s not forget she shouldn’t be seen in any positive light either.

I face her again. “Do you want something to eat or drink?”

She nods, crossing her arms over her stomach.

“I haven’t had anything since this morning.”

I glance at her left arm on my way to the kitchen. It also has a large bruise, and it looks fresh like the one at her temple. I’m irritated with myself as I get out the beef chilli and rice leftovers from dinner.

Regardless of how I feel about Penelope, I don’t like that she’s been hurt. I probably could’ve prevented her accident if I’d remembered to warn her about the storm. Instead, I was too busy being blindsided and angry.

While I wait for the food to reheat, I turn and lean against the counter, watching Penelope. She glances over at me then quickly looks away, tucking her hair behind her ears as she takes a seat on my couch. Her back is a straight line and she avoids my gaze by surveying the room.

The microwave beep is loud in the silence. I add avocado slices to the plate and carry it over. I set it down on the coffee table along with a glass of juice.

She flashes a smile. “Thank you.”

I take a seat in the armchair while she eats and openly stare at her. She chews slowly, visible tension in her body. I don’t care that I’m making her uncomfortable. As a matter of fact, I like it.

“This is really good,” she says, flicking a glance at me before looking down at the plate.

I frown. I’m not buying her “shy and polite girl” act one bit. There was none of this demure behaviour when she told a roomful of people a horrible, untrue story about me.

“Why is your last name Greene instead of Russo? Are you married?”

She’s wearing silver rings on her right index and ring fingers, one on her left middle finger. I’ve never seen emerald green nail polish on a woman before, and I’ll admit—grudgingly—the colour goes well with her naturally tanned skin.

Penelope pauses sipping her drink and sets down the glass.

“No. Mom changed it.”

“I see. If anyone looks you up, they won’t find out who the both of you really are. The kind of people you really are.”

She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t need to. The shame on her face tells me I hit the nail on the head. How nice for them to be able to fade away into obscurity. I couldn’t.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

“Your sister gave me your address.”

It was Elizabeth? Why the hell would she do that?

“You hunted down my sister to get to me?”

“I ran into her. I had just come from paying down on the debt and I was upset. She wanted to know why.” She pauses. “I didn’t want to tell her but she was really persistent. We had a chat over coffee and I told her about my problem. She said you would help me.”

I can’t believe it. I can’t believe Elizabeth would say such a thing when she knows what Penelope and her mother put me through.

What was she thinking?