A Gorgeous Villain (St. Mary's Rebels 2)

“I can see that she’s going to look up to you for everything. You’re going to be her favorite. Even more than me. I know that, Roman. She’s going to come to you for everything. Because you’re going to be her hero. You already are her hero. She perks up whenever you’re close. She goes to sleep if she’s restless. She hears your voice and I can feel her smiling inside of me, being all happy. But if you do this, Roman, if you do this thing for your father, then you’re going to break her heart. You’re going to break our baby girl’s heart because then you’ll be like everything else that you want to protect her from. You’ll be a villain.

“Don’t be a villain, Roman. I know you think you don’t have a choice. I know you think you have to do this. But you don’t. You always have a choice. Always. Choose the right thing. Choose the protector in you. You always wanted to be out of your father’s control, right? You can be. All you have to do is choose. Please. Choose what you want, what you’ve always wanted. And do it for Halo. Don’t break her heart before she’s even born, Roman. Before you’ve even held her in your arms. But more than that, choose what you want for yourself. Choose it because if you hurt the man who’s always been a father to you, for the man who’s never cared about you, you’ll break your heart. You’ll break your own heart, Roman, like you did two years ago. Stop breaking your own heart. Please.”

I’ve begged him now. As much as I can.

I’ve begged him and I’ve pleaded with him and I don’t know what he’s thinking.

I don’t know because he’s not showing me.

His body is a statue, made of beautiful marble, and his eyes are inscrutable. And even if he had any expression in them, I wouldn’t be able to see it anyway.

Because my own eyes are filled with tears. My own body is trembling.

I want him to say something, anything, and he does.

He shifts on his feet, takes a step back and says, “Don’t wait up.”

With that, he spins around and leaves.

He goes out the door he came in only a little while ago.

Even though he told me not to wait up for him, I do.

I wait for him but he doesn’t come back.

He doesn’t come the next morning either. Conrad comes to pick me up for school, says that Reed had texted him and asked him to drop me off.

Even though I know that I won’t see him until the end of the school day, I still wait for him.

I wait and wait and wait.

Until I’m climbing down the stairs at St. Mary’s, switching to my next class, tired and achy and so in love with the guy who I haven’t seen in hours now, that I slip.

My foot slips.

And I stumble.

I try to hold on to the metal banister but I can’t.

I can’t hold on and I fall.

I roll down the stairs and a blinding pain grips me, my back, my ankle.

But more than that, a blinding pain grips my abdomen.

Where my Halo is sleeping.

Mine and his.

I open the door to my father’s study and enter the four-hundred-square-foot space that I’ve always hated.

He’s sitting in his throne-like chair and I know I’ve shocked him with my sudden intrusion.

I’ve actually never seen him shocked, now that I think about it.

I’ve seen him happy and gleeful and furious and in the fucking throes of passion but no, I’ve never seen him shocked. His gray eyes, so much like mine, flare slightly.

And I realize his eyes are too big for his face.

Thank God or whoever the fuck is responsible for these things that I didn’t get this trait from him, cartoonish eyes.

He opens his mouth to say something but I’m not interested. And I’m not staying long anyway.

So for the first time ever, without reservations or hesitations, I stride over to his desk and throw something at it. It skids all the way over to my father’s side, loose papers spilling across the polished desk.

It’s the file he gave me.

Like before, I put both my hands on his desk and look him in those eyes.

Eyes that have never been warm or affectionate.

“You wanted to teach me a lesson about keeping secrets, yeah?” I begin. “Well, here’s a little secret for you: I’m good with cars. Pretty fucking good. Fantastic, actually. Have you ever wondered why I love my Mustang so much?”

His features tighten up but I don’t give him a chance to speak. “You probably haven’t. Given how amazingly self-absorbed you are. I love it so much, Dad, because I built it myself. With my own hands. I didn’t buy it at a showroom, didn’t buy it with your money. It’s completely mine. Surprised you, didn’t I? Yeah, me too. Never thought I had that sort of talent. I mean, soccer’s easy. Soccer’s a piece of cake, but this stuff takes some real genius. And as I said, I’m pretty fantastic. So I’ve come to a conclusion: If I love it so much, building cars I mean, I should probably do it for a living, don’t you think?”