The Revenge Games Duet

He shrugs his shoulders, leaning back into the chair and lighting a cigarette.

“Just to fuck with her head. I like her to think I care, and she gets all happy then I fuck her over.”

My pity converts to being absolutely stunned. How awful that Wesley feels the need to hurt his mother. I can never imagine hurting Mama like that. When she’s in pain, I feel it too. Sometimes more so.

“I can see your judgment,” he says, puffing out smoke. “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re just like Em in that way.”

I bow my head slowly while staring at the food. It bothers me more that he compares me to Emerson than it does him admitting he enjoys hurting his mother. I don’t know why it bugs me so much. Liam has an ex, this girl who lives only a few streets away. It never bothered me. We would talk when we ran into each other, and she was really lovely.

His intrigued stare continues to linger. “You seem to go quiet every time I mention Em.”

“I don’t know, it’s just that you guys had something very special to be engaged to each other. It’s a big commitment, and well, it’s kinda hard sitting on this side of the table being the assistant to your ex-fiancée.”

“We did have something. And I still love Em but not in the way you think.”

The words hurt.

I swallow the lump in my throat, desperate to escape this conversation. The food—appetizing moments ago—has lost its appeal, and I’m suddenly not hungry at all.

He lights up another smoke, taking a drag before throwing the packet down.

“I hate that you smoke,” I say out loud, angrily.

His eyes go wide with curiosity. He removes the cigarette from his mouth and puts in out on the ground. The packet of smokes in his pocket, he takes out and throws into the pool. I watch it float on top of the water, soaking until it begins to sink, slightly.

“There, happy?”

“Don’t do it for me. Do it for your health,” I argue back.

“I can never make you happy,” he raises his voice in frustration. “Honestly, Milana. What do I need to do for you to stop being so unhappy when you’re with me?”

“I just don’t know you!” I shout, in my defense. “You’re nothing like Liam—”

“No, I’m not,” he states, slamming his fist on the table which makes the cutlery jump. “I proposed to Em because the producers told me I had to do it, for the ratings. Yes, I did love her, but I hurt her. We both fell into that reality world and have that connection. I do still love her, always will, but not in the way I feel about—” He cuts himself off with a blazing stare before continuing, “I did cheat on her, and that’s my fault. I’ve done bad things. I don’t know why. And I’ll probably continue to do bad things. Maybe there’s no hope for me… I don’t know. Or maybe my savior is the person sitting right in front of me.”

It’s a powerful thing to be called a savior, a title that holds so much meaning yet something that frightens me. I have my own problems, my own worries. I’m not here to fix Wesley Rich. I’m here to forget I have my own issues to deal with.

“We should do something fun,” I blurt out, smiling as I look directly at him.

“This is not fun?” He appears slightly offended and thrown off by my change of tone.

“It’s fun… but I’m thinking something wild.”

“Wild?”

I remove my dress with a cheeky grin, watching as Wesley gazes with curiosity. Dressed in only my white bra and panties, I’m quick to remove those pieces, baring my body for him.

“I could think of many things that involve you being naked and the word wild,” he teases, leaning back into his chair, running his eyes up and down my body.

“Try and catch me.” I giggle, running from the table and diving into the pool.

The cold water graces my skin, a quick shock to the system as I hold my breath under the water before coming back up. I’ve always wanted to swim naked, secretly, in my fantasies. I’d never done it. And this rush—the one throwing all caution to the wind and living for just this moment—is everything I need right now.

As I take a few breaths, the water rocks with such force as Wesley dives in straight after me causing the waves to build. The shadow of his body is underwater until he comes up right in front of me. Unable to stop the squeal that comes out of me, I struggle to release myself from the ticklish behavior of his hands under the water.

“Stop.” I laugh uncontrollably, squirming around beneath his touch. “I’m ticklish.”

Wesley stops, standing calmly. “You never tell a tickler you’re ticklish.”