My body was sore and bruised from last night. Red-purple hickeys dotted my chest, and I’d stood in front of the bathroom mirror this morning, stunned at how beautiful the color was. What would he think of them when he saw me tonight? Surely we were going to have sex again. We hadn’t after dinner last night. He’d gotten a call from his uncle, disappeared into his room, and never came out.
Vasilije pocketed his phone in the suit jacket and cast a dark look at the woman before his gaze finally drifted to me. He looked good in his black suit, gray checkered tie, and a sneer on his lips. I wondered how his employees liked working for him now that he’d taken his father’s place. He’d usurped Dimitrije. Did the people at the dealership hate taking orders from a twenty-four-year-old punk? Or was he charming as I’d heard he was, but never seen for myself?
“We’re going out tonight,” he said abruptly. “My cousin is coming over at five to help you. You’ll wear the dress I bought.”
He said it like it was no big deal, but my stomach lurched. He wanted me to wear the dress he’d described as what I’d wear when I’d meet his family. “Help me with what?”
“She’s a makeup artist,” he said.
“Oh.” It was all I could think to say. How was I supposed to take that? Did he think makeup was needed with me, or was he simply wanting me to look my best and make a good impression?
“We have reservations downtown at seven.” His gaze was piercing. “It’s an important dinner.”
He communicated everything he wasn’t saying out loud with a single look. Did my life hinge on the outcome of this dinner? If it was with Goran, it seemed likely. Vasilije had told me his uncle wanted me gone.
“I understand,” I said, although I really didn’t.
We never spoke the rest of the time the piano tuner worked. The only sound was her tuning forks and the repeated tapping of keys to compare frequencies. We watched her work, and I’d swear I could feel every turn of the hammer tightening inside my body. But I worried it was the same for Vasilije, and if she pulled him taut enough, he’d snap and lash out at her worse than a broken piano wire.
Thankfully, it didn’t happen.
She fixed the sticky key I pointed out, and as she packed up her kit, Vasilije looked beyond relieved the ordeal was over. He ushered her to the entryway and paid her in cash. She took it hesitantly, probably surprised, and scurried out the door a moment later. My guess was she was as happy to be gone as he was to be rid of her.
I sat at the piano, anxious to get started, but his heavy footfalls carried him toward me. “I have to get back to work.” He grabbed a fistful of hair at the base of my skull and jerked me back with a gasp. His expression was restrained, but his eyes were wild. “I wanted to fuck you when she was done, but that took too fucking long.”
His mouth crushed against mine and his tongue shot past my lips. It was like he was fucking my mouth, and a whimper slipped from me. It shouldn’t have turned me on the way he manhandled me, but . . . it did. Oh God, it did. His unapologetic domination was insane. How the hell could I capture it in a song?
He ended the kiss as brutally as he’d started it, shoving me away from him, and my hands flew out, bracing myself against the keyboard in a sound of panicked discord.
“I’ll see you tonight. Be nice to Jennifer, or I won’t be nice to you later.”
Had he been nice to me before? I kept the comment to myself, because maybe I didn’t want a nice Vasilije. My new muse was complex enough. He didn’t say a real goodbye and left out the garage. The house felt cavernous when he was gone, but it made it easier to breathe.
I lost all track of time as I sat at the piano composing.
It was only when the sunlight faded enough that I realized how late it was. Was I supposed to be dressed when his cousin arrived? I dashed up the stairs, darting into the green-stripe wallpapered room, and dressed quickly in the black patterned dress. I’d just finished zipping it up when I heard movement downstairs.
“Hello?” a female voice called.
I went to the landing at the top of the stairs and looked down at the first floor. “Hello,” I said.
She was petite. Blonde like me, but hers was a golden honey. The woman was early thirties and dressed stylishly in boots, jeans, a slim-fitting sweater, and a colorful scarf looped around her neck. Her hair was done in perfect soft curls and her skin looked flawless. In a single look, I could tell appearance meant everything to her.