End of the Innocence by Alessandra Torre
End of the Innocence
ALESSANDRA TORRE
Copyright © 2014 by Alessandra Torre
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from Don Congdon Associates, Inc.; the agency can be reached at [email protected].
ISBN 978-1-940941-41-7
www.alessandratorre.com
Cover Designer: Miguel Kilantang, Jr. www.migzworks.com
Editor: Madison Seidler www.madisonseidler.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
End of the Innocence
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Epilogue
The End
Author’s Note
To the women who teach their sons to open doors, respect women, and make us laugh. Thank you.
They say you will never love someone like you love your children. But my love for Brad was so consuming, so boundless. It stretched my universe and took over every breath, heartbeat, and thought. How could I possibly love anyone more? It seemed impossible.
Prologue
Blindfolded. It was how this whole thing started; it was the birth of my sexual awakening, the first loose thread that started the unraveling of my inhibitions. It almost seemed fitting that, in what could be the end of my life, I was, once again, blindfolded.
I woke up in pure blackness, my senses reawakening one by one, slowly reporting grim details of my surroundings. Sight. Pure dark, so complete in its entirety that I felt a wave of claustrophobia hit me. Sound. Muffled voices, hard tones filled with anger, hate, and—most terrifying of all—glee. The rustle of fabric against my ear as I twisted my head, the sound informing my brain that I was, in fact, blindfolded. Smell. A sickly-sweet scent, coming from the blindfold, almost—but not quite—overriding the dirty, masculine stench that reeked in this room. Taste. Wet cloth in my mouth, tugging at my skin, keeping my tongue in place, the horrible aftertaste of vomit in my mouth. Touch. Hands bound behind my back with rough, scratchy rope. Ankles spread and secured to chair legs beneath me. Sitting upright, utterly secured, my body recognizing, even without sight, the bruises that covered me.
My brain understood everything about the situation at once, bursting into reality in one, horrific instance, like stepping into the harsh sun, painful in its strength. I screamed through the blindfold, my effort producing only a small sound, and strained every muscle, thrashing my body from side to side, trying to free some small part of my body in at least one minor way. The chair rocked, tipped, and in an agonizingly slow motion, tipped backward and crashed to the concrete floor. The impact slammed my head back, and with one painful crack, my body stilled, all senses instantly snuffed.
Chapter 1
Fiancée. It was a role I knew, had been in just a couple of months earlier. But now, back in the title, with Brad De Luca as my future husband, it felt completely different. I woke slowly, pulling myself out of sleep, aided by the warm sear of his skin against my bare back, the sigh of his breath against my hair, the thrust of his pelvis as he let me know he was up in the naughtiest way possible. Yes, I could get used to this. Yes, I could spend the next fifty years of my life waking up in his arms.
I rolled over, putting us face to face, his eyes still closed, his mouth curving into a smile. I studied the thick line of his lashes, the peace on his face, peace that would disappear as soon as his eyes opened, as soon as intensity stole over his features and dominance ruled the beautiful canvas of his face.
Then his eyes opened, and I lost some of my breath. Five minutes later, he took that breath in a completely different way. With my back arched against the sheets, my hands deep in his hair, the glitter of diamond on my finger the only thing respectful and sane about our union.
I dressed for work, pairing a gray suit and cream shirt, and was putting on earrings when Brad came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, steam following him into the room. He stopped short when he saw me, frowning slightly. “Are you wearing that to my father’s house?”
I turned away from the mirror, wincing slightly when my earring didn’t go the right way through my ear. “No, sweetie, I am wearing this for work. That place that I go to during the week?” I looked at my watch. “The place I will be late to if I don’t run downstairs and eat.” I moved my hand quickly down, but not before my bare finger caught his eye.
“Where’s your ring?”
“It’s ah, on top of the safe. I figured you could put it inside.”
He stepped forward slowly, the scent of soap and masculinity disturbing my senses. “And why would I do that?”
“I don’t know ... so it doesn’t get stolen?” I smiled sweetly at him and reached for my makeup bag, his iron grip grabbing my wrist before I made it to the pink plastic. I frowned up at him, tugging with my wrist until he finally released me.
“What is this about?” He towered over me in my bare feet, and I struck a defiant pose, looking up at him with all the tenacity I could muster.
“It’s about me trying to get to work on time.”
“I thought you agreed to come to my father’s with me.”
“Ah ... no. I dropped the subject, and you assumed I agreed.”
“This seems suspiciously like something I would attempt.” He folded him arms, looking down at me, a frown on his face—a frown that was fighting to keep from breaking into a grin.
“Good. Then you should see the wisdom in it.” I reached for the makeup bag again, and he blocked my arm. I threw up my hands. Fuck the makeup. Moving around him, I headed to the bathroom.
“Okay, so you don’t want to go to my father’s. Fine. What’s the deal with the ring? You don’t like it?” He had the nerve to look almost hurt. Almo
I rolled my eyes at him. “I love the ring. Fucking Marilyn Monroe would love that ring. It’s not that.”
“Okay. It’s the office.”
“Yes.” I set down the toothbrush I was preparing and turned to him. “I am more than a little freaked out by the idea of the office knowing about our engagement. I didn’t commit to working for CDB past this semester. Why go through all that when I can just keep it a secret ‘til this semester ends?”
“I’m not used to being hidden, Julia.”
I groaned inwardly, wanting to be anywhere other than here, having any discussion other than this one. Especially when I was running late. “I am not hiding you. I am avoiding lots of questions, discussions, and evil stares. Please, Brad.” I clasped my hands in front of me and tried my best puppy-dog stare, one that I had not had much practice in, and I think a sad clown face ended up coming out instead.
He looked at me with a mixture of confusion and amusement, then threw up his hands and left. With a smile, I relaxed, picking up the toothpaste tube.
He was back before I had time to begin brushing. He set the ring box down with a thud on the marble counter next to me. “Wear it.” I threw the toothpaste down and turned to him with a retort on my lips. “I’ll be in the office around ten. I’ll tell my staff, so you can either be the engaged assistant who looks like she’s hiding her engagement, or you can be the confident fiancée I know you are. But I am not going to spend the next seven weeks pretending you don’t exist when I want to tell everyone the good news.” He winked at me, turned on his heel, and left, my retort dying a slow and painful death in my throat. Ugh. Great first day of engagery. I had a brief understanding of what it must have been like for Luke. I had been a pretty heavy-handed dictator in that relationship.
I steamed my way through the entire teeth-brushing process, staring at the damn velvet box the entire time. I had absolutely no doubt that Brad would do exactly as he had promised, telling the news to anyone and everyone he met. A small part of me, one that jumped up and down and did the salsa, was happy that he was proud. Proud of me, of our relationship, of our engagement. That he wasn’t treating it as a prison sentence. I tried to suffocate the happy part of myself but failed miserably.
I opened up the velvet box and looked at the ring again. It was so heartbreakingly beautiful, and I was terrified of falling in love with it and then one day having to give it up. I picked out the ring and slid it on, my knees weakening a little in the process. I allowed myself a brief, small happy dance in the middle of the bathroom, then put on my game face and headed downstairs.
I entered the kitchen and waved hello to Martha, hoping to grab a bagel and escape without interrogation, but I knew from the way she set down her hand towel and beamed at me, that I wasn’t going to get out easily.
“Julia.” She held out her arms and came around the island, pulling me into a strong, soft, lavender-scented embrace. “I am so happy for you.” She tightened the hug, and I laughed at the sheer strength of it.
I pulled out of the hug. “I’m sorry, is this the same woman who told me to get my ass out of her house, just—what—two weeks ago?” I grinned mischievously and shot around her, grabbing an orange and some grapes from a bowl on the counter.
“Nope. That was bitchy Martha. You’re part of the family now, so I’ll keep her hidden away.” She waddled after me. “You’re not eating just fruit. Let me fix you something else.”
“I can’t,” I warbled from a mouthful of grapes. “I’m late for work already.” She glared at me, and I saw a bit of the Martha I remembered. “I’ll eat tonight, whatever you make, I promise!” I called out the last two words as I trotted out the door, pulling it softly, but firmly closed behind me. I stopped short when I saw my Camry, parked to the side of the garage, Brad, on his cell, leaning against it. He saw me and met me halfway, ending the call and holding out my keys, his eyes sweeping over my ring finger.
I snatched the keys from his outstretched hand, stepping up on my tiptoes and giving him a brief kiss. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure. I’ll call you in a few hours.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Good luck this morning. Please don’t come back with news of my eminent demise.”
He looked wounded. “Baby, I have better negotiation skills than that. At the most, you’ll have a few broken kneecaps. At the most.”
“Oh, that’s hilarious. Really. So funny.” I punched his arm and opened the car door. His hand grabbed my arm and caught me as I started to get in.
“Wait.” He pressed back, gently, and I stumbled, pressed against the side of the car. I caught a glimpse of his face a second too late, and he kissed me before I could move. The kiss was soft, not the typical De Luca passion-fest, and he added a second one before raising his head and smiling down at me. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” I mumbled, not able to take my eyes off the depths of his.
He leaned down, brushing his lips over my neck, then whispered in my ear. “I like seeing you wear the ring.”
“You like getting your way.”
“That too.” He squeezed my waist and held the door, waiting for me to get in before closing it. I started the engine and put the car in reverse, watching him walk around and enter the garage.
Chapter 2
My car grumbled as it moved through downtown, and I reached out with a distracted hand, feeling around the inside of my purse until I found my phone. I dialed Olivia, a quick glance at the clock confirming that Becca’s ass would be drooling and snoring right about now.
“About damn time. You can’t leave us hanging like that!” Her indignant tone had me smiling, and the nerves between my shoulder blades relaxed slightly.
“Hanging? You knew?”
“Yes, we knew!” she snapped. “That delicious man of yours had a car—a limo—pick us both up yesterday afternoon and take us to the jewelry store.”
I twisted my mouth. “And you’re telling me Becca kept that quiet all night long?”
She giggled. “I fed her tequila. With a side of fajitas. And hid her phone. We thought you’d text or call us with the news, but we ended up drinking all night while waiting.” The irritation in her voice was probably more from the hangover than the delayed news, but I spoke quickly to cover my tracks.
“I’m sorry, O. Things got ... distracting when we made it back home.”
“But you said yes.”
“Yes, I said yes!” I suddenly realized that my best friends didn’t really know my connection to Brad, the fact that I loved him. So much had slid by under their radar. They didn’t know about Brad’s family, about the situations that had pushed us together faster than normal relationship protocols allowed. I suddenly picked up on the odd tone of Olivia’s voice—not exactly enthusiastic—caution lacing her words. “I love him,” I said quickly.
“It hasn’t been very long, Jules. And you just broke off your last engagement—”
“This is different. Brad isn’t Luke.”
“You got that right.” The words were spoken under her breath, and I didn’t know whether to take them as praise or criticism.
I drove in silence for a moment, not sure of what to say, the pressure building as my car neared the office. I haven’t prepared, I don’t know what to say to the office, I need to go.
“Well ...” Olivia drawled. “Becca is passed out on my couch. I’ve got a nine AM class, so I’ll leave her here. But we need to celebrate. Los Compadres at six?”
I bit my bottom lip. I love the girls and wanted to share the excitement of my engagement. But I would also need to find out how Brad’s meeting with his father went, how his wing of the office responded, share my own stories of whateverthehell was about to happen inside the firm’s prestigious walls. I turned on my blinker, pulled up, and got a ticket for the parking garage. “Another night, O. Give Becca a giant hug when she wakes up, and I’ll call you guys tomorrow.”
“I’d
“Love you, too, Olivia.”
“Yeah. And congrats.” She made the word sound as non-congratulatory as humanly possible.
“Thanks.” I made a face and ended the call. Stuffing the phone into my purse, I pulled into a spot. I took a moment—a head against the headrest, take a deep breath, put a fucking game face on moment—that did absolutely nothing to calm my nerves. Then I, with my big ass rock, opened the car door.
Chapter 3
7:45 a.m.: The doomed walk of the dead through the lobby. I shielded my ring finger with my purse and smiled a brief hello to Ancient Dorothy, bee-lining for the elevators. I rode up alone, taking advantage of the silence to whisper a short prayer—apologizing for any recent sins and praying for compassion.
I was making coffee when the first person noticed the ring. It was hard to miss, sparkling brilliantly under overhead fluorescents, and Beverly, the wing’s secretary, pounced on it like a kitten going after catnip. “What is that?” She dropped her lunch box in the fridge and grabbed my hand with both of hers, oblivious to the dirty coffee filter I was holding, and I watched in irritation as used grounds flew everywhere, spotting the white tile with black specks. Her squat body was rooted to the ground, and she gripped my hand with a warrior’s intensity, her eyes fixated on the ring like it was a steaming hot funnel cake. I tried to gently tug my hand away, but it was like trying to pull Excalibur’s sword from the stone.
“I didn’t know you were dating anyone!” Beverly’s eyes left the stone and focused on me intently. “Did you get back together with your ex?”
“Errr ... No.” I smiled, though I think it came off more like a grimace. “This is someone new.”
“And you’re already engaged?” She tilted her head at me, puzzled, and I cursed the day I ever shared a moment of personal discussion with this woman, or any other creature on this floor.
“Yes. It is quite sudden.” I looked pointedly at the deflated coffee filter, and she released my hand with a quick, hurried movement.