When She Falls (The Fallen, #3)(20)
I hate him.
The man might be a decent kisser, but there’s something seriously wrong with him.
I don’t even want to imagine what would have happened if someone had walked in on us.
If my parents got word of me kissing another man? Kissing Ras?
I shudder. It wouldn’t even matter that he forced it on me. Papà wouldn’t wait for an explanation before he punished me. He’d probably take us all back home, tell Rafaele not to come here, hold this over Damiano’s head—
I dig the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. It would be so easy to spiral right now, but I won’t. I won’t let Ras ruin this week for me more than he already has.
Cleo’s still snoring across the room, but I force myself out of bed, eager to get that sour taste out of my mouth.
My hangover sends my thoughts down annoying little detours.
While I rinse my mouth and brush my teeth, I recall what Ras’s body felt like. Hard muscle everywhere. Radiating heat like a furnace. His abs may as well have been a stack of bricks. I think I hurt my hand more than I hurt him when I punched him. He barely even huffed in response.
I step into the shower.
I wonder what Ras would have done if instead of hitting him, I’d slipped my hand inside his shirt, raked my nails over those abs, and dipped my fingers behind his belt.
God, it would have been worth it just to see the look on his stupid face. How annoying is it that he thinks he’s got me all figured out? He barely knows me.
And apparently, I know him even less than I thought I did.
Cassio. Why does he prefer Ras over his real name? I feel like I should dig up some stuff on him. Knowledge is power. For someone who likes asking me so many questions, he definitely doesn’t seem too eager to answer even one of mine.
Cold water hits my skin. I shiver against it, but I don’t turn up the heat. I need to get rid of this hangover, so I let the cold drench me, let it seep into my hair and hope it clears my head.
It does.
When I step out onto the heated floor, only one thought remains. The only one that matters.
Ras is a scourge, and I’m going to do everything I can to avoid him for the rest of my time here. Easy enough for him to speak of doing whatever he wants. He hasn’t lived my life. He’s been here in this paradise for a long time, with a friend for a boss, and a culture that allows him to ride naked on a jet ski across endless clear water, for fuck’s sake.
He’s found something to toy with—me. But this isn’t a game. Did a part of me enjoy our verbal sparring? Sure. But I can’t after he’s shown me what a loose cannon he is.
My bruised reflection is another reminder of why I can’t afford to have Ras mess with me. I will not give Papà more reasons to hit me. I spend a good ten minutes covering up the ugly brown-green splotch on my cheek, pressing the sponge so hard into my skin that I make myself wince.
When I come out of the bathroom, Cleo’s bed is empty.
I frown at the mess of sheets. Cleo’s bed always looks like the aftermath of a racoon fight.
She drank less than me last night, but enough to get a little rowdy on the dance floor. Papà and Mamma left dinner early, instructing Vince to keep an eye on us. He’d done no such thing and had instead spent his evening smoking cigars with the older male guests.
I chug a bottle of water from the nightstand and check my phone. Nothing from Cleo, but there’s a text from Nona.
You haven’t sent me pictures like you promised, cara mia.
I send her a few photos, put on a white linen button-up shirt and a pair of jeans, and venture outside. It’s never a good sign when Cleo just disappears.
The sun warms my skin as soon as I step through the front door. Two guards greet me in Spanish, and when I ask them about Cleo, one of them explains in broken English that they saw her walking around the property.
I find her standing at the edge of the cliff that protrudes over the small private beach currently hidden by high tide. She’s in an oversized T-shirt with IBIZA spelled out across it—when did she manage to get that?—and a pair of booty shorts. One of her Chanel purses is slung over her shoulder, looking very at odds with the rest of her outfit. She hasn’t bothered to brush her hair, so it’s billowing around her head like a black halo.
Typical Cleo.
I stop by her side. “This is a nice spot.”
She sniffs. “It is. Great cliff.”
A seagull soars over our heads.
“I’m thinking of throwing myself off it.”
My gaze jumps to her profile. “What the hell, Cleo?”
Her jaw tightens, her hands squeezing into fists. “She won’t leave me alone.”
“Mamma? I thought her and Papà were still asleep?”
“She’s driving me crazy on this whole trip. It feels like I can’t do anything without her offering an opinion. She’s constantly hovering. Every time I take out my phone, she wants to see what I’m doing. Did you see the dress she made me wear last night?” She extends her arm to show me some light-red marks on her forearm. “I was itchy everywhere.”
The dress did have a lot of itchy looking lace. “I’m sorry, Cleo.”
She sighs. “Now that Vale and you are matched up, she’s focusing all her attention on me. Gem, I can’t handle it. I don’t even know what she wants from me. It’s like she just can’t deal with not having me in her sight, but she can’t stand being around me.”