Tarnished Love by Bianca Borell
FILIP
Not even five minutes into the drive, I ask her where she lives. When a light snore rings in the car, I whip my head around to find her asleep. I drag a hand down my face, cursing under my breath. I could wake her up, but I will enjoy watching her freak out tomorrow morning. I take a sharp right turn and drive home. With every passing kilometer, I question my actions. I don’t need another complication in my life, and this spitfire of a woman comes with more than complications, she comes with obsession and baggage.
Arriving at my place, I kill the engine and lean my head against the headrest, my eyes glued on her and the rise and fall of her chest in steady rhythm. I step outside the car and dart around to her side. When I scoop her in my arms and her hands clutch my shirt, my heart twitches. She’s gorgeous, her soft skin, carnal lips, and long, killer legs.
My lips part in a smile, I’ve never carried a woman before, and the first time I do, she’s unconscious. I slide my key into the lock and open the door. Inside, I switch the light on, and she twitches but doesn’t wake up. I climb the stairs and put her on my bed. After one long look, I leave her and lay on my couch. I think about all the shit I’ve done, and bringing Chloe home might be the stupidest decision I’ve ever made. Wiping my hand down my face, I pull my phone out and dial.
Soph answers right away, and I say, “I brought a woman home.”
“And? This isn’t something new.” She’s right, but why does it feel different. I brought women here to fuck them, not tuck them in.
“Filip?”
“Hmm.”
“What’s the matter?”
She’s my best friend, I love her even more than my sister, and I can tell her everything.
“It’s Chloe.”
Silence, like I expected.
“Is it . . . ?”
She doesn’t have to add if it is to get back at Damien, it’s implied.
“No, Soph. I didn’t even touch her. She fell asleep in the car.”
“Why didn’t Damien drive her home?”
“Work.”
She sighs. Yes, only when it’s work related, do they make time.
“Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
“What is that?” Irony drips from my mouth, and she sighs.
“She won’t go away, Filip. Whatever her role in my brother’s life is, I can guarantee she is important to him.”
“You want them together.”
“He needs to focus on—”
“On someone other than my sister.”
“Filip, don’t you get it, it’s bordering on obsession. He deserves a life. She made one for herself. Why shouldn’t my brother get one too?” I ball my hands to fists, reminding myself we avoid discussing them because at the end I will pick Bria’s side and she her brother’s. But I won’t because Damien is the key, and my sister will get better.
“What if I like her?”
“Can you decide which one it is?”
“I don’t want to get back at Damien.”
“Do what you want, you and Bria always do just what you want.”
“What the fuck, Soph?”
“I am sorry, I am not well.”
“Why?”
“I . . .”
“Leave him.”
“I love him.”
“You live a double life, hiding a secret love, Soph.”
“I like it.”
“Isn’t growing up supposed to get easier?”
“We’re heirs, Filip, the only thing we get is more money. But we still bleed, and since everyone expects us to mess up, we work twice as hard.”
“Come on, Soph, you do this because you believe it’s what is expected from us. But our parents only expected it from Bria and Damien. We are Plan B. If there was something else I wanted to pursue, I would have. You’re a coward.”
“Why are you acting like this now?”
“Because we don’t lie to each other.”
“I want my carefree Filip back.”
“Yes, me too.”
“We all wear a mask and the funny, easygoing one is yours.”
To contradict her would be to lie. By tomorrow this moment of weakness from both of us will be forgotten.
***
I shoot up from the couch, water dripping from my face. Legs appear in my vision.
“Eyes up here, asshole,” she huffs and my gaze trails farther. She has one hand on her hip, the other with the empty glass.
“What is your problem? You’re mental, I swear,” I snarl and storm away to the bathroom, snatch a towel, and dry myself.
“What was I doing in your bed?”
“You don’t remember?” Her face drains of color. Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, sweetheart.
“Did we?” she asks, mortification transforming her face, and she fidgets with the ends of a shirt, my shirt.
“You really think I would do that?” She flinches, and I march past her. “It would have been rape, Chloe. When I fuck you, you will be conscious, wanting, ready.” Her emerald eyes round up, and the fire returns.
“You wish.” The challenge sparks a wildfire inside me. My lips tilt up. We’re just an accident waiting to happen, and her scampering away is proof she knows it too.
In the kitchen, I yank the door to the fridge open and snatch the milk and my favorite cereal box from the cupboard. I drop on the bar stool, and she giggles. I turn my head to hers, and she leans on the door frame, being her beautiful self, and I shove a mouthful in my mouth.
“What is so funny?”
“You’re a grownup eating milk and children’s cereal.”
“I like it and there is no age stipulated when you shouldn’t eat it any longer. And this is my baby.”
Curiosity shimmers in her eyes, and I hear myself saying, “Bria and Damien are on a mission to conquer the food industry. I want to have quality products too. So, there is an entire section of food where I know personally who makes it, how it is made, and that everything is fair trade.” She approaches me, grabs the spoon out of my hand, and takes a taste. Why does my blood pump like crazy as I wait for her to pass judgement? And why do I fucking care?
“It tastes amazing,” she moans while swallowing, and something in me eases. I rise to my feet and grab another bowl. We eat, stealing glances at each other, and I suppress a smile.
“You have something on your face,” I say, and she dabs with her finger everywhere on her face except at the spot. I lean in and swipe my thumb next to her lower lip. She bites her lip, and I am rock hard.
“Got it.” My voice turns husky, the desire betraying me.
“Thank you.” She drops her head, but I catch the hint of a blush. Who is this woman and why do I allow her to mess with me?
“I am sorry about last night and for any inconvenience. I shouldn’t have drunk that much.”
“Drinking isn’t the problem. It’s not knowing your limits.” She props her elbow on the table, raising an eyebrow.
“So, you’re not one to push them?”
“I am all for testing them, but when they have the potential to wreck my life I don’t.”
“You mean like Damien.”
“He tested two in one year. How the fuck he overcame them . . .”
“You know.” Her eyes widen and she pushes the bowl away.
“More like guessed.”
“No one knows.”
“I am the secret keeper for our families, Chloe.”
“It must be hard.”
“Nothing I can’t handle. And I will continue to keep them because none of them are ready to hear the truth.”
“The life of the rich and vain.”
I pause my spoon midway to my mouth as her hand flies to hers.
“Hate people with money?”
“What you are is far from ‘with money.’ You could buy countries, pay national debts.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“There is a certain level of entitlement that you all exude.”
“Perhaps.” I shrug and she stands up, asking me over her shoulder, “So, no excuses?”
“Why should I excuse myself? I am who I am, a product of chaos and chance. I could have been anyone, yet somehow I ended up being Filip du Mont.”
“Your life seems perfect.”
“Yes, fucking perfect.” I shoot to my feet and place the bowl in the dishwasher. She props her hip against the counter, tilting her head.
“I should go home.”
“You should.”
It’s not that she insulted me, but I can’t understand her aversion either. I am also reminded we’re too different.
