“Obviously not.”
Neither of us says anything else. The wind blows through the tree branches overhead, rustling leaves and grass and teasing strands of my hair up into the air. I fall asleep. When I wake up, Rebel’s sitting with his back against the tree, watching me.
“Getting involved with me is the worst thing you can possibly do,” he says.
The words are gripping me by the throat—I don’t want to get involved with you. I’m not going to—but the intensity of his expression prevents me from lying. Even to myself. “I get the feeling it might somehow be too late now,” I say, my voice quiet. “Don’t…don’t you feel that, too?”
He looks away, clenching his hands tightly into fists. “Yeah. Well. I was kind of hoping you were smarter than me.”
“From your math problems and the diploma hanging on your father’s wall, I don’t think I know anyone smarter than you, Jamie.”
I don’t know why I call him that. His forehead creases into lines of…worry? “You can’t call me that outside of this place, Soph. You need to remember that. It’s important.”
“I’ll remember.” I sit up, every part of me focused on him. “I won’t do it again. Will that make you happy?”
That small crease in his cheek reappears, completing his rueful expression. “Yes, ma’am.” He leans forward, his body close to mine, the smell of him filling my head. Carefully, he plucks a blade of dried grass from my hair. “I kissed you before, sugar. You pushed me away. Next time you want that to happen, you’re gonna have to make it happen yourself. You understand?”
I look away, tucking my knees up underneath my chin. Hiding from him. He ducks down, searching for my eyes, but I’m a coward. I close them.
“Sophia?”
“What if I’m too scared? What if I want that now, but I’m too afraid of what comes after?” I feel dizzy as I speak, not sure where I’m drawing the courage from.
“Look at me, Soph.”
I don’t. I can’t.
“Sophia.” He shifts his body so that his side is pressed up against mine; his warmth makes my head spin. I feel his fingers underneath my jaw, lifting and turning my head so that I’m facing him. I keep my eyes tightly closed, though, still too paralyzed by the fear that I’m losing myself entirely to acknowledge this. To acknowledge him.
I might not be able to see him, but I can sense him drawing even closer. My heart stops altogether when I feel the rough stubble of his cheeks grazing against mine as he presses himself against me and whispers in my ear. “The moment you give yourself to me, it won’t be because I’ve bought you. It won’t be because you’re afraid of me, or because you want something in return. It’ll be because you need me. Because you need me inside you. Because you can’t stand this torture a second more. Then, you won’t be afraid of what comes next. You’ll be begging for it.”
His heat suddenly vanishes, leaving me breathless. With his close proximity making my head spin a moment ago, now that he’s moved away I feel abruptly alone. I open my eyes and Rebel has stood up. His eyes are so filled with hunger that I don’t know where to look. Holding out his hand to me, he jerks his head in the direction of the house. “Come on, sugar. We have to go get ready for my father’s circle jerk of a party.”
******
The dress probably isn’t something I would have picked out for myself, but it’s still beautiful. Cream, almost white, with lace around the midsection, it falls gracefully to the floor as I pour the silky material over my head. I feel like a different person entirely in this dress. Someone I would be if I went home and finished my degree. Someone I would be if I had a normal life. Someone I would have been if I’d let him put me on that bus.
With my hair swept to one side, pinned in place and curling down over my shoulder, I feel like I belong in some sort of Grecian legend. I have no jewelry, but I don’t need it. The single splash of color I’m wearing—bold, bright red lipstick that I found in amongst the toiletries Rebel brought for me—is embellishment enough.
Rebel, in yet another beautifully tailored black suit, is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs when I come down to meet him. The smile falls from his face as he watches me approach. I think he approves. The guy he’s talking to turns and looks over his shoulder, smiling politely as I stop at Rebel’s side. “This is Sophia Marne,” Rebel says, introducing me to the older man. “Sophia, this is Drew McKinney. He’s my father’s campaign manager and our family’s oldest friend.”