My Dark Romeo: Chapter 8

It seemed my future husband used his mouth exclusively to chew gum and piss me off.

When he wasn’t doing the latter, he engaged in the former, content to spending the entire ride to the small airport in silence.

Fine by me.

Judging by the way he sneered at my suitcase full of Henry Plotkin hardbacks, he broke my cardinal rule: Never trust someone with poor taste in books.

Once we arrived, Romeo’s shiny Gulfstream G550 waited on the runway. We shuffled into a passenger cart, which drove us the short journey from the hangar to the tarmac.

At the plane’s stairs, he collected my small suitcase and climbed the steps, ignoring the fact that I was barefoot.

I’d get back at him.

But first, I needed to find my footing in Potomac.

I already had a plan.

I knew someone there.

Madison.

We’d never really broken off the engagement. Not officially.

This morning, my daddy had called his daddy and informed him of the chain of events (obviously omitting rather unflattering bits). The Lichts insisted they understood, promising they were still fond of me.

Madison was Romeo’s enemy.

We could get back at him together.

When I entered the plane, I was met by an array of men. We passed the cockpit, where two attractive men in their 30s discussed a Ravens draft pick just outside. The captain and the co-pilot.

In the cabin, Oliver von Bismarck lounged on a crème sofa, drinking imported beer and watching something on his phone.

His face was seraph, nearly cherubic. With a red pout and light curls twining around his ears and forehead just so.

How fitting it was that the devil was masquerading as a perfect angel.

While Romeo’s proposal was the biggest news to come out of the debutante ball, the rumor mill spun stories of Oliver getting into the skirts of at least three local divorcées.

At the same time.

Yet another tall, handsome man in the casual rich-boy uniform of ironed khakis, a dress shirt, and a fleece jacket sat behind a compact table, holding a business conversation on his phone.

He had a top-dog appeal. Of a man whose attention everyone craved when he entered a room.

“Oliver, Zach, this is my fiancée, Dallas.” Romeo made dismissive introductions, not even bothering to approach each of his friends individually. “Dallas—Oliver and Zach.”

Oliver raised his hand in a hello motion. Zach sent me a smile so impatient and impersonal you could mistake me for a maid giving him room service.

Romeo parked himself in a recliner. “Make yourself comfortable. Takeoff is in ten minutes.”

I did just that, refusing to look intimidated. It helped that there was a charcuterie board.

Rows of shortbread adorned a crystal plate beside it. I pushed the tray away. For obvious reasons, I found the treat rather off-putting these days.

“Did the shortbread offend you, Dover?” Oliver gestured to an imported snack basket in front of him. “It’s all yours.”

First Shortbread. Now Dover. Lovely.

I wanted to politely offer him the finger.

Then I spotted shrimp chips and abandoned my dignity quicker than the chick who’d turned Jesus Christ into a monkey in the Ecce Homo.

I’d emptied half the bag when Romeo’s sharp voice sliced through the silence. “Miss Townsend, are you feeding yourself or your clothes? There is a time and place for scarfing down a village’s worth of sustenance with your mouth open. I suggest you refrain from indulging your poor manners during your stay in Potomac.”

“Or what?” I punctuated my question with a chip, tossing it past my lips and grinding it between my molars as loud as humanly possible.

“Or you’ll find yourself in a miserable position under the scrutiny of the viperous DMV media.”

“I’ve already found myself in a miserable position. With you. The first time we met. In front of all of Chapel Falls.”

“As I recall, you enjoyed every second.” He slanted his head, producing a matte-black rectangular tin from his pocket.

“You must have drugged the shortbread.”

“I stand corrected. You do have a talent. Deliberate misinterpretations.”

I frowned. “When did you accuse me of not having a talent?”

Oliver threw his head back and laughed. “This is fantastic. Turns out Bruce won’t have to kill you to land your job, after all. Your wife will do the job for him.”

Bruce?

Swapping notes with the man who wanted to kill my future husband seemed like a swell idea, but before I could request a last name, they moved on to discussing stocks.

With that, I pressed the chip bag to my lips and tilted my head back, finishing it down to the last crumb.

Romeo unwrapped a new pack of gum and transferred each cube into his tin container with deft fingers, forming a perfect, straight row. Then he offered a piece to each of his friends, forgetting me.

And I was the one with poor manners?

I glared out the window, trying to find some silver lining to my situation.

Anything.

First, we’d make beautiful babies. No way anything that came from his sperm and my eggs could be anything less than aesthetic perfection.

Second, from what I’d gathered, neither Romeo nor I cursed. Our child would exit the womb speaking like a fourteenth-century duke, hopefully sans the misogyny.

And third…there was no third.

Lord, even the second kind of sucked.

I slumped in my seat, depressed.

After takeoff, Zach spoke to me first. Romeo appeared to be typing emails on his phone, and Oliver’s snores drifted from the couch.

“You’re not suicidal, are you?” He didn’t seem like he genuinely cared, but the fact that he’d asked made me want to sag with relief.

At least someone recognized the horridness of my situation.

I shrugged. “Murderous, more like. Why should I be punished for Romeo’s bad behavior?”

“Potomac is nice.”

I shot him a glare. “What’s so nice about it?”

“Its proximity to New York, mostly.”

That earned him a chuckle.

Why couldn’t Zach force me into marriage?

And what was it about tall, dark, and handsome men with the emotional capacity of an ingrown toenail?

“Don’t encourage her, Zach,” Romeo warned. “Once she starts talking, it’s impossible to stop her.”

Since my future husband was dead set against having me around, I got up and slipped into the cockpit. I’d always wanted to visit one. Growing up, my parents thought it uncouth to peek inside just because we always flew first class.

I slid past the door. “Mind if I look around?”

“Not at all.” The co-pilot waved. “I’m Scott.”

“And I’m Al.” The pilot saluted me with two fingers.

I explored the small space, the many buttons, the thick white clouds we pierced through, surrounded by an inky night.

“You can sit by my side if you’d like.” Scott scooted to give me space. “A bit tight, but you can squeeze in.”

I hesitated.

Momma wouldn’t approve. It was improper to sit so close to a man.

Then I remembered I was engaged to be married to the reaper of hearts himself, and being inappropriate was my new lifelong goal.

“Okay.” I slipped into his seat, cemented to his side.

I leaned down, inventorying the array of buttons and screens. A map lit up his side.

My fingers fluttered along a central console full of little switches. “It looks like a spaceship.”

“Nice, huh?” I heard his smile.

Al released an impatient sigh. I had a feeling Al wasn’t a fan of his co-pilot cozying up with me.

Scott jerked a thumb to his right. “Wait till you see the view from my window. Underneath, it’s a solid white blanket of clouds.”

“I want to see.” I leaned across his body and glanced down the cool glass.

He was right.

Fluffy clouds curled over one another, thick and dense like snow.

“Wow,” I breathed out. “That’s amazing.”

Another thing that was amazing was how my boobs pressed against Scott’s lap in this position. His face was in my hair. I realized I harbored pent-up sexual rage from yesterday’s encounter with my dear fiancé.

He never did finish the job.

I was about to straighten back into a sitting position when the cockpit door flung open.

Of course, it was Romeo.

And, of course, from his vantage, it looked like I was sucking Scott off. My head in his lap, my whole body concealing his lower half.

Despite the eternal urge to piss him off, I didn’t quite want him to think I went that far.

I rose to my feet, meeting Romeo’s gaze.

As always, his expression was resigned and dead.

Obstinate silence filled the small space.

Scott broke it first.

“Mr. Costa, I can assure you it is not what it look—”

“Sweetheart.” Romeo surprised me by lacing his hand around my lower back and drawing me to his chest. He grinned, but he didn’t seem amused at all. It looked like someone had carved that smile with a Swiss knife. “Enjoying the cock…pit?”

My goodness, he really thought I’d given Scott sexual favors.

Well, I sure as heck wouldn’t fall all over myself, trying to explain my behavior.

Scott and Al were now on their feet, staring at him expectantly.

I smiled, ignoring Romeo’s tight jaw. “Yes.”

“Yes?” He narrowed his eyes at me, waiting for an apology, an explanation, anything.

“I enjoyed it very much. Thanks, boys.” With a toss of my hair, I marched out of the cockpit, as dignified as one could be barefoot and in a house gown.

Romeo stayed back a few minutes while I loitered around the snack bar, munching on wasabi peas. Oliver and Zach shared a chess game in the corner, sparing me no attention.

About fifty packs of luxury gum formed militant stacks across the table.

What was up with my fiancé’s oral fixation?

Maybe he had bad breath. A side effect of being full of crap.

Suddenly, rough, warm fingers wrapped around the nape of my neck from behind. I sucked in a breath while my future husband angled my face upward to meet his frosty grays.

He towered over me, his chest flush with my back.

I thought he would comment about what had happened in the cockpit, but he surprised me by saying, “Might I remind you, Miss Townsend, that your father confiscated all your cards after you got caught riding my fingers? Your ability to eat, shower, clothe yourself, and sleep under a roof rests solely upon my good will. Govern yourself accordingly.”

“Are you done?” I yawned. “I’d like to sit down and read my book.”

“And I have just the place to put you in.”

He snatched the Anna Karenina copy I’d left on a table and guided me to his recliner. I followed, confused, as he sat, handing me my book.

I quirked an eyebrow. “You want me to stay standing?”

He shook his head no, grabbed my hand, and began lowering me between his legs.

My eyes flared.

Would he make me service him in front of his friends? Force me to give him oral sex as punishment for what he thought he’d seen with Scott?

From the corner of my eye, I spotted Zach’s hand freezing, a rook in it, hovering over the chessboard. Oliver, too, gawked at Romeo like he’d completely lost it.

I didn’t care if he tossed me out of the plane.

I refused to do it.

“No.” I tried to free myself from his grasp, but instead of pushing my head into his lap, he turned me until I faced the wall.

My butt landed on the floor between his thighs.

“Here. Now I can keep an eye on you.”

“I didn’t do anything with Scott,” I said, even though I promised myself that I wouldn’t.

Anger anchored my lungs, weighing them down until I couldn’t breathe properly.

Romeo sank toward me, his lips brushing the shell of my ear from behind. “You think I’m under the impression you sucked the co-pilot’s cock? If that were the case, he would’ve been flung from the plane through the emergency door. Now read your book and pretend to be a semi-respectable woman.”

No point fighting with him right now.

I needed to get to Potomac, recalculate, and strike back.

For the rest of the flight, I sat tucked between my future husband’s legs like a loyal dog. My hair spilled over his thighs.

I could feel his stare boring into the side of my face. Every now and then, his hand drifted to the crown of my head, patting my hair, reminding me I was nothing but a pet to him.

I loathed him with every cell, every atom, every molecule in my body.

His friends remained so deathly silent, I could hear every time they swallowed.

I bet Romeo loved seeing me degraded like this. On my knees, on the floor, reading Anna Karenina with my head bowed down.

He continued sending emails on his phone, but I somehow knew his entire attention was on me.

Thirty minutes later, the plane lowered in preparation for landing.

“Shortbread.”

That nickname again.

“Asshole?”

Hey, it was only polite to reciprocate.

“It’s been a while since I’ve read Anna Karenina, but I’m pretty sure I would remember if Anna and Count Alexei engaged in praise kink.”

My back stiffened.

I said nothing.

I felt Romeo lean downward until his chin brushed the edge of my collarbone. He peered straight into the book, his stubbled cheek pressed against mine, and began reading.

“‘…he thrust his cock into her dripping cunt, pushing only halfway, driving her mad with desire and pleasure. In and out. In and out. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Please, I need you to fill me. Every hard inch of you.’ ‘Only good girls get rewarded,’ the handsome stranger maintained, bringing his hand down to her plump rear. ‘And you’ve been very, very bad.’”

First of all, the man could narrate romance books and make a fortune if the whole perpetuating-a-Third-World-War gig didn’t work out.

Second of all, I was incredibly dumb to even notice.

He was a terrible human. Who cared that he had a sexy voice and a jawline I could cut cheese with?

Romeo plucked the hardcover from between my fingers. I turned to look at him.

He stripped the dust jacket, revealing a completely different book beneath the Anna Karenina cover.

A frown touched his lips. “Zaddy Knows Best?”

I snatched it from his hands. “It’s a work of art.”

“It’s smut.”

“What do you think Anna did with Alexei? Same stuff. Just off-page.”

“Yes. I’m sure Tolstoy chopped the anal-beads scene during the final edits.”

“He might have.”

At this point, I was arguing with him for the sport of it.

It was also the only sport I was eager to engage in.

Oliver barked out a half cough, half laugh behind my shoulder. Zach ran his hand down his face. I could’ve sworn I saw his lips twitch up behind it.

Courage blossomed in my chest.

“Stop defying me,” Romeo warned.

“Then stop being impossible. You don’t let me breathe.”

“Now there’s an idea.”

“It’s not my fault you decided to marry a woman you can’t stand just because you’re engaged in a pissing contest with Madison. I never asked for any of this. Not for you, not for him, not for anything.”

Incredibly, this penetrated his numbness.

His usually tense jaw loosened a little.

He sat back, finally giving me some space. “Continue reading your book and stop talking.”

“My knees hurt on the floor,” I lied. I was perfectly comfortable, but an idea sprouted in my head. “Can I sit in the recliner next to the cockpit?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Romeo.” Zach’s voice was sharp as a blade, chilling against his otherwise wholesome look. “Cut this shit out.”

My soon-to-be husband’s nostrils flared. “Sit in my lap.”

I considered defying him, but produced a better idea. With an exaggerated sigh, I stood and parked my butt on his lap.

His friends continued watching.

Maybe I should have felt self-conscious, but I didn’t.

None of this was my fault.

“Better?” Not an ounce of concern coated Romeo’s voice.

I huffed in response.

He didn’t deserve my words.

For the next thirty minutes, I shifted and stretched in his lap, pretending to search for a comfortable position, rubbing against his crotch.

He became hard and engorged beneath me until it felt like I sat on a water pipe.

“Stop moving.” He barely rasped out the guttural command.

“Just trying to find a comfortable spot.”

I raised my head and chanced a glimpse at Oliver, who grinned ear to ear. I felt like Bugs Bunny, driving Elmer mad but somehow getting away with it.

“How hard could it be?” Romeo bit out.

“Oh, trust me, very hard.”

Oliver erupted into full-blown laughter.

I tilted my head a smidge to observe Romeo’s reaction. He looked ready to wrap his fingers around my throat and strangle me.

I waited for him to tell me to leave his lap.

But the words never came.

He knew he’d lose our little game if he told me to go.

“I love her, Rom.” Von Bismarck slow-clapped from his seat. “If you won’t marry her, I will.”

“You should marry Oliver.” Everything that came out of Zach’s mouth sounded like a business proposal. “He’s better looking, generally more pleasant, and richer than God.”

“Please.” Oliver waved a hand. “God’s entire net worth is not even what I pay the IRS annually. But do I get that kind of following and appreciation? No.”

“I’ll join your cult,” I volunteered.

“Somehow, I don’t doubt that.”

Zach tipped his chin down, flashing Romeo a taunting smirk. “Well, what do you know? Da Nang turned out to be a success.”

I waited for a reaction from my new fiancé.

None came.

He acted as though I didn’t exist.

Now, if only I could follow his wish and vanish.