The Price (House of Sin #5) - Elisabeth Naughton Page 0,49
But you two can help each other. You have a deep connection, and that connection will eventually heal you both emotionally. It just all starts with Luc regaining control of his sexuality. Until that happens, he can’t heal. And if he can’t heal, he can’t get past what they did to him. And we need him to get past it. The future is perched on a ledge, waiting for Luc to become the man he was always supposed to be.”
I opened my eyes and looked at her. I wasn’t entirely sure that was possible. What they’d done to Luc…it had shaken the foundation of who he was, what he believed, and who he wanted to be. And it had rocked me right to my knees. Was still rocking me, each and every day.
The only thing I knew for sure was that our relationship had been rooted in sex since the moment we’d met. If there was one way to reach him, it would be through that. And I had to try, for both our sakes.
I drew a deep breath. “Thanks.”
She smiled and pushed away from the vehicle. “Thank me after. And if it doesn’t work, don’t you dare tell him you got all that stuff from me.”
I smiled as she closed the back of the vehicle.
“Come on.” She turned toward the house. “We got dinner. And don’t worry, we’re not staying. We’re driving up the coast for a romantic weekend. The last thing you two need is us getting in your way.”
“Luc would probably like that right now.”
“Fuck Luc. And I mean that literally.”
I laughed as I followed her into the house with the box in my hands, thankful that she was here. Now I had a plan. And she was right. I wouldn’t let Luc’s parents drive us apart. We were stronger than them.
We had to be. Because after everything we’d already been through, I wouldn’t accept any other truth.
9
Luc
“Porca puttana,” I muttered, staring at the letter Marco had given me as I sat on the side of my bed in nothing but a towel. “Did you read this?”
Standing across the room with his hands on the waistband of his jeans, Marco sighed. “Yeah.”
A bitter rage brewed inside me. One I was growing less and less able to contain.
I crumpled the note in my hand and pushed to my feet. “I should have killed her when I had the chance.”
“And what chance would that have been?” Marco asked as I tossed the note in the garbage in the bathroom, then turned into the master closet for clothes.
“Every day of my damn life till I was twenty.” I tugged on boxers and a fresh pair of jeans, then reached for a sweater from the rack because it was so freakin’ cold up here in Scotland. “The handful of days I was in Italy last month. Does she really fucking think I’m going to forget what they did to me?” I rounded the corner with the sweater still in my hand and stared at Marco across the room. “What they did to Natalie?”
Marco tipped his head and shot me a yeah, they do look. “We both know they don’t want you to forget. But they do expect you to fall in line.”
“Well, fuck them.” I tugged on the sweater even though what I really wanted to do was rip it to shreds, then start hurling shit against the walls, even though I knew none of that would really make me feel better. “They can go fuck themselves as far as I care.”
“The letter was meant to rile you up,” Marco pointed out. “And it worked.”
No shit, it had worked.
The letter had been written by my mother, telling me she understood I needed time to get my head on straight, but that soon I’d be required to return to the family and take my place with the House. It was the same line of bullshit she’d hit me with after I’d left Italy twelve years ago. Only this time, she didn’t mention that my father felt bad about what had happened, and I knew that was because neither one of them had any guilt over what they’d done to me.
Because they’d never fucking cared about me as a person, only what I represented in their precious House.
“I had to bring it to you,” Marco said as I dropped to the side of the bed and pulled on my shoes. “You know that, right? I didn’t want to.”