Trapped by the Bastard's Kiss

Chapter 3

Roman brought his latest baby, the GSX1300RR Hayabusa, to a gentle stop outside the three-story red brick house on Church Road. The powerful machine continued to purr between his thighs as he looked up at his father’s house and entertained the idea of just riding the hell out of there.

Speeding down a winding road, testing the strength and power packed in his bike, held more appeal than anything he would find in that house.

After almost a minute, however, he reminded himself he had answers to seek and he couldn’t get them if he rode out of there like a bat out of hell.

He kicked down the stand and finally switched off his baby. Roman smiled to himself, already imagining the look on Frederick’s face when he realized Roman had come to the dinner dressed in jeans, leather, and dusty boots, smelling of sweat and the open road.

Of course, he could have driven over in any of the three cars he owned, but what was the fun in that? When he stepped out of his room dressed for his bike, his mother had burst out in laughter and told him to have fun.

He had fully intended to have some fun. That was why he had taken his baby out for a long two-hour ride down Ring road, which was never too busy, before finally making his way to the Rose house his father owned so proudly.

Well, now he was here and there was no time like the present. Roman removed his black helmet and set it down on the bike. With an almost lazy stroll, he made his way to the front door, two large deep brown wooden doors with lions carved in them. Roman snorted like he always did when he saw it. Frederick Pollen was trying too hard to look like the bigger man in the zoo.

Aside from the hideous front doors, the house itself wasn’t bad. The red bricks gave the building character. Flowers beds filled with roses lined the front of the house on either side. It didn’t have the traditional box shape that most houses built more than three decades ago seemed to be plagued with. Instead, the front walls were curved with large windows.

Roman could already hear the sound of chatter and soft music as he stood on the front porch. It looked like he was the last to arrive. Although, judging by the lack of a hundred cars in the driveway, it didn’t look like this dinner was a large fanfare.

It took barely ten seconds for the door to be opened once he pressed his finger against the doorbell. Almost as though the maid had been waiting by the door for him to ring the damn thing.

The very young and seriously naïve looking girl in a black and white maid’s uniform, practically gaped at Roman with wide eyes before she remembered her job and asked him to enter. After she closed the door, she again seemed to forget herself and gave him a long look from the tip of his dusty boots to his face, where she found him watching her with an amused, arched brow.

Her eyes quickly dropped to the marble floor. “They are… um… Mr. Pollen is… uhm waiting for you in the formal living room, sir,” she stammered embarrassingly.

Roman bit back his smile and gave her a nod. If the maid was so flustered with his appearance, imagine what the rest will be. He mused as he followed her to the formal living room.

Roman had been to his father’s house before. He knew the way to all the rooms on the two first floors. But if the maid wanted to lead, who was he to stop her?

He heard his father’s voice before they reached the threshold of the formal living room. It was deep and sure, like always, and narrated the history behind the large abstract painting that covered almost an entire wall to some poor soul.

“I paid the man ten thousand and he just simply couldn’t turn me down. Even famous artists are usually always broke and down to their last coin. I probably…” Frederick’s voice trailed off just as Roman entered the room.

The look on their faces was priceless. With slack jaws and eyes as wide as Garfield the cat, Roman had to fight with himself not to laugh. Especially when he imagined the orange cartoon character cat in his head and agreed the comparison was accurate with the portly man among the group. Roman wished he had a camera to capture the moment. His mother would have really loved to see this. Even Sean would have enjoyed the humor of it and probably printed out the photograph and hung it somewhere like a trophy.

There were six people in the room staring at him. He only knew three. Frederick stood in front of the abstract wall painting with his legitimate son and Roman’s only half-sibling as far as he knew, Cole Pollen. Between them was another older man Roman had never seen before, but from the cravat around his neck and the scowl of disapproval in his eyes, as he looked Roman up and down, he was definitely a friend of Frederick.

The unknown man was the portly man Roman was tempted to nickname in his head as Garfield. Unfortunately, the man didn’t have orange hair but instead a black and white salt and pepper combination that hinted at an older age than he obviously tried to hide with facial treatments that cost an arm and a foot.

But Roman wasn’t anyone’s accountant, so he didn’t care. He especially didn’t give a damn how the men in that room spent their money. They certainly had too much of it and most, if not all, of that money, had been inherited from past generations. Roman had nothing in common with these men. He had worked for his money and earned every dollar with sweat and brains.

The other three occupants in the room were seated on the couch, away from the men, with a pile of magazines around them. Roman could easily recognize Grace Pollen, his father’s wife, and Cole’s mother. The woman in her late forties was dressed in a green evening gown that hugged the generous hips and five-foot structure with some modesty. Her long brown dyed hair was pinned on top of her head in a complicated style that looked both painful and too much for a small dinner at home.

Roman’s eyes finally moved to the other two women seated with Grace. The two women were worlds apart in their looks. The older woman looked to be in her thirties. She had smooth dark chocolate skin like his friend Sean. Even though she was seated, Roman could tell that despite her lean body, the woman had curves. Long, expensive black hair flowed in waves around her face. Her sharp eyes remained fixed on Roman even as she kept her posture confident and just a little stiff. It was like being stared down by a beautiful, but cold principle.

His eyes then focused on the younger of the two, and Roman thought he would swallow his tongue.

The woman looked young, in her early twenties, not jailbait young. She also had long black hair, but hers looked natural. The young lady also hadn’t taken hours painfully styling it, it seemed. Her hair was left loose and falling over her right shoulder. A few strands were definitely not following the direction of the crowd.

Roman hazarded a guess the woman was about five feet four. She also wasn’t slim and bony. No, this woman had curves which he could see from the little black dress she wore. Her olive skin looked so smooth and flawless. Her ankles were crossed to the side and her hands clasped on her lap like a proper lady. It made Roman want to ruffle her up so much. He had to take a discreet deep breath and look away before he did something very stupid.

“Son,” Frederick, suddenly exclaimed with a warm smile and made his way over to Roman. The out-of-character warm welcome was enough to snap Roman out of his thoughts concerning the beautiful young lady.

“So glad you made it,” Frederick went on and patted his on the back. Okay, Roman blinked, unable to hide his shock for a second. What the hell?

“Let me introduce you to our guests.” The old man waved his hand. “That’s Mr. Emmanual Quin and his wife, Sylvia. And this lovely young lady is Becky, their daughter and my future daughter-in-law.”

Oh, s**t. Roman’s eyes immediately went back to her clasped hands and saw the diamond engagement ring he had somehow missed the first time.

“This is my younger son,” Frederick went on with the introductions, oblivious to Roman’s inner voice cursing up a storm. “Roman Mazzeo.”

“Bastard son,” Grace said under her breath, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

Roman snapped his eyes at the old woman. Of course, the introduction wouldn’t be complete if Grace didn’t make sure Roman was reminded of his rightful place. Thankfully, there was nothing she could say that would wound him. He gave her a smile and blew her a kiss. Just to piss her off. And it did. She glared like the Wicked Witch of the West. Oh, if eyes could kill.

A soft gasp had Roman looking at the young Becky again and noticed her eyes had gone wide as saucers. She was looking at him with such intensity he felt his heartbeat go up a notch.

“How is your mother?” Grace asked with a sneer.

“Grace,” Frederick said his wife’s name in warning.

Roman’s smile widened. “As beautiful and vibrant as ever, thank you for asking.” Oh, the kiddy gloves were off now.

Grace Pollen hated his mother. Hated could have been even a mild way to put it. She despised the very air Sonia Mazzeo breathed. It didn’t matter that Frederick had not told a then seventeen-year-old Sonia that he was married with a two-year-old son. No, Grace set all the blame for the affair on his mother’s head like any good wife to a filthy rich man would do.

She had ordered her husband to never speak to Sonia again after discovering their affair, but by then Roman was already on his way.

A bitter, hurt woman and an irresponsible man too concerned about his own well-being than anyone else’s, had ensured Roman only had his mother growing up. He hadn’t even met his father until he was seventeen. The pain and humiliation of finding out his father had money but had abandoned his mother, a teenager, to care for their son alone was enough for Roman to despise the man on sight. Being treated like trailer trash by his father’s wife and legitimate son brew determination in his veins. But the final icing on the cake was Frederick’s behavior toward him. For the last ten years, his father hadn’t bothered to give him the time of day. Until today.

Which made the old man’s sudden warmth smell like a steaming pile of s**t. His mouth compressed with distaste even as his blood ran hot. But after a beat, he was able to school his features and smile at the room like he didn’t care. And honestly, he didn’t.

“Did your fiance tell you about him?” Becky’s stepmother whispered, covering her mouth with a glass of wine. Once the tension in the room had somewhat reduced and Frederick had pulled Roman toward the minibar.

Grace Pollen had left the room, excusing herself to powder her nose. Becky thought the woman was just doing to her room so she could scream for a minute before she had to come back and act like a proper lady.

“Yes, mother,” Becky answered. “Cole mentioned he had a half-brother.”

Sylvia scoffed and turned up her nose as though she was looking at a dirty, stray dog that had just wandered into a five-star hotel. “The man has the audacity to dress like a thug.”

Becky didn’t comment. She wouldn’t have called the worn black jeans with a tear on his left thigh thug dress code. The man had on a plain white v-neck t-shirt under his black leather jacket. His hair, which was a darker shade of brown, different from Cole’s and his father’s, was shaved on the sides, but the longer strands on top of his head were curled and pointing in every direction it wished, obviously as a result of a helmet he must have worn. Bike safety gloves were sticking out of his back pocket and the boots looked heavy-duty and in desperate need of a good shine.

Okay. Maybe her stepmother was right and Roman Mazzeo looked like a thug. But he was also a damn sexy man. Standing next to her fiance, he made Cole look like a high school head boy trying desperately to look badass.

“This is just embarrassing,” her stepmother went on. “I don’t know why Frederick would invite this hooligan over for dinner. Grace probably has to hide her handbag and expensive silverware before he steals it.”

“He actually owns a business, mother,” Becky corrected softly. “Cole said he is making good money.”

Sylvia scoffed in disbelief. “He must be selling drugs if he’s making any kind of money. I won’t believe that man can do anything worth mentioning in dignified cycles.”

And that was one of Sylvia Quin’s numerous faults. She judged every book by the cover. Including her own stepdaughter.

Becky let her stepmother go on talking, dissecting Roman Mazzeo like a street rat under a microscope. Trying to determine how many germs and diseases he carried.

For her own sanity, Becky was determined not to listen and focused her eyes back on the magazine in her hands. Several exquisite wedding dresses filled the pages. Every one of them was more beautiful than the last. Every one of them costing an arm and a foot. Actually, scratch that, they cost an arm, the whole damn leg, and both kidneys. Damn!

She blinked and shook her head. Why anyone wanted to spend so much on a dress to be worn for a few hours was just beyond her. It wasn’t like she would even have the chance to ever wear it again. The dress would sit in her wardrobe, collecting dust and cobwebs for decades, hoping that maybe one day a daughter or granddaughter would wear it again. It would be a miracle if the material didn’t disintegrate by then. Seriously. She shook her head again, lost to her personal musings.

Just then, she felt the burn of a pair of eyes on her. Like a beam of light concentrated on her until her skin tingled. She looked up and her eyes immediately met Roman’s piercing gaze.

He was across the room with the men, looking mighty pleased with himself for standing out. But he wasn’t paying attention to whatever Cole was telling the group. He was looking at Becky, so focused it made her very uncomfortable for some reason.

His gaze made her want to hide, but at the same time, it made her want to lift her chin and return his stare with boldness. Of course, she could do neither.