Secret Sin

7

But Eve should have been content in Eden, yet she still sought out the forbidden fruit. That was how I felt about experiencing life outside my bubble. Yearning clawed at my insides more urgently with each passing day, and that inner voice had cried out louder than ever with my cousin’s wedding. Seeing how quickly her freedom had been snatched from her grasp terrified me. Two weeks. That was all the notice she’d been given before walking down the aisle to a man she hardly knew. Hell. No. Not me. Wasn’t happening. I wasn’t getting stuck with a stranger, and even worse, never seizing the chance to sample what else was out there. No way. This girl was going to live life to the fullest. Now that Noemi was back and life had a pulse again, it was time to focus on me. “You were out and about longer than usual today,” my father noted once I arrived home. “Your mother said you’d gone to see Noemi this morning?” He looked me up and down, a wordless statement that I was dressed much nicer than I would normally be just to hang out with my cousin. “I was there earlier today, then I came home and changed.” I took a deep breath and focused all my energy on projecting absolute confidence. “This afternoon, I was out with a real estate agent. I’ve been looking at apartments and have found one I’d like to buy.” There. It was out in the open. Come what may, I’d at least started the process. Dad’s face scrunched as though he’d just been force-fed a spoonful of vinegar. “You went house hunting before even discussing it with us?” I couldn’t stop my gaze from briefly dropping to my hands in contrition. “Well, I knew you might not be thrilled with the idea.” “So you thought it would be best to just go behind our backs?” “No, Daddy. I mean. Yes, but I wasn’t trying to be deceitful. I figured it would be better to know for sure if that’s what I wanted so that I didn’t upset you guys for nothing.” Not entirely true, but things were going downhill quick. I couldn’t afford to ruffle his feathers any more than necessary. His already thin lips pursed further. “I’m not sure I understand why you’re even doing this. You’re only twenty, and it’s not like you don’t have plenty of freedom here. Why pay for a place when you have a perfectly good home here where I know you’re safe? You can move out when you’re married. Besides, Aria is seventeen now. She needs you to be a good example. We can’t have her turning eighteen and thinking she can run off into the city on her own.” Frustration bunched in a tight knot between my shoulder blades. “Daddy, I have to learn how to be independent,” I tried to explain. “No, you don’t. There’s no reason you ever have to struggle on your own.” I stepped forward and clasped his hands, begging him to understand. “I might not have to, but I want to. It’s important to me. I need to know I can stand on my own two feet. Please, Daddy.” He frowned, his conviction wavering. “I’ll think about it,” he finally grumbled and pulled me against his chest. “I’m not ready for this, Pip. I’m gonna try, but it’s a dangerous world out there. Setting you free without a man around to protect you goes against every fiber of my being.” “I know, Daddy. That’s why I haven’t pushed before. And I’m sorry to make you worry, but this means the world to me. I want to find my place out there, and I don’t believe I have to have a husband to do that.” He pulled back and peered down his nose at me with mock indignation. “You say that like finding a husband is a bad thing.” I chuckled and poked him in the ribs. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it’s also not the only thing.” He studied me skeptically. “I suppose you’re not entirely wrong.” I flashed him a brilliant grin, and he shook his head. “Have you eaten?” he asked, moving on to safer waters. “You missed dinner, but I think there are leftovers in the fridge.” At his mention of food, I suddenly realized that I hadn’t eaten and was positively ravenous. “Leftovers sound perfect. Thanks, Dad.” I kissed his cheek, smiled warmly, and went in search of food with a renewed energy in my step. An hour later, my stomach was no longer making angry noises, and I’d sprawled on my bed in my comfiest set of sweats. What. A. Day. I’d learned that my uncle had killed his wife and kept my cousin under lock and key, lost my virginity, found a place to live, and admitted to my father that I wanted to move out. Talk about getting the ball rolling. All in all, the day’s successes easily outweighed the setbacks. I wasn’t sure how to deal with Bishop, but there would be time to figure that out. I had to sort my feelings on the matter first. He wanted more from me, but that wasn’t a part of my plan. Would more necessarily be so bad? Knowing how Mafia men worked, it just might be. Would he want to keep me under his thumb like my father tended to do? Dad was motivated by love, but I didn’t want to be coddled anymore, no matter the reason. I wanted to make my own decisions and go where my heart led me. How was I supposed to do that with a man hovering at my side? And on top of it all, Bishop was Irish. What did I even know about the Irish? Not much. I’d never given them much thought because the possibility of my involvement with them had been infinitesimal. Would my father flip out if he knew? Things weren’t the same as when my grandparents were young, but that didn’t mean my Mafia family would look kindly on me dating a member of a rival organization. At least with Noemi’s marriage, we were now somewhat allied. In theory. The lightness that had settled in my chest after talking to my dad thickened into a heavy mass. Normally, I found optimism second nature, but uncertainty was a shadow blocking my sunshine. It was hard to focus on the positives when my mind kept dwelling on questions surrounding Bishop. As if summoned by my thoughts, a text from him appeared on my phone. Bishop: I can still smell you on my sheets. My grin couldn’t get any bigger. I wasn’t supposed to want his attention, but reminders of his dirty words thrummed in my veins and heated my blood. The memory of how he made me feel sprouted into a craving for more, insistent enough that I found myself typing a reply. Me: I can still feel your hands on me.