Chapter 2 - THE MAN BEHIND THE PERFECT SMILE
Graham didn't hurt me in the ballroom.
That would have been bad for his campaign.
Instead, he waited until we reached the private elevator.
The doors closed.
His smile disappeared.
“What did you tell Marchetti?”
“Nothing.”
He pressed the button for the penthouse suite.
“Don't insult my intelligence.”
I stared at the glowing floor numbers.
“I was talking to the waitress.”
“You were alone with Vincent Marchetti.”
“He came into the corridor.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Graham turned toward me.
“You think I don't understand what men like him want?”
I remained silent.
He stepped closer.
“Look at me.”
I did.
“You belong beside me tonight. Not wandering around with the staff.”
“I was helping a girl who might lose her job.”
His expression hardened.
“Your problem is that you still think like a waitress.”
The elevator opened.
I walked into the suite.
Graham followed.
He removed his jacket and threw it across a chair.
“Tomorrow we're meeting the campaign committee at ten. Wear the cream dress.”
“I have a shift at the diner.”
“Cancel it.”
“I need the money.”
He laughed.
“You're engaged to me.”
“That doesn't mean my bills disappear.”
He turned.
“Your bills are my problem now.”
I hated the way he said it.
Not like a promise.
Like ownership.
Three months earlier, Graham had offered to help me pay for my younger brother's medical treatment.
Noah was seventeen and recovering from a serious cardiac condition.
The hospital bills were enormous.
Graham had paid several of them.
At first, I thought it was generosity.
Then he began reminding me.
Every argument.
Every disagreement.
Every time I tried to say no.
Do you know how much I've spent on your family?
I had stopped counting.
But Graham hadn't.
He kept every receipt.
Every transfer.
Every favor.
And he made sure I knew it.
That night, he stepped toward me again.
I moved backward.
His eyes narrowed.
“Why are you afraid of me?”
I looked down.
“I'm not.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
Then he kissed my forehead.
As though nothing had happened.
May you like
As though the bruise beneath my makeup had appeared by accident.
As though love was supposed to feel like a debt.
