Understanding suddenly crossed his face and he rolled his eyes, looking a little bored. “Stop being stupid. I meant both of you, and Rory, too. Go pack your stuff up. Now.”
As his words sank in, the anger was back. He seriously thought he could just waltz in and order me around like some kind of prostitute he could buy with a few quid? I raised my chin confidently. I wasn’t going anywhere with him, not after what he just said to me about being a whore.
“Screw you, Carson. I’m not going anywhere with you!”
He smirked at me and I fought hard against the urge to find that sexy. I hated that even after what he’d said and the way he looked at me so distastefully I still couldn’t fight my attraction to him.
“Did I ever tell you my sorry-arse excuse for a father walked out on my mum when I was five? He left her to go be with some slut who was barely out of her teens. My mum struggled every day to bring up me and my two little sisters. I saw what that did to her and how it beat her down over the years, and I hated my father so much for it. Every time I saw my mum cry, every time I saw her look at something in a shop that she wanted but couldn’t afford, every time I saw her put on a fake smile while she tried her best but fell short, it made me hate my father a little bit more. I refuse to have my daughter feel like that about me. So pack a sodding bag, Emma. I’m not letting my daughter grow up to be a bastard like I was. I don’t give a shit what you want. You, Sasha and Rory are coming to live with me, and you and I… we’re getting married.”
My heart leapt into my throat. Married? Had he seriously just said that? My mouth dropped open in shock as I looked at his confident face. I actually didn’t know whether to jump for joy because the man I loved had just suggested we get married, or punch him in his face because the one time I wanted to be proposed to and he just completely screwed it up and made it a demand instead of a question.
The anger won.
“Really? I don’t think so, Mr Matthews. You see, there’s this thing called free will and the last time I checked, you can’t force someone to marry you because you don’t want your daughter to hate you,” I retorted acidly, shaking my head.
He gripped my wrist and yanked me to him so my chest crashed against his. “Oh, you’re going to marry me, Emma,” he countered, smirking at me.
I threw off his hold and stepped back to get some personal space. “You think so?”
He nodded and raised one eyebrow. “I know so.” He stepped closer to me again, bending so we were at the same level, his eyes boring into mine. “Because if you don’t go pack a bloody bag right now, I’m putting in a call to the best, most expensive lawyer in England. Then I’ll take you to court and petition for full custody of our daughter. I’ll tell the courts how you can’t afford to live, and how you sell your body to clients at the club. My lawyers will rip you to shreds. By the time I’ve finished, they’ll only let you see her for a week in the summer and every other Christmas for supervised visits. Don’t you think I won’t do it, because I will. And don’t even think about running away with her somewhere, because wherever you go, I’ll find you, and it’ll just look even better for my case,” he hissed in my ear.
I closed my eyes. This wasn’t the Carson I fell in love with, was it? Had I really fallen for someone who would threaten to take away the most important thing to a mother, just to get what he wanted? Did I even know Carson Matthews at all? Maybe the Carson I knew was an act and this one was the real one, the hard, ruthless, heartless man standing in front of me.
“You wouldn’t,” I whispered, praying that was true. I don’t know what hurt the most: the fact he was threatening this, or the fact I had just realised the love of my life wasn’t the person I thought he was.
“Oh, I damn well would. You’ve already taken two years of her life away from me; I won’t let you take anymore. Now, get in there, pack a bag for you, Sasha and Rory, and let’s go,” he ordered, taking my arm and giving me a little push in the direction of my bedroom.
I burst into a fresh round of tears. If he’d just asked me nicely, if he’d just suggested moving in with him and marrying him, then I would be the happiest girl in the world. I’d dreamt over and over of Carson proposing to me and us living in a cute little house with a garden. Never once had it happened like this. Never once had it been a demand or threat. Never once had it made me feel like a pile of dirt he’d just stepped in.
How could I marry a guy who I knew had no feelings for me? The only reason he wanted to get married was because his dad had left his family when he was younger and he didn’t want Sasha to feel the same about him. He was breaking my heart because if someone had told me yesterday I would be getting engaged to Carson and moving in with him, I would have felt like I’d won the lotto. Instead, I felt like a dirty, used prostitute. Something for him to throw money at again – but instead of handing me cash this time, he was handing me house keys and his surname. But somehow, the fact that he didn’t love me hurt me most of all. Sure, I would have his name, but he wouldn’t love me. Was he seriously expecting me to stick around and play wife while he went out sleeping with anything that moved, like he did now?
I looked at him pleadingly. If he just told me he loved me, or at least liked me, he didn’t even have to love me. I could live with the fact I would never be good enough for him. If he just took that hateful look off his face, if he just looked at me like he always did, his eyes soft and caring…
“You think raising a child in a loveless marriage is better than us just being friends and you seeing her when you want?” I asked, my voice breaking through emotion. The question would give him the perfect opportunity to tell me he felt something for me, a little something. I’d take anything, any small bone he would throw me.
He frowned. “I’m not into half-arsed jobs. We have a daughter together, therefore we’ll be together. I’m not just gonna be one of those dads who turn up every other weekend to take their kids out. I want to be there for her.”
My heart sank further. He hadn’t said anything about me. It was all about Sasha. I was just part of the package that came with his daughter and nothing more, just the annoying lap dancer he liked to screw occasionally. The fact that I was nothing more to him almost killed me inside.
“I hate you,” I lied, raising my chin and looking him right in the eyes, trying to get some sort of reaction out of him.
His eye twitched but other than that, he didn’t even move. “Thanks. Now, go pack your fucking bags.”
I HEADED TO MY BEDROOM, my heart broken. The love of my life was demanding we get married, so I should be happy; hell, I should be the happiest girl in the world. But I wasn’t.
I looked back at him, and his hard, tight eyes stared straight back at me. The usual warmth and tenderness was entirely gone from them. He regarded me like I was an annoying, dirty little stripper he felt obligated to marry. He actually looked like he despised me.
Swallowing my sob, I grabbed a couple of sets of my clothes, putting them in the middle of my bed. I sorted Sasha’s stuff next, bundling up nappies, wipes, clothes, sleepwear, and dummies. I pulled open the drawer containing her blankets and sheets, unsure if I needed this type of thing. I didn’t want to talk to him again, but clearly I had to. I flicked my eyes over to him; he was leaning casually against my doorframe, watching my every move as if he thought I was going to bolt out the front door any second.
“Do I need bed sheets for Sasha?” I asked quietly.
He frowned at my question. “Er, I don’t know. What does she usually have?” His eyes settled on the cot at the foot of my bed and his nose crinkled in distaste. “I’ll buy a new cot,” he stated, waving his hand at it dismissively. Obviously, the second-hand cot Lucie gave me wasn’t good enough for him.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. He had a real talent for making me feel useless and dirty with just a few words. “Fine. What about sheets?” I asked, swiping at the tear which fell down my face.
He groaned, rubbing his temples in small circles. “I don’t know… I’ll buy all new stuff!”
I threw the sheets back into the drawer. “Have you even thought this through? Do you have any idea how hard it is to live with a two-year-old? It’s not all fun and games, you know. This is my daughter’s life we’re talking about. Trust me, it’s hard,” I spat, looking at him knowingly. Maybe I could scare him into thinking about it again.
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not stupid, Emma. I know it’s gonna be hard, but I’m not one to walk away from my responsibilities. I’m here now to make it easier for you, all of you. Please, just pack your shit, just enough for a couple of days. Everything else we’ll get new or pick up another time.”
I sighed, threw another armful of clothes onto the bed, and then headed to the bathroom, grabbing wash things and toothbrushes before heading to Rory’s room. I tried not to go through his personal items too much as I grabbed his clothes. I had no idea what Rory was going to say about all this. How was he going to feel when he found out his big sister got knocked up by a client in the strip club she worked for? I hadn’t told him. I’d lied and told him it was a guy I’d been seeing for a few weeks. I couldn’t bear to see any disapproval from him at the time, so I’d hidden the truth.
I headed back to my room, setting Rory’s clothes on my bed. I didn’t bother with school books; he could have a couple of days off. Hopefully, I’d be able to talk some sense into Carson and then we could just go back to normal before this went too far. I looked at the huge pile of stuff on the middle of the bed wondering what I could put it in.
I bit my lip and Carson stepped up next to me. “You have a suitcase or something?” he asked, looking around my room.
I laughed humourlessly and shook my head. “No.” Suitcases were for people that could afford to go on holiday. That certainly wasn’t us.
He sighed. “A bag then? Anything?”
I sat on the edge of the bed and put my head in my hands. “Carson, please, I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but you’re not. Raising a child in a home where the parents don’t love each other can be worse than being raised by a single parent. Let’s just talk about this. You don’t really want to marry me, and I don’t want to marry you.”
Only part of that statement was true. I would marry him in a heartbeat if he just told me he cared about me, even just the smallest bit. If he smiled at me and asked me to marry him, I would say yes immediately, and I would play the dutiful little wife for the rest of my days. The wife who did everything her husband wanted – the perfect little wife who had dinner on the table when he walked through the door and her sexiest underwear under her clothes just in case. I would do that for him in a heartbeat if he would just give me the smallest sign of affection.
I looked at him again, silently begging him for a smile, a touch, a kiss, anything.
“We’re not talking about it, it’s decided,” he stated confidently.
I needed to try another tactic. “If you really don’t like her living here, then set up some sort of trust fund for her. If this is about what I can afford, then help me. Please, don’t force us all into something that’s gonna make everyone miserable in the long run,” I begged.
He didn’t say anything, just walked out of the room, leaving me staring after his back with my heart in my throat. He was being so cold to me. Was it because I hadn’t told him about Sasha? If I had told him when I was pregnant, would he have insisted the exact same thing he was insisting now? I gulped and rubbed my eyes. I just needed to go back to sleep and then wake up to find out this was just a horrible nightmare. That was what it felt like; the way Carson was looking at me with those hard hateful eyes felt like something from my worst nightmare.
He padded back into the room with a couple of black bin liners. Silently, I watched as he started picking up all the things I’d put on the bed, throwing them into the bags. “Is there anything else you want to take?” He didn’t even look at me as he spoke.
I pushed myself up from the bed. He couldn’t even be bothered to answer my questions or discuss it with me. It was my life, Sasha’s and Rory’s lives, and he was just making all the decisions. And we just had to go along with it?
“You’re a fucking arsehole, Carson,” I growled.
“Yeah, and you hate me, I know,” he replied in his detached tone.
Anger fizzed inside me. Without thinking, I slapped his shoulder. He turned to glare at me so I slapped his chest, taking out all my frustration on him. When I raised my hand to hit him again, he grabbed my wrist tightly and shook his head. A second later, his other hand closed over my shoulder as he threw himself at me, slamming me against the wall and kissing me fiercely. He was kissing me so hard it was hurting my lips, but I kissed him back immediately.
It was raw passion. Anger-fuelled passion. He pinned me against the wall as both of us ravaged the other’s mouth like animals. He let go of my wrist and his hands roamed desperately down my body as I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to me, needing to feel his body against mine.
He pulled out of the kiss just as I was gasping for breath and started kissing down my neck. His hands went straight to the buttons of my jeans, pulling on them frantically. I could feel how turned on he was when he pressed his crotch against my hip, showing me just how much he wanted me physically.
I squeezed my eyes shut as a realisation hit me. This was all I was to him. A body, nothing more. Something for him to get his kicks with, just like he did with hundreds of other girls. He wasn’t demanding we get married because he wanted to; he was doing it because he didn’t want Sasha to hate him.
All this little thing was right now was him laying claim to me, him claiming his dominance over me and my body. But I wouldn’t let him have it.
I gulped, trying to find my voice as he pushed my jeans down slightly, his hand groping my bum, one hand slipping down the front of my underwear. “Carson, stop.” My voice was barely more than a whisper. His mouth came back to mine and one of his hands wove into my hair, halting my protests as he kissed me roughly. I whimpered into his mouth and pushed on his chest. “Carson, stop it!” I said louder, using my forearms to shove his body away from mine.
He stopped and looked at me, his eyes filled with both want and anger. “Why?” he asked, his voice husky and thick with lust.
I tried desperately to get my breathing under control. “Because I don’t want this.” Not like this, anyway. It would be easy to just give in to my body’s urges because goodness knows I wanted him, but not like this, not just because he was demanding it.
He sneered at me, stepping closer to me again and pressing his hard body to mine. “Would it help if I offered to pay you? How much do you want? What’s the going rate for your bedroom?” he shot out.
His spiteful words felt like a punch in the stomach. My eyes filled with devastated tears as my chin quivered. I felt so dirty and used. I’d never felt so low in my life. I couldn’t speak. With that one little speech, he’d just showed me exactly how little he thought of me, and exactly how little he cared for me. With that one little speech, he’d ripped my heart out and had torn it into a million pieces.
Almost instantly he frowned, averting his eyes as if he wished he hadn’t said it. “I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have…” He stepped back, gripping his hand into his hair as he scowled down at the cheap bedroom carpet. My shoulders slumped as the last of my self-confidence, self-worth and self-belief went out the window. I turned my face away from him as silent tears fell down my cheeks. “Look, I don’t even know why I said that. I’m angry, it just slipped out.”
I felt empty inside. Everything I’d fought hard for since I was sixteen, everything I’d been through, how hard I’d worked to make something of myself, going to university, being a mum – they were all nothing now, because I was a cheap, dirty whore. The man I loved had just made that clear to me.
I shrugged him off and headed over to the bed where my stuff was half-packed, buttoning up my jeans as I went. “Are you still making us move in with you?” I asked, trying not to display any emotion in my voice as I spoke.
“Yeah,” he huffed.
I nodded and threw the remaining clothes and stuff into the bin bags and then picked them up, turning to walk out of the room. I kept my eyes firmly on the door; I refused to even look at him. As I got level with him, he took the bags from my hands.
“Emma?” he called, obviously trying to get my attention.
I just walked off; I couldn’t even bring myself to talk to him. I tried to hate him for making me feel this way, but I couldn’t. Instead, I hated myself, because everything I was feeling inside was my fault, not his. My parents were right about me all along; I was a cheap, dirty girl who had the devil inside her. Maybe I should have just joined that convent when they gave me the chance. Maybe then I’d have been able to save my soul.
I didn’t speak to him as I picked up my keys and mobile phone from the side table.
“You’re ignoring me now?” he asked incredulously as I stood silently by the front door. “One thing I say in the spur of the moment and I get the silent treatment?”
I gritted my teeth. “I’m not ignoring you; I just have nothing to say to you right now.”
He groaned in frustration. “I’m the one who should be fucking angry! You’re the one that’s kept me in the dark about my daughter, yet you’re angry with me?” He shook his head in exasperation. Clearly, he had no idea how much he’d wounded me with his nasty, spiteful comment about paying me for sex. “I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t mean what I said. It just came out!”
I shrugged, trying to go for the unaffected approach. “Don’t be sorry. You think I’m a dirty whore who sells herself for money, and you’re right, I do.” Technically, what he said was right; he paid me for sex all the time, so that made me a prostitute of sorts. It didn’t matter that I never saw it that way, that I saw it as love-making, that I used the money as if it were a child support payment. Technically, I was a hooker, plain and simple.
His lips parted as his eyebrows rose in shock. “I don’t think that.”
I sighed sadly. “It doesn’t matter if you really think that or not. You’re making me move in with you and marry you, or you’ll take my daughter away from me. It doesn’t matter what you think of me. All I need is for Sasha to be happy, and I need to be with her. So if that means living with someone who makes me feel cheap and used, then so be it.” I pulled the door open and stomped down the concrete, graffiti-covered stairs without waiting for him. He was silent as he trudged along behind me, closing the door to my flat before following me down into the damp foyer.
As I reached for the handle of the main door leading outside, his hand closed over mine, stopping me. “Wait,” he huffed. I didn’t bother looking at him as he spoke. I didn’t really care what he had to say because in that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything. “The reporters are probably still outside. They’re going to crowd us as soon as we walk out of the building. My car is