Point of Submission (Point Series Book 1) by Rose Remy

Author:Rose, Remy [Rose, Remy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Black Dog Publishing
Published: 2017-07-06T04:00:00+00:00

chapter twenty-one ~ Cassandra

After a quick trip to the bathroom, mainly to check my teeth for popcorn kernels, I’m in my car, following Carlo to God knows where. The whole situation is laughable, really: Have versus Have-not. Beach House versus Townhouse. Mr. Mercedes Convertible versus Ms. Chevy Malibu.

Carlo's car passes under the pale glow of the streetlights. He has the top down, and I can see the wind ruffling his hair. Maybe that's how he gets it so perfectly tousled. He’d asked me to ride with him but I said no, not wanting to be dependent on him to take me home. Not wanting to be dependent on him at all. I want to feel like I can leave when I want, instead of when he decided to allow it. Although seriously, who am I kidding? If Carlo wants me to stay, am I honestly going to be able to refuse? I’m more than well aware of how convincing he can be.

I reach over to the passenger seat and fumble in my purse for gum, pop a piece in my mouth and chew. I’m stressed—starting to sweat, and damn that I forgot to bring deodorant. Hopefully, I won’t have these armpit stains by the time we get to wherever we’re going. At least my blouse is cotton and somewhat absorbent. I wasn’t quite sure what to wear, but Carlo seemed to approve of what I picked out, since his eyes had kept roaming all over me.

I am not complaining. Not a bit.

That's a very flattering blouse, he’d told me. It makes you look sweet and feminine. And innocent. His eyes were almost smoldering when he'd added that, and I’m shivering just remembering it.

Looks can be deceiving, I’d tried to joke. I may not be any of those things.

Oh, but I think you are. You’re many things, which makes you so appealing.

I smile, remembering the blonde girl sitting next to us. She was clearly into Carlo (and who could blame her), so it was quite hilarious to see her pretend not to listen to our conversation when she so was. Maybe her nerdy boyfriend picked up a few pointers from Carlo.

We just crossed over into Manheim. He’s turning onto Mt. Joy Road, a two-lane highway with cornfields, farmhouses and low hills on either side. And all of a sudden, I know exactly where we’re going. This is the route to Windswept Stable.

We drive slowly up the long, winding driveway that leads to the barn. Moonlight is silvering the leaves of the old maples lining the entrance, their huge branches draped along the path. It’s so, so beautiful here at night. I unroll my window a little to let in the sultry air. Everything seems hushed and muted—the only sound is tires crunching on gravel as both our cars slow to a stop in front of the barn. Sonya would have done close-up about an hour ago, so the horses will be finishing the last of their hay. As I’m turning off the ignition and opening my car door, I can hear a low nicker from Brownie.

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