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Beth is fuming.
It's been twenty minutes since she reluctantly let herself crash like a potato sack in the passenger's seat of Rio's ridiculous virility symbol of a vehicle, and he hasn't said a word to her so far. And she still doesn't know where exactly they're going. Or rather — why.
The day did start well, though, a bright and sunny Friday early afternoon. One carrying in its core the promise of a summer-like weekend spent chilling in the backyard with no bigger concern than the warmth coating her skin. An omen for good times, perhaps magnified by the kids' screams and laughter if she felt like bringing them back earlier from their grandmother's.
Of course he had to ruin that.
Had to materialize in her kitchen like a deranged genie, dark silhouette evoking those smoky grey clouds forecasting a downpour just as she was drying her hands, her fingers all wrinkly and reddened from the hot water after she'd let her eyes linger just a few seconds too long on the picnic table standing in the backyard.
She rolls her eyes, bright annoyance flaming up from the reminiscent embers of her minor scare. It's not like he's been constantly around these days. Things aren't exactly cordial between them, God, no. Not to even mention... discussed. But regardless, it seems like there's a tacit truce commanding their interactions, a casual neutrality sometimes disturbed by a spurt of anger, or, well. Lust.
But it's all under control, really.
So her moment of surprise having faded as fast as it came, Beth had shrugged the shock away and quickly averted her gaze — that's usually when she starts to linger that things derail fast, glued stares dragging unwanted pouty lips and heat in their wake — choosing to wipe the kitchen island clean with a soapy sponge instead, asking him to what she owed that pleasure with unmasked annoyance.
Because here's the thing. She knows that everything's in order, has been in a while now. She's 3 grand ahead of her printing schedule already, has delivered the last drop without incident. Sweet P's still flying under authorities' radar and the city council campaign has been running smoothly so far. Those days when he would pop in her kitchen full of slightly exaggerated accusations about her losing his money rest in peace in the shroud of their past.
She's been good. Doing as he asked and everything. So he had literally no reason anymore to show up at her house unannounced.
That was of course, until he'd asked mundanely if she had any plans for the weekend, swiped her vigorous nod with a sharp, "Cancel 'em," and she was pretty sure that he'd practiced that line at home.
And just — This is not how their game is ruled anymore, and he knows it. But maybe she fooled herself, maybe she thought that things were better than they actually are.
"Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait until Monday," she articulates, low and hoarse, eyes fixed straight on the road, her exasperation still brewing at the thought that he's made her pack a full suitcase without even a prior notice.
If he's about to take her to a gardening event, she'll just snort.
"Well, Nick couldn't wait 'til Monday to have us in his country house, so..." Rio eventually provides in a grumpy mumble.
And ah, well. Her mind slides easily over the implication of the "us" to focus on more urgent matter. Perhaps she just got rid of a puppet master for another. Because — yeah. Rio's theoretically no longer imposing his last-minute errands on her. But Nick is. Especially ever since they'd —
Not now.
With a sigh, Beth gives up on fishing for information, perhaps a little bit reluctant to find out what this is really about.
It's only two hours later, when hues of purple and pink start adorning the sky and Rio exits the highway, that her anxiety settles back, heavy on her stomach. This has to be a masquerade. Rio's not exactly her biggest fan. Has never acted deliriously enthusiast about spending business time with her, even less leisure.
And when it comes to Nick, well.
Maybe she should warn Rio about the recent developments regarding this family affair. How Nick came to her house a few times, charm on full display, and invited her to gardening events, council charities, political meetings she was never supposed to attend but that he'd said would be preciously helpful for her career. How they had lunch together some other time. How their campaign strategy talks have increasingly tended to involve drinks and chitchat after hours, lately. How he eventually took her out for dinner in that fancy place that Dean and she used to say they'd celebrate their 50th anniversary at.
How they then spent the rest of that night at her place.
How it happened again after that.
They're not... dating, not really. Beth cringes at the word. Pre-dating, maybe? But most definitely something-ing.
It's not that Beth is completely oblivious that Nick probably has a more nefarious agenda than what he's willing to show. He's a politician, after all. She doesn't completely trust him. But this is just — fun. Two adults enjoying themselves regardless of, uh, other aspects of their relationship. Or possibly mutual acquaintances.
But — oh God. There's no possible scenario where mentioning this to Rio would be a good idea.
Besides, what is there to say anyway? The concept rings laughable. Nick and she are in no way official, let alone public. This has been their implicit but very clear number one rule from the start. She's still married, after all.
The G-Wagon turns left and crosses an open wrought-iron gate to enter one of those pompous alleys with tall trees planted on both sides, and Beth stares pensively at Rio's profile as he pulls over in front of a massive colonial house. No, really. He doesn't need to find out about this, she decides.
On second thought, maybe Beth should have been clearer.
When Nick welcomes them under the front porch, Beth doesn't even have the time to loudly marvel at how gorgeous the garden and the house are before Nick's arm pulls her into him and he steals a quick kiss from her lips.
"Hey, you," he greets with a fond smile, and Beth's blush spreads far.
God, this is mortifying. And sure, she could lean into Nick, accept that the harm has been done — and what harm is there anyway, because again, she can do whatever she wants for fuck's sake — but, but, but Rio is here, and this mere idea is enough to make her frantically look for a hatch anywhere near her feet and disappear from the surface of the earth.
"Hi," she manages to elicit, tries to pull away as politely as she can as she spots Rio's blatant stiffening at her side.
Nick's hands roam her hips and waist appreciatively — she's pretty sure she hears Rio's teeth grind as he does — before he lets go of her somewhat reluctantly, and Beth attempts to exhale unnoticed the breath she didn't know she was holding.
"Hey man," Nick salutes Rio as if something blatantly abnormal hadn't just happened, and the two men exchange a complicated accolade and a fist bump that Beth is pretty sure shouldn't normally be that aggressive.
At this rate, odds are high that they won't all wake-up tomorrow morning.
"So good to have you here," Nick declares as if they were all good friends catching up for a relaxing weekend. "Let me show you your rooms," he offers, disappearing inside the house.
Rooms. Plural. Well, that at least is a huge relief. Beth isn't actually sure that there is any other configuration that would not end up nightmarish and, most likely, homicidal. But right now, they are all still alive. She breathes a steadying intake of air, trying to calm down, but just as she crosses the front door threshold, she feels Rio's hand lightly pressing at the small of her back, casually accompanying her motion, and she briefly freezes at his touch.
She shouldn't read too much into it. It's probably just habit. He's always touched her.
Nick insists on giving them a grand tour of the mansion — mostly for her benefit, she assumes, Rio's probably familiar with the place already — after Beth barely had time to unpack and refresh in her room. And it's — it's gorgeous. This house. Intimidating, almost. Refined, and luxurious, with a fireplace and that kind of rustic charm she's always secretly liked. Who are these people? She dare not read too much into the financial implication of owning such a family estate.
"I am afraid that it's already too dark now, but I'll show you the garden tomorrow," Nick concludes the indoor visit, almost apologetic as he leads them in the gigantic and pristine kitchen that looks straight out from a fancy home-decorating magazine. "But I'm sure you'll have a lot to teach me about, the rose garden is giving me a hard time," he adds, teasing her with a wink, as his hands smooth over the apron he's just tied to his neck.
He subsequently makes an abundant show at cooking dinner, and even though she's the guest, Beth can't refrain from offering her help. It's just — habit. And also maybe the fact that this kitchen is literally everything Beth has ever dreamed of, and she's burning with the desire to wrap her fingers around those perfectly sharpened chef's knives, marvel at the induction stove.
"Oh honey, no, don't even think about it!" Nick mock-scolds with affected eagerness. "You just relax, hermosa. Here, let me fix you a drink."
The cooled-down Chardonnay gurgles elegantly when Nick fills a wine glass and offers Beth the golden drink which she accepts, edgy with hesitation. The beads of condensation tickle her fingertips as Nick's hand squeezes her waist in a languid fashion. She hears Rio muffle a derisive snort in her back, and she wants to glare at him, because the wine smells and looks good, and is probably excellent, but...
Rio doesn't say a word. He gets up from his seat as soon as Nick has restarted chopping tomatoes and goes straight to the liquor cart on the other side of the room. Fixes a double bourbon on the rocks in an appropriately footless glass, silently hands it to her when he comes back. And it's — it's rude, really. To refuse the master of the place, her makeshift boyfriend's drink, and take someone else's instead. To imply that she just wasn't served according to her tastes.
But. If she wants to make it through the night, the weekend, she needs this. She deserves a treat. So after a short tiptoeing moment around the borders of impoliteness, she carefully lets go of the wine and takes the bourbon, savoring the cool firmness of the glass. Rio's fingers linger just a few seconds too long around hers, their skins brushing against one another almost casually, and —
Right.
Retrospectively, this should have been her second red flag.
It takes a while of menial chit-chat and tasty snacks, but eventually Nick announces that dinner's ready, fueling Beth's curiosity. Because as far as speculations go, this apparently familial obsession with immaculate kitchens can either be a sign of cooking skills or the lack thereof. But as it turns out, the food isn't good. It's delicious, and she can't repress a groan at her first bite. Everything is perfectly cooked and seasoned, the sweet potato mash is exquisite, and — God. Beth had no idea that chicken could even be this tender. It's actually a little insulting that Nick has never cooked for her so far.
"Is it good?" Nick quirks a brow at the sound she just made.
"It's perfect," Beth raves, and she swears she catches Rio rolling his eyes in the corner of her vision. "How come you're not married yet?" she laughs perhaps a tad hysterically, mentally wondering what is wrong with her.
"Because you are," Nick retorts, staring straight into her eyes, and Beth's cheek burn so hot one could probably sizzle an egg on them.
This wasn't — Well, she didn't think he would say that. She hasn't been flirted with so heavily since... Dean, probably. And Rio doesn't count. It's different. Plus he never actually subtext-proposed to her over a home-cooked dinner.
God, what Rio must think of her now. Not that she grants any credit to his opinions though, obviously, but still. This is utterly embarrassing.
Something icy settles in the air surrounding them. She nervously shoots a quick glance at Rio, is a little bit disappointed that he seems to purposefully avoid looking at her. But then, she feels his hand squeeze her thigh under the table, something angry and possessive in the way his fingers dig into her skin, something that makes her squirm and burn on her seat, and really. It's aggravating, how impassible he remains.
"Anyway, you definitely make a better pico de gallo than my brother-in-law," she clears her throat, exaggerating her Spanish as she tries to dissipate the awkwardness.
"Oh, I didn't know your sister was married," Nick muses, and if he's noticed Rio's move he doesn't display it.
"Ex-brother-in-law," Beth corrects herself.
"Eh," Nick shrugs, finally letting her off the hook. "Speaking of, how's Micaela, brother?" he asks Rio with well-crafted affability.
Or perhaps a predatory smile. It's hard to tell, honestly.
"Good, good," Rio replies with equal cheerfulness, although Beth can see his shoulders tense up a bit as his hand abruptly slips away from her knee.
"Who's Micaela?" she asks, eager to participate and leave the embarrassing moment way behind, excited to grab another crumb of Rio's enigmatic family situation and hoping this one won't be an aunt slash sister-in-law or some other absurd combination.
"Oh, he didn't tell you?" Nick raises a brow at his brousin. "Micaela's his girl," he winks, and Beth's throat constricts when she tries to swallow her wine, a betrayal she didn't know even existed spreading deep in her belly and drowning the fire that Rio's fingers lit up just moments ago. And... other moments before that.
She chooses to focus on her food rather than on the conversation after that.
After a dessert that drives Beth insane enough that she almost licks her plate clean — the creamiest rice pudding that she's ever tasted — Nick offers a nightcap in his office, eliciting an inaudible chuckle-mumble from Rio about keeping all the good stuff for himself.
Nick's office is in tune with the rest of the house. The oak desk and leather chair pair elegantly with the luxury pool table and the old-fashioned liquor cart.
"And you have to take a look at the cabinet of curiosity!" Nick says, dragging Beth towards the opposite side of the room.
The showcase stands in a corner of the spacious office. A large cabinet with a smooth and shiny vitrine and little lights integrated displaying — well, at first, all Beth can make out in the distance is the interlacing of bright colors and the variegated curvy shapes. But as she comes closer, it all becomes clearer, legs and antennas jumping from the colorful chaos to create the largest private collection of butterflies that Beth's ever seen.
"Impressive, huh?" Nick comments proudly as the three of them gather in front of the exposition. "What do you think?" he adds.
Beth blinks.
It's — morbid.
Unsettling at best.
Almost disturbing.
But also. There's strange poetry emanating from this immobile dance, an instantaneous of the insects' perpetual ballet that gives her for the first time the opportunity to admire every little detail carved in the wings, the delicacy of an antenna, the subtle shade of a powdery color.
"Beautiful," she exhales in front of the luxuriant whirlpool of wings that will never flap again.
Oh. Right.
They will never fly again.
Beth hides her mouth behind the rim of her glass, doesn't want to let anyone see the light nausea that's suddenly pulling at the corners of her lips. This is just a bunch of dead insects, she reasons. It's disgusting, for sure, but she shouldn't read any further into it.
"You know, it's kind of a time-consuming hobby," Nick drawls dreamily next to her, almost in her ear. "It's like a hunt. Once you've caught sight of a shiny and colorful new one, you just know you have to put a pin on it. Make it yours," he adds, his stare on her disturbingly intense, and Beth's breath hitches as she stares back at him.
And in the complicated silence that follows, the only perceptible sound is the brushed fabric of her dress as Rio's hand hovers around the curve of her ass.
Honestly it's a relief when Beth gets to finally retreat to her room for the night. This... well, this has been a rather creepy evening and she can't say she's enthusiastic to endure this for another two days or so.
The knock at her door startles her as she's about to change in her PJs. Great. What now? She's not so sure of who she wants it to be, but also, there's very little doubt: Rio's never demonstrated knock-happy tendencies so far.
"I've been waiting for this all evening," Nick announces with emphasis as soon as Beth opens the door to the sight of him — tie undone and pupils dilated.
He walks in with confidence, pulls Beth into him as he closes the door in his back and kisses her on the lips before he starts nibbling at her earlobe.
And just... it's not like she doesn't enjoy or want this, but she's still pretty salty about the way he outed them in front of his cousin — Beth chooses to believe it's cousin, actually really wants it to be — and mostly she wants to be left alone right now. This psychotic family has to give her a break somehow.
"What are you doing?" she giggles with the sugar-coated voice that she used to reserve for Dean's drunk and unrequited attempts at initiating anything in the blandest days of her marriage.
"I can't resist you, Elizabeth," Nick purrs, lips sliding in her neck, beard eliciting delicious shivers along her spine, fingers stroking her nape and already working the zipper at the back of her dress.
And she could give in, honestly. It has been a while since anyone touched her, and she could put aside her grudge until tomorrow. But something does land wrong still.
"It's Beth," she corrects mechanically, before anger sparks and she pulls away, avoids his face when his mouth chases her lips.
She can't explain why it's so grating on her nerves whenever someone calls her this, someone who isn't —
Well. It is what it is, and that's it.
"What?" Nick asks, the perfect picture of loving concern as he slightly loosens his embrace, the realization that she's not as into this as he is finally percolating.
God, it was about time he realized. There are a million ways she could criticize Rio, but at least he would have known instantly. Would have seen the minute she got upset. Would have probably kept pushing though, because he's nothing but an asshole. And the reason behind her current discomfort.
"He's right here!" Beth whisper-shouts, gesturing toward the door.
Nick stares at her with a confusion that she can reasonably assume is feigned.
"Who?" he asks.
"Your cousin."
"Brother."
"Whatever," she shrugs, hand dismissive, because Rio could be the janitor that it wouldn't change her point.
"So?" Nick eventually raises an objecting brow at her concern.
"It's — it's disrespectful," she finally manages to say.
This is not exactly how she feels. Actually, the idea of Rio knowing that she's got other, um... options, is nothing but pleasant. But there's something in the way Nick's been acting with her ever since they crossed that threshold, in the way he's acting right now, that tickles her spider-sense. There's more to this than just some lover's longing. She just doesn't know what yet. But she doesn't care, all that matters is that she wants him out of her room right now.
And perhaps he's not the one whose beard she wants to feel grazing the sensitive skin of her neck tonight. But — no. That would be a terrible idea.
Nick surrenders, is enough of a gentleman to not insist, thank God.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Beth offers, letting him go with her most charming smile and a gentle kiss, a consolation prize.
She finds herself restless as soon as she's alone again. Nick's ministrations have left her skin hot and flush, her body itching for attention, but that is not the reason why she finds herself tapping at Rio's door barely minutes later. It's not about that. There's just something she needs to clarify.
Because Nick isn't the only one who's been acting weird all evening, and if she can't have answers, at least she can have confrontation.
"What was that?" she asks immediately after he's let her in, the surprise barely concealed on his face.
"What was what?" he drawls, quickly finding his ground back, arms crossed over his unbuttoned shirt — he was about to go to bed too, she must remember that.
"The way you've been all night. The touching. The... the handsiness."
"Yeah? What 'bout it?" he asks, an amused light dancing in his pupils as he takes one step closer to her.
She breathes in, instinctively braces herself for what's coming next, what she truly, desperately doesn't want to discuss but avidly needs to know, "It's inappropriate. You're... you're seeing someone."
"What?" Rio considers her with genuine confusion, his eyebrows pinched together, until epiphany seems to hit, "Who, Micaela?"
She must have let something slip because he apparently reads a confirmation in her stance and shakes his head.
"Pfft nah... We only fucked twice," he dismisses, smug.
Oh.
But —
Oh.
"So did we..." she reminds him with narrowed eyes, quite unsure that getting two fingers inside of her with Grisham watching counts, her speech slow and hesitant like her tongue can't bring itself to form the words that emerge in muddy bubbles at the surface of her conscience as she suddenly reconsiders everything.
Pictures Rio saying the same thing about her, shrugging the suggestion away with a cocky grin.
"Does Nick know her? Did you bring her to a family barbecue too?" she can't help but ask.
Rio takes one step further until they're chest to chest, his face a pretense of surprise mixed with feigned concern.
"Aww what, you jealous, sweetheart?" he purrs, his breath tickling her lips and his eyes so dark they look almost liquid. "Besides, s'not like you have no side dish either," he drawls, running a finger along her collarbone that has her suck in a breath.
"It's different," she squirms, searching frantically for a better argument, one that would shut him up, but it sounds like Rio's proximity has erased any coherent thought from her mind like an audiotape that spent too much time near a magnet.
"Oh you don't know?" he chuckles in faux-innocence.
"Know what?" she spits angrily.
His eyes shine with unsurprised triumph and a fond something else, like he finds it adorable that she ever thought she could win this discussion.
"Baby, he ain't no better man than me. He's gonna fuck you and then fuck you over," he mocks with infuriating condescendence.
"I don't believe you," she shakes her head, backing away from him just to hit the wall in her back and realize that he's managed to corner her, again.
"Nuh?" he questions, tilting his head as he closes the gap between them until his lips are hovering dangerously near her temple.
He doesn't touch her until she's let out a needy exhale, her eyes falling shut on the sight of him, standing so close but still and waiting for her signal, unlike—
No. Not now.
She gasps when Rio's lips finally connect with her skin and drag a hot caress down her cheek.
"He made you come as hard as we both know you able to?" he asks, treacherous, his mouth gently sucking and biting sensitive spots on her neck.
"Hmm..." she provides, noncommittally, because, well.
Nick was a decent lay, but it wasn't the same as — stop. This isn't real. None of it is. It's just a game, right?
Rio's lips dip down her collarbones, make their way down the valley of her cleavage, his tongue darting out and drawing little sighs out of her. She pushes her shoulders against the wall, arching her back so she can feel his face entirely pressed against her upper breast, her hands gathering at his belt and slotting him hard against her. He retaliates by slipping a hand under her skirt and yanking her panties down her thighs. They slide along her legs and she steps out of them as soon as they reach her ankles, her hips restless with anticipation.
She's losing control.
Maybe she shouldn't—
"He ate you out?" Rio suddenly asks without giving her time to think, dramatically falling down on his knees and hooking one of her legs over his shoulder.
Beth gasps, one hand naturally falling over Rio's head, the other one pressed against the vintage wallpaper but rapidly covering her mouth when Rio's tongue flickers out to lick her over-sensitive flesh.
He soon slips two fingers inside of her in addition to his mouth, and when she muffles her first moan, his free hand immediately grabs her elbow from under her and snatches it away. His fingers curl abruptly inside her at the same time and she cries out freely, feels him smile against her cunt.
Oh.
That's what this is about. He wants to hear her, no, he wants everyone to hear her.
She should counterattack right now. Try to keep herself quiet as much as she can, but the way he's working her up, more efficiently than no one ever did, makes the task impossible. She tries to limit herself to tiny whimpers and heavy breaths, and she's almost peaking already, her hips jerking against his face, riding his hand, when he pulls out abruptly, barely seconds before she should burst.
She glares at him, indignation already boiling, but somehow her angry energy gives in when she sees the look on his face as he straightens, a blend of lost desperation and absolute determination shining in a dark tapestry of want.
He hoists her up on the desk on her left, and she watches him unzipping his pants in a daze, her own mind clouded with lust and need.
They both groan loudly when he bottoms out in one rough stroke — she's embarrassingly wet for what matters — and then he spends long torturing minutes bringing her so close to the edge that she can already peek on the other side, but never enough that she crosses the line completely.
He seems to enjoy playing with her, relishes the sounds she makes that he so obviously tries to drag out louder with each stroke. And she just —
She wants to come so bad, she doesn't have the energy to fight him on that field.
So eventually she breaks down in a desperate plea.
"Please..." she hisses, torn apart, hoarse, exhausted.
He smiles, smug and proud of himself, although there's still this savage light in his eyes telling her that he's barely keeping it together better than her, that if she scratches the surface from the tip of a polished nail, he'll come undone just like she does.
"You wanna come, baby? Gonna be vocal 'bout it?" he asks, and there it is again, this cruel spark in his eyes, reminding her that this is all fun and game, et caetera.
"What's in it for me — ah!" she manages to let out before he hits a spot deep inside her, causing her to spasm around him.
He snorts, superbly dismissive.
"You get to come hard on my cock," he purrs with insufferable arrogance, and she bites her lips to hold her fury, her fingernails raking the wooden surface of the desk. "One time more than Micaela did," he adds with a perfidious jut of his hip that makes her whimper.
She nods, powerless, devoured by the need of him, the desire to come on his cock, his hands, his mouth, his body, and forget about everything else for a blissful minute. His arm circles her waist and angles her pelvis just so the friction is perfect as he fucks hard and deep into her. His mouth dives in her neck and she feels his burning breath fanning her shoulder as he bites her earlobe, whispers words of encouragement that make her lose her mind.
Her orgasm tears her apart like a sharp blade and she cries out, ample and sonorous. The desk bangs loudly against the wall with each thrust from Rio, and Beth briefly thinks that they're making enough noise to wake up the whole neighborhood by a long shot.
She's still riding the wave, barely conscious of anything else happening around her, when Rio wraps a hand around her neck, squeezes lightly until she focuses her gaze on him. The pressure against her throat ignites a spark inside of her that she didn't even know existed, and an aftershock of pleasure rises in her belly.
"Elizabeth, look at me."
The expression on his face is indescribable. Something distraught, irremediably lost, that blows up all the dykes she's patiently built for months. She wants to breach all the rules and pull him into her, kiss him fervently until she's breathless.
She watches him come inside of her with a guttural moan, and then they both collapse on the desk, inhaling each other's skin while trying to catch their breath.
Her cunt is still fluttering and palpitating around him, and she's about to suggest that they relocate this to his bed for a second round when he slowly pulls out and away, his face walled back up on a hard expression.
"Now get the fuck out of my room."
Needless to say that the morning-after breakfast is overwhelmingly awkward. And not only because of, well, the obvious. Because even in the unlikely eventuality that Nick slept like a log with earplugs last night and didn't hear a thing, the marks around Beth's neck speak eloquently, make the unspeakable impossible to ignore. And if the way he looks is anything to go by — Nick's jaw is so taut that Beth is vaguely concerned she might hear the bones crack any minute — he knows. And she can't really find it in herself to feel guilty about it. After all, Nick's the one who started it, breaking their implicit rule of privacy and showing her off like a basic rooster yesterday.
And Rio... Well, he doesn't look as happy with himself as Beth would have expected him to. But she doesn't care, really. The way he abruptly and unmannerly kicked her out after was rude. And — hurtful. She doesn't want to speak to him, opposes a hostile silence in retaliation.
And as if things weren't already embarrassing enough, someone's leg is suggestively stroking hers under the table, and she absolutely doesn't want to find out whose it is.
She might hate the answer either way.
"There's something that I want to show you, Elizabeth," Nick informs her as she's finishing breakfast, all charming amiability back on display, and... okay. Perhaps there's still a chance for the unfortunate events of last night to not daunt the whole weekend.
Beth follows him to his office, still quite a bit nervous, but she starts to relax when it becomes obvious that Nick isn't going to murder her. Not now, at least. Instead, he brings her back to the butterflies collection and pulls out a small key from his back pocket to open one of the glass panels.
He delicately collects one specimen between two cautious fingers, brings it back in front of her.
"I wanted you to have this," he explains in a low, almost tender rasp. "It suits you."
The butterfly's wings are of a dark shade of red, burgundy, laced with black outlines and white little spots adorning the curves, and something clenches tight in Beth's gut.
Does he know?
She looks at him in surprise, searching his face for a clue that this is nothing but a coincidence, promising to herself that she'll rip Rio's head off if it's not, but Nick's expression doesn't give anything away.
"I — I don't know what to say to that," she offers with blushing embarrassment, looking down again at the strange gift dancing between Nick's fingers.
Because… sure. the butterfly is gorgeous. But it's — it's dead. Pinned to a piece of cardboard in the middle. It's morbid. What's with this family's obsession for gifting her dead things anyway? But also. Maybe this is a very generous gift. Maybe it's a rare species of butterfly. Maybe Nick is just genuinely offering her something that matters to him. And refusing it would lead her nowhere anyway.
So she stretches a hand to accept the mummified insect, but just as her fingers wrap around the cardboard, Nick's shift, perhaps by accident, and the pointy extremity of the pin bites deep in the soft skin of her fingertip.
"Oww!"
She immediately brings her finger to her mouth, sucks the already pearling crimson droplet of blood, looks up at Nick for an apology, or at least a bit of concern.
If anything his face is the textbook opposite of apologetic. The hazelnut-tainted warmth has deserted his eyes, a darker, harder expression replacing it, and Beth's fight or flight instinct kicks in just one second too late.
She opens her mouth to deflect the imminent threat, raise an alarm, anything, but Nick doesn't let her.
"So, disrespectful, huh?" he starts, grabbing Beth's wrist with his free hand.
Here we go, she thinks, and God, this family really has a pathological need to act overly dramatic.
She shakes her head, opts for complete denial in the hope that he'll get the message. She doesn't want to talk about it. Not with him. Not with Rio. Not with anyone.
"I have no idea of what you're talking about," she deadpans, quite proud of how quickly and easily the mask of dumb innocence that she used to reserve to Dean slides back on simple request.
Except that Dean would never have reacted the way Nick does to her play. His grip hardens around her wrist and he uses that leverage to violently slam her against the edge of the cabinet. Sharp pain reverberates in her elbow under the impact, and Beth swears she heard something crack at the back of her head.
Her eyes sting with reflexive tears that she furiously blinks away.
"Are you out of your mind?" she roars, anger mixing with the shock and fueling her fury.
"Oh I'm sorry, was that disrespectful?" Nick sneers, and the only thing keeping Beth from slapping him is the fear that his response might escalate the violence already blooming.
"We never said we were exclusive," she points out, opting for a completely different strategy since there's apparently no point in denying facts.
Nick steps closer, until his body is pressing her against the glass, his face towering above hers in what he probably thinks is a threatening fashion — it is — but doesn't reach the ankle of Rio's ability to look terrifying.
Beth really wants to spit at his face.
"You're the rising star of City Council," Nick slowly articulates through clenched teeth. "You think that getting in bed with criminals will help you getting elected?"
"Isn't it what I've been doing from the start?" Beth retorts, eyes boring into his and — hopefully — making him feel even a portion of all the contempt she has for him right now.
Nick considers her with narrowed eyes until disgust shows on his face, like he's just noticed that he let a snake in his house, and he hisses, "Way to bite the hand that put you on tracks. You're the face of my campaign. Don't forget it."
"You can't force me to be on your side," she replies, and she only meant politically, only implied that she wouldn't attend gardening or charity events by his side anymore, but she suddenly realizes how it sounds.
How much more it implies. And what, or rather who, the other side is.
"Right," Nick utters, taking a step back, his gaze assessing her in a way that she's never seen from him before and that somehow scares her.
He lets go of her, dismissive all of a sudden, and Beth doesn't wait for a change of heart to leave the room.
She's shaking as soon as she's out, fear, pain and shock blending in an unpleasant cocktail inside her chest. She needs to be alone. She can feel Rio's inquiring eyes when she walks past him on her way to the downstairs bathroom, practically perceives his arrogance before he even opens his mouth.
"You believe me now?" he drawls in a low voice, stepping aside in the last moment so she almost touches him in her stride, and most certainly inhales a lungful of his scent.
"Fuck you!"
He doesn't try to hold her back.
In the quietness of the bathroom, she damps her eyes and examines the damages. There's a dark bruise at the back of her arm, taking roots in her throbbing elbow, and something does feel weird when she stretches her neck, making it painful to look behind her back.
But the bruises and cracking bones aren't her major concern right now. She's… well. Scared. Trapped. Because Nick's violence hit her completely unprepared, because she came here in Rio's car and doesn't exactly know where she is, because she's alone with the brood of this definitely lunatic family, because even if Rio probably — probably — won't hurt her, the tiny possibility that he will is still brought into existence every time he looks at her.
She's not safe with either of them.
But she won't survive the embarrassment of calling anyone to the rescue. It's only two days. She can make it to the other side. She will, she promises her reflection in the mirror with steady eyes.
Nick apologizes proficiently shortly before lunch, invokes a loss of control that won't happen again, conjures infatuated feelings that Beth had never heard of before. Because of course he does. He's a politician. That's the only thing about him that Beth is sure of. She keeps a neutral facade over lunch, her thoughts clouded by morosity as this is only Saturday.
It thus almost comes out as a blessing when Nick and Rio disappear in Nick's office after lunch to discuss some business matter that Beth isn't invited to, which is rude, but whatever. It suits her plans for once. She's got no desire to hang out with either of them, so instead she decides to use that free alone time to roam the garden.
At least it's big and beautifully tended enough that she can spend a couple of hours wandering around, checking on the girls and the kids from the rose garden, without getting bored. Nick might be a corrupted psychopath, but he knows how to plant flowers, she can give him that. Unless it's Rosa's work that she's admiring, who can tell.
She's lost any track of time when she remembers having seen a tropical greenhouse at some point earlier, decides that she could do with some warmth. Plus the chances that anyone would seek her there are thin, which means more time away from these maniacs.
A heatwave of clammy air hits her as soon as she's opened the front door and Beth doesn't regret her choice despite the sweat erupting on her skin in minuscule droplets. The place is filled with exotic and incredibly green varieties of plants, gigantic luscious leaves, hundreds of butterflies flying around in a merry whirlwind.
At the back of the greenhouse, she loses herself in the contemplation of the carnivorous plants, their sharp thorns slicing the continuous dark green of the tropical leaves in countless vegetal daggers. Every now and then, a dull clicking sound makes itself heard over the buzzing of the myriads of insects, the only clue that one trap fell closed around its prey.
She watches, hypnotized, as a pale yellow butterfly slowly approaches the dark red center of one plant, wings batting rhythmically as it circles its target closer and closer, until it cluelessly lands on that deadly territory.
"Hey."
A deep drawl in her back. So much for thinking that she wouldn't be found here.
"Hi," she mutters absently, her eyes still glued to the tentative steps of the butterfly on the plant, its antennas gyrating so fast that Beth can barely see anything but a blurred shape.
"Was lookin' for you," Rio elaborates, and from the sound of his voice she knows that he's been stepping forward. To her.
She won't give in easily, though.
"I guess you found me," she lightly muses, voice dipped in honey and false casualness.
The carnivorous plant's jaws suddenly snap shut, the motion so abrupt that Beth almost jumps, breath hitching at the spectacle. The butterfly remains trapped inside, frantically moving legs and wings to escape, but it's too late.
It's too late.
"You okay?"
This time she knows that he's right behind her but she still doesn't turn to look at him, her eyes still obstinately lowered on the plant.
And the truth is — she's not. She's not okay. But it's not his business to find out. She's not going to show him weakness without any certainty of what he'll do with it.
"Sure," she shrugs.
Rio hums in disbelief, and she lets the silence between them stretch, still refusing to look at him.
Inside the flytrap, the butterfly is moving slower, until it just stops fighting, the sight of its surrender strangely upsetting to Beth and causing a lump to grow in her throat.
"You were right," she whispers almost inaudibly.
"Say that again?" he mocks in return, and this time she finally looks up to his stupidly smug face, the itch to punch him almost painful.
"Don't," she warns, raising one eyebrow.
He takes one step closer until they're face to face and chest to chest, takes his time to enjoy the view, and lick his lips before he slowly chides, "Ahh, c'mon, don't be like that, Elizabeth."
She holds his gaze for a moment, sees the instant his expression softens when he realizes that she's not joking.
"You were right," she admits again. "Just don't... don't be an ass about it."
He smiles at her, something bright and pleased. He raises one hand at her face, a silent question written in his brown eyes, and she nods curtly.
"I like it when you talk dirty to me," he purrs with gravels in his voice, and when his fingertips touch her forehead she lets him, she lets him, she lets him.
She swallows when his face comes closer, and she thinks that the way his eyelashes dance up and down his eyes reminds her of the wings of the butterfly from earlier.
"Wanna piss him off?" he whisper-drawls in her ear.
And she can't tell if it's the prospect or the simple warmth of his breath tickling her skin, but she can't repress a languid exhale, knows that he's perfectly aware of it. His arm snakes around her waist and she relaxes into him a little, hands moving automatically up his shoulder, indulges in losing herself in the nearness of his mouth against her temple for a second or two before she forces a breath of reason down her lungs and puts an inch of distance between their faces.
"How?" she asks, watching him openly.
He smiles. Something genuine, sweet. Something she hasn't seen on his face in forever, at least not directed at her.
"Empty the clip, hit him where it hurts," he murmurs, and his other hand comes up to frame her face, his thumb gently pushing away a loose strand of hair lingering near the corner of her mouth. "You're usually so good at this, baby," he adds.
The praise, no matter how twisted and perhaps insulting it is, has something hot surging through her chest, a tiny sense of euphoria piercing through the shocked numbness of her misfortune.
"Stop talking dirty," she exhales provocatively, fully aware that this is just her retaliation for the effect he has on her, the way he seems to know how to play her like a harp without any false note.
His mouth dips down to kiss her. Slowly enough that she can pull away if she wants to, but with no mystery regarding his intentions. She doesn't move.
His lips are soft, supple against hers. Comforting. Like one would cuddle a child who scraped their knee. Perhaps he can tell that she's still upset from Nick's upsurge of violence, or maybe he just really wants to annoy his cousin. Brother. Whatever. She doesn't care.
His fingers dig a little more firmly in her jaw when she kisses him back, like it's a reflex he can't suppress from the feeling of her, or an invitation to deepen the kiss. It doesn't matter. Either way, she lets him in.
His tongue slips into her mouth, hot, and wet, and — and tender, and it's just so different. He's never kissed her like that. In her bedroom, in a former life, there was unbridled urgency fueling his gentleness. It was demanding. Questioning, even.
But this right now, this is a statement.
And it would be so easy, she thinks. To let go. To stop fighting. To let him take care of her just like he's proving to her right now that he can. To admit that she doesn't care about Nick beyond the giant fuck you that sleeping with him sends to Rio.
His arm brings her closer against his chest, his hand slips from her face to ghost the swell of her breast, and she cradles his jaw with her palm, tries to stifle an escaping moan as the kiss grows hotter and deeper, their lips barely leaving each other's even to take a breath.
She lets her hand fall down at his waist and slip under his shirt, touches him where the smooth skin meets the rough seam of his jeans, tentatively strokes that spot right above his hipbone where she knows he's a little ticklish but likes her touch there.
She can feel him hardening against her thigh, grinds her hips in acknowledgment, forgetting about anything else but his touch, his raspy inhales, the complete abandon with which he kisses her, all walls crumbled and sacrificed on the altar of something bigger than their comprehension.
He breaks the kiss so abruptly and unwarningly that she can't completely stifle a throaty protest. The sudden loss of his hands, so soft and warm on her, of his mouth, has her disoriented for an instant before she realizes that Nick just entered the greenhouse and is staring at them.
Crap.
She's actually not sure that this was part of whatever plan Rio had in mind, because if it was, then Rio's delivering a breathtaking performance of accidentally walked in on. She tries to shake the embarrassment away, already raking her brain for something to say, when she clocks the look that Rio shoots Nick briefly, the way his brow raises in challenging victory, and — right.
Of course it was only another game, and maybe her shoulders sag just a little at the reality of it.
She can't say that the way Nick's jaws clench at the sight displeases her, though. The bruises on her arm are still spreading, and this petty vengeance tastes sweet on her tongue.
At first.
But then, Nick's eyes darken and his fingers flex, his fury seemingly irradiating the place, and maybe this went too far, she thinks. She's been at the receiving end of Nick's violence once today, has no eagerness to ask for more. And maybe this was all a trap that Rio set for her, which she enthusiastically and obliviously jumped in, maybe he was just toying with her, again, maybe...
But also, maybe not.
Rio's completely ignoring her, his eyes focused on Nick, but just as if he'd sensed her doubt, her fear, his hand discretely comes to gently squeeze her forearm, presumably with a reassuring intent. Which is insulting. She's perfectly capable of defending herself, doesn't need him to come to her rescue like a white knight in shiny armor just because Principal Nick caught them making out in an empty classroom.
She indulges in the softness of his thumb running over the inside of her wrist for one more second before she angrily snatches her arm away and leaves the greenhouse to the boys and their stupid rooster fight.
It's stupid. So, so stupid.
She's still thinking about it when she's getting ready for bed in the quietness of her bedroom. About their kiss and how the way it abruptly ended made the want that his lips have ignited burn hotter. It most certainly doesn't help that his smell has been sticking to her skin all afternoon after that greenhouse incident. She wonders if he'll knock at her door tonight to resume what they paused earlier. If he'll kiss her like he did, warm and full, and —
Actually, she wants more than that. She wants him deep inside her, wants to ride him and see his pupils blow under the show of her breasts bouncing with each thrust of their hips, wants to kiss him again and again.
She wants to doze off in his arms, after, as they did once. In her bed. And it was — yeah, it was sweet.
God, she needs to stop this. She's been on that road too many times to ignore that this kind of daydream only ends badly. So. Back to normal bedtime routine.
Although...
Maybe she should leave her bedroom door ajar, signal something to him. The prospect of Rio slipping into her room and bed in the dark is objectively alluring. Except that her chain of thoughts immediately morphs into something scarier.
What if the wrong cousin sneaks in? Maybe she should build a barricade in front of her door instead. Think about her safety before anything else. Because there's no way Nick will display the same infatuated alacrity as he did the night before if he shows up.
She does nothing, eventually. Wakes up alone with relief, and perhaps an aftertaste of disappointment. Not that she expected anyone to come for unfinished business, but the disinterest is sort of insulting in the end.
The vision waiting for her at breakfast is, in that regard, enlightening. Nothing breaks the ugly silence at the table when she joins, her eyes glued to the blackeye on Nick's face, his somber expression. Her gaze jumps on instinct on Rio's knuckles, and she bites her bottom lip when she sees the bruises on his hands, notices the cut on his lip, the swell on his cheekbone.
Did they —
Over... her?
It's disgusting. Objectively repulsive. Although Beth hates how it makes heat sparks low in her belly, how her tongue licks her lips while her mind pictures doing that on Rio's bleeding mouth. She forces her gaze away from the little scratches adorning his long fingers to chastely chew on her toast, although she's pretty much lost all of her appetite already.
It's only when Rio gets up from his seat that she notices the jacket he's wearing. And that his suitcase is packed.
"Where are you going?" she asks, a vague alarm ringing in her head since they weren't supposed to leave before the late afternoon.
"Summin' came up," he mumbles back. "Gotta head back to Detroit. You comin' or not?"
She gapes at him, quite unsure of what to say.
"You can stay here if you want, no problem," Nick interjects, full charm on display. "I'm driving back to the city tomorrow morning, I can give you a ride."
Beth's eyes jump from Rio to Nick, from Nick to Rio, her tongue heavy with hesitation, her mind racing for a right answer. They're both looking expectantly at her, and she knows that whatever she decides, there will be consequences. If she goes with Rio, then her political career or so to speak is over. Nick will make sure it takes a hellish turn for her, and she's not positive that she's ready to see the extent of his power and the reputation damages he's capable of.
But if she stays with Nick, then...
Then Rio will never look at her again the way he did the other night. He might even want to end their business collaboration if he's extra salty, and God, not having to worry about the drops anymore would be such a relief, but.
She swallows.
"I'm so sorry. I'd love to stay but I have to pick up my kids at their grandma's tonight," she starts with the honeyed voice she uses at PTA meetings to win over Lauren's arguments, offering Nick an apologetic wince. "I'll go with you. I'll be ready in five minutes." she then tells Rio, searching his eyes for something, anything, but finding only a blank acknowledgment in his little nod.
She really hopes she made the right choice, if there was any.
The drive back is mostly silent. Beth isn't quite sure there's anything regarding this disastrous weekend that she's willing to discuss. Especially with him. And although she's dying to ask what happened overnight between him and Nick, she's scared of whatever answer he might provide.
It's only when the familiar surroundings of Detroit show, gilded by the morning sunlight, that she asks, in a low voice, "So when are we taking him down?"
She needs an ally in this. What she did — what they did — basically threw a gauntlet at Nick's face, and she's not sure she can get out of his hold on her own.
Rio snorts. Something mean, dismissive almost.
"'We'? We ain't doin' anythin'."
Her head whips around to look at him although his eyes are focused on the road and avoiding her gaze. Is he serious right now?
"But I chose you this time," she tells his profile, and something shrinks and folds inside of her, an urgent need for him to look at her, to see her.
"Nah, you chose your ass's best interest. Like you always do," he spits still obstinately staring in front of him, his mouth twisting in a bitter pout.
There's something off in his demeanor. As if he's waiting for her to contradict him. But she doesn't, not immediately at least, and his shoulders square, knuckles whitening.
"But you —" she tries again.
"Oh I'm sorry sweetheart, you thought any of this was real?"
He's laughing. The son of a bitch has the audacity to laugh. And it — hurts.
Because... sure. She knew this was all a game, a power play. A dick contest. But he cannot have faked the expression on his face when he asked her to look at him as he came. Cannot have kissed her like that just for the sake of acting. Nobody could have feigned that.
And he must know it. And know that she knows. And yet he —
She settles back in her seat, turns her head away from him, blinking furiously as bitterness is tugging down at the corners of her mouth.
"The whole point of that weekend was to rub in my face that he was fuckin' you," Rio speaks again, low, as they're approaching her neighborhood. "Just showed him he wasn't the only one."
She lets out a strangled cry of outrage, her anger waking up, "Are you slut-shaming me right now?"
He chuckles.
"Oh baby believe me, you'll never be as big of a slut as my beloved cousin. He's always takin' what's mine, even as kids we'd —"
"I'm not yours!" she protests as he stops in front of her house.
"Fuck yeah you are!"
That's the moment he chooses to finally look at her. And he — he means it, the little bastard. Her indignation threatens to spill, but she keeps her mouth shut. His gaze is heavy, his mouth hanging open, something complicated written on his face.
They stare at each other for a bit and she takes in his hooded eyes, the way the tip of his tongue is peeking out and wetting his lips. And she feels it too, the muscle memory of everything that they did this weekend still vivid in her flesh, striking deep in her belly. Her eyes follow the line of his forearms to his bloodied knuckles and she bites her bottom lip at the reminders of the violence he got himself into.
Over her.
She notices the growing bulge in his pants as her eyes travel back to his face and she almost combusts at the heatwave that bores into her skull when she meets his gaze. It won't take more than her invitation to come in the house under any pretext, and she knows that he'll be on her the second they'll be inside, that his bruised fingers will grab her ponytail and expose her throat before he'll bend her over the nearest available surface and indent her skin with its edges while he'll fuck into her harshly, grunting things that will very much sound like "mine".
The feeling of him will linger until long after his come will have stopped leaking out of her. Maybe they'll use the aftermath haze as a pretext to initiate a softer round two, perhaps in her bed, a moment they will shatter abruptly later, too eager to be the first one to dismiss the other.
She swallows at the thought, can feel her panties dampen by the minute.
All she needs is an excuse to ask him to come in. Just give me one reason, she thinks. One sign. Something.
"Are you brothers or cousins? You can tell me now," she asks, softly.
Somehow she's crossing her fingers for cousins. Brothers would be too close, and — ew. While it technically wouldn't count as incest, she's not sure that she's ready for wearing that specific crown. But the actual answer doesn't really matter in the end.
Rio keeps staring at her with a hazed expression for a few more seconds before he eventually seems to get a hold on himself, his slack jaw replaced by pursed lips, and he keeps a hard expression, his cold gaze focused on her, when he finally answers.
"Family."