Dirty Obsession Read online

  “Yes,” I answer as I stare into the tiny mirror in the bathroom.

  “A stomach bug? Migraine? Hangover? What?” Eden asks.

  “Migraine,” I answer, hoping that it will be enough to get her to stop talking.

  I love Eden. She is my best friend. I’ve known her my whole life. We do everything together. We are in the same classes. Lived in the same towns. But I regret living with her, even for a few weeks. She is nosy and isn’t afraid to tell me like it is. Even when I don’t want to hear it.

  “I’ll get you some Advil,” she says, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she walks away from the bathroom door.

  I exhale slowly while I glance at my watch. I have to leave in two hours if I want to get to Carini’s party at a decent time. I’ve been anxious about going ever since I overheard some townspeople talking about it last night. I haven’t started getting ready at all. I didn’t bring a fancy dress with me. I’ll have to find something in one of the local shops since I can’t ask Eden to let me borrow a dress of hers. If I do, she will grow suspicious that I’m not really sick. And it takes me hours to get my stick-straight brown hair to curl and resemble anything other than a boring mop of hair.

  Eden’s heels start clicking along the old, hard floor that gives and squeaks as she walks across it, making me cringe with each step. She knocks on the bathroom door, and the rattling of the rickety door is enough to drive me insane.

  “I couldn’t find the Advil in your purse. Is it in the medicine cabinet?” she asks.

  I open the cabinet and pick up the small container of Advil. I dump the contents into the toilet and then flush.

  “Yes, but it’s empty.” I open the door. “I’ll have to go to the store to get some more.”

  I walk past Eden, ignoring her critical stare. I know she cares about me, and that is the reason for her studied look, but she doesn’t have to make me feel so guilty all the time.

  “I can get you some Advil before I go to the lecture tonight,” Eden says, following me to my bedroom.

  I walk over to my closet, find my black leather jacket, and put it on. “No need. I know you want to get a front row seat since Professor Patrizio is your favorite. Take good notes for me. I’ll pick up some food and put it in the fridge for you. You can warm it up when you get back. I’m going to just take a bath, after I get some medicine and food, and then go to bed early.”

  I grab my purse and start to walk past her. Eden steps in front of me, preventing me from leaving.

  I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear while I try to stay calm even though I can practically hear the second hand of my watch ticking loudly, reminding me that each second is another one I’m missing Arlo’s attention at his party.

  “Do you need me to pick up something for you at the store while I’m there?” I ask, attempting to act casual even though I can hear the annoyance dripping off every word I say, and I know Eden doesn’t miss it either.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I narrow my eyes. “What don’t you believe? I have a migraine. I’m going to the store and then to the bakery on the corner to get something to eat, and then I’m going to bed.”

  Eden smirks. “You really think I’m going to fall for your act? You do realize that I know you better than that.”

  “I have a migraine! And every second that I have to stay here and hear your voice or your heels clicking on the floor or your music pounding through the apartment is making the migraine a million times worse. Now, get out of my way so that I can go get more Advil,” I say, trying to push past Eden.

  She doesn’t budge though. She stands firm.

  We are almost identical in height and strength. The only real visible difference between the two of us is hair color. Hers is black while mine is brown. But both of our hair is long and straight, hitting mid back. Our eyes are both dark, and our skin is olive brown. Almost everyone who meets us assumes we are sisters.

  If I try again, it’s going to lead to a fight, which is going to make me far too late for Arlo’s party. I close my eyes and then slowly open them to try to keep from doing just that.

  “Just tell me what you want to say, so we can get whatever fight is about to happen over with,” I say.

  “I’m not going to fight with you, Nina. I love you, and I want to make sure you are okay. You’ve been doing so well these last few months, and I just don’t want one misstep to ruin everything.”

  I smile. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. Promise. I have a migraine.”

  She shakes her head. “I took some Advil yesterday. We had almost a full bottle.”

  I frown.

  “And I saw you yesterday…” Eden says.

  I narrow my eyes, trying to understand. “What do you mean?”

  “I saw you with Mr. Carini in his office. I know you, Nina. He’s hot and mysterious and rich. And you want him. He turned you down, and now, you won’t stop until you’ve fucked him every which way. You’ll stop going to classes. You’ll only think about him.”

  There is no point in lying to Eden. “So, I’m obsessed. I’ve been good for months now, and we are here for only four weeks. What damage could I really do?”

  “A lot of damage. He’s dangerous, Nina. The whole town says so.”

  “I can’t fight it, Eden. He pulls me in just like all the rest of them. Every day that I resist, the pain gets worse. My stomach is in knots, and I really do have a migraine.”

  Eden stares into my eyes with a sadness that I haven’t seen since my father’s funeral. “I know.”

  “Then, you know that I have to see him again.”

  She sighs. “I know.”

  “I have to fuck him.”

  “I know.”

  “Maybe, after I do, I’ll be able to leave him alone.”

  Eden nods even though I know she doesn’t believe me. She tightly hugs me.

  “I’ll be careful,” I promise.

  She lets me go. “And I’ll be here to pick up the pieces when you aren’t careful enough.”

  I smile, and this time, when I try to walk past Eden, she lets me.

  “You can borrow my dress. The black lace one that makes your boobs look amazing.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  She knows me too well and is willing to help me even though she knows the trouble I’m about to get myself into. She’s been there when I’ve fallen apart and almost ruined my life. I know she’ll keep her promise to pick up the pieces that I leave in my wake. I just wish, for once, I could keep my promise and be careful.

  3

  Nina

  I could stand outside the Carini mansion all night, staring at it. For an art history major like me, it doesn’t get any better than the Carini mansion. It is full of architecture and structures that simply aren’t built like this anymore. But, as much as I would love to study every inch of the outside, study how every brick was formed and how every vine grew up the front of the building, it’s what is inside that really has me intrigued.

  I got the tour of the mansion only yesterday, two days after we arrived, but there was so much more that I wanted to ingrain in my memory forever. So much more that I wanted to know about the history behind every room, every painting, every person who’d ever lived in the Carini mansion.

  The mansion’s history alone would be enough for me to skip out on another lecture about the Italian Renaissance and come to the party here to get a chance to soak it all in. But that isn’t why I’m here.

  I’m here to get Arlo to want me.

  I see the security guard standing at the door, and I panic. I don’t have an invite. There is no reason he should let me into the party. But then I look down at one of the sexiest dresses I have ever worn. Just act like I belong, and there is no way I won’t get in. I’ve been let into parties and bars, wearing clothing that doesn’t reveal anywhere near as much cleavage as this dress.

  I walk up the long flight of stairs that lead up to the entrance. I wink at the security guard and then begin walk
ing through the door.

  I freeze. The guard’s hand firmly holds on to my shoulder as I move through the door.

  “Let me escort you to your seat, Ms. Young,” the guard says, letting go of my shoulder and holding his arm out to me.

  My eyes widen when he says my name. I try to smile and act like I belong, but I can’t help myself. I have to know. “How do you know my name? How do I have a seat? I wasn’t invited.”

  The man continues to hold his arm out to me and now smiles calmly instead of the serious look that was on his face a moment before. “It’s my job to know who you are. And, as far as being invited or not goes, it’s irrelevant. Mr. Carini said you would come and saved you a seat at the main table.”

  I stop blinking. I stop breathing. This can’t be right. This has to be a mistake.

  “Arlo made it perfectly clear that I was not supposed to see him again. You must be mistaken,” I say.

  “Are you Nina Young?”

  I nod.

  “Do you want to attend this party tonight or not?”

  “I want to attend,” I say hesitantly.

  “Then, I’m not mistaken. Mr. Carini said you would come. He saved you a place at the table. Would you like me to escort you to your seat now?” he asks again, growing impatient.

  I stare down at the stranger’s arm and then slowly smile. I must have made an impression on Arlo if he knew I would be coming tonight and then saved me a seat.

  I finally loop my arm through the guard’s extended bent arm. “Take me to my seat.”

  He nods, and then his smile disappears as he starts guiding me through the large entryway and down a long passageway that is filled with paintings I didn’t get to see on my tour of the mansion. I try to focus on keeping my poise, thinking about what I’m going to say when I see Arlo, but the paintings draw my attention. One of the paintings is of a man dressed in clothing from decades ago who looks a lot like Arlo. The next one resembles someone who could be his grandmother. They are all family members. All share a history that is rich in culture and tradition. They all live in Italy. They all have lived inside these walls. All have kept family jobs that the rest of the town either doesn’t know about or doesn’t talk about. I could learn a lot from the paintings. Or at least, I could learn what the painter thought of the family.

  But the guard who is walking me to my seat doesn’t seem to know that he should slow down so that I can get a good look at each painting as we walk by. He is set on his mission, and his mission is to get me to my seat as fast as possible.

  We get to the end of the hallway when my escort stops abruptly.

  He glances at me. “The dinner has already started. Be prepared,” he says as he reaches for the door.

  “Be prepared for what?” I ask.

  But, before he answers me, the door swings open, and I have hundreds of eyes staring at me.

  I swallow, but I don’t have time to panic as I’m guided into the room. It is so silent, I can hear my own heart thumping in my chest despite all the people in the large dining hall. I stare around at all the men and women who are dressed in clothing that is far fancier than what I am wearing. I thought I would be in the sexiest dress here, easily demanding Arlo’s attention, but the clothes the women are wearing are far more revealing.

  What I don’t understand is why everyone is staring at me. I didn’t realize that it was a dinner party.

  But so what if it is?

  What dinner party with this many people cares if one person shows up late?

  I expect the escort to stop at any of the tables toward the back, which have a few empty seats, but that is not where I am led. We walk toward a table at the front of the room, which sits high up on a stage where everyone else can see the people sitting at the table.

  I feel my face warm as we walk. I’ve embarrassed myself plenty throughout my life. But I’ve never felt so judged by so many people at once. It seems the entire town has turned up for this party. It’s a rather small town, I’ve learned since coming here. One in which everyone knows everyone else’s business. And I’m sure that this moment will be the talk of the town tomorrow. I’m not supposed to be here, and it appears that everyone knows it.

  Finally, my escort stops at an empty seat at the far end of the head table. He pulls out my chair, sliding it across the marble floor, and it makes a high-pitched scrape against the floor. I wince. And then I quickly take my seat, hoping the moment will finally stop.

  “Thank you,” I say in barely a whisper, but my escort is already gone.

  I feel everyone’s eyes around the room slowly leave me—if for no other reason than these people are rich and used to acting polite, and staring for this long is anything but polite. The noise in the room slowly builds to where I’m sure it was before I entered. Loud. But not obnoxiously so. But, while everyone else has returned to eating, everyone seated at my table is staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say as I look around at the best-dressed people in the room, all dripping in expensive jewelry that is beyond anything I could ever imagine.

  Most of the eyes quickly go back to their food, and they begin eating and chatting again. But three sets of eyes remain on me. A young girl of maybe fifteen or sixteen sitting on my left, an older gentleman in his sixties sitting toward the far end of the table, and Arlo, who is sitting three seats down from me.

  His eyes are the only ones I care about. I hope to learn everything from him just by looking at him. But his gaze doesn’t tell me anything. He doesn’t seem surprised that I’m here, nor does he seem happy or upset. Just indifferent.

  “You must be Nina,” the young woman to my left says.

  I nod and smile weakly.

  “I’m Gia. My brother said you would be coming and that you would probably be late due to your classes.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Gia. I’m sorry I’m so late. I didn’t realize that it would cause such a break in the meal.”

  Gia laughs. “Don’t apologize. It’s just because everyone has been waiting to see the special guest my brother has invited to sit at the family table for dinner tonight.”

  I open my mouth to tell her that he didn’t really invite me, but then I stop as a delicious plate of pasta is placed in front of everyone. I’m sure I missed the first few courses, and for that, I will forever regret being late because just the smell of the pasta is enough for me to forget about anything other than how hungry I am.

  I dig in without thinking, shoveling the glorious pasta into my mouth. I moan when the buttery, creamy sauce hits my tongue. It’s the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. I shovel another bite into my mouth and then another after that, not able to get enough.

  A throat clears next to me, and I stop. I feel the liquid spill down my lip, but I’m too embarrassed to wipe it away.

  I look up and see more than a dozen eyeballs staring at me. I’ve caught the attention of the entire table. Again. I feel my cheeks burn as some of the richest and most powerful people in the city stare at me while Alfredo sauce drips down my face. I quickly grab my napkin, and I wipe my lip and chin before trying to muster a smile onto my face.

  I hear Gia giggle softly to my left, and I try to let her joy fill me instead of the disgust that everyone else has on their faces. But her laughter isn’t enough to overcome my own shame.

  A few more seconds pass before people at the table return to eating their meals in perfect precision, almost as if they were performing a dance. I finally chance a glance up across the table to see what Arlo thinks of me, only to find him gone. I sink back in my chair even though I know that my bad posture will be enough to get a couple of disgusted looks from others at the table.

  “My brother never stays long at these dinners,” Gia says.

  “Where did he go?” I ask.

  Gia shrugs and then takes another bite of her pasta.

  I glance around the room filled with beautiful people, including more than enough handsome men my age who I coul
d spend one night with. But none of them are what I want.

  “Excuse me,” I say, getting up from my chair.

  “Where are you going?” she asks.

  I don’t bother answering her. She seems like a smart girl who is fully capable of figuring out where I’m going. And, if I tell her, all she’s going to do is try to stop me.

  I’m sure that everyone’s eyes are on me again as I storm out of the dining hall, but I don’t stop to look. My entire focus is on Arlo. And how I’m going to try to find him despite the fact that I’m sure there are guards throughout the mansion to prevent unwanted guests like me from entering the private spaces. Not to mention, there are over fifty rooms in this house, and it’s either going to take an extreme chance of luck for me to find Arlo or take all night for me to search through all the rooms.

  But surely he would want to be found by me? He made sure I had a seat at his table. He wants me.

  When we were getting the tour, we were only granted permission to about a dozen or so of the rooms. I’m going to assume he is not in any of those, so when I get back to the hallway that I know leads me toward the main areas of the house, I take a right instead of a left. Down a much darker hallway that isn’t lit up, meant to be as uninviting as possible.

  I walk past door after door. I don’t stop to look inside any of the rooms, even the ones that have lights on and voices inside. I take a left and then a right as I feel myself getting closer to Arlo. I don’t know how I know where to go. Call it a sixth sense, intuition, or chance. Maybe it is plain dumb luck. Call it whatever you want, but when my feet stop automatically in front of a set of double wooden doors, I know that Arlo is behind it. Knocking would be the proper thing to do, but I’ve never been about doing the proper thing. And I know my chances with Arlo are slim. This might even be my last chance with him. I need to surprise him, throw him off guard.

  I hear music pumping mildly behind the closed doors. It’s not the quiet, classical stuff that was playing downstairs, but it’s not a song I recognize either. Something fast. Pop music with a little bit of rock. I take a deep breath, trying to slow the pounding in my heart that matches the speed of the music, but it does nothing. The music, if anything, entices me further, making me want him more. Making me want to fuck Arlo to this very song.