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“Over the years he stripped me of my independence. The sad thing is, I let him. I let him chip away at every piece of me until I no longer recognise myself when I look in the mirror,” I admit. “I’m just as much to blame for letting him.”
“No,” Drix argues firmly. “You are not to blame for that bastard’s behaviour.”
“But I didn’t leave him,” I counter, more shame piling on top of the ton that already sits on my shoulders. “Not after the first time he called me names, not after the first time he beat me or the countless times he treated me with hatefulness.”
“Lia, you have to know that none of this is your fault,” he urges.
“I know that I was once someone who loved to dance in the kitchen whilst I baked,” I say, my voice catching. “I was once someone who laughed at stupid jokes until her belly ached and tears poured from her eyes. I was once a girl who liked to walk in the rain, who loved to watch the sun set, who collected china dolls, who found pleasure in the simple things life offered. I was someone who loved tulips and strawberry cheesecake, who would like to go on picnics and drink red wine, and eat smelly cheese, who would sing badly in the shower, who’d wear the clothes she loved, not the ones I was forced to wear. I was once a woman who had passion in her heart and fire in her soul. Now look at me.”
“You can find joy in those things again,” he presses. “You can be that woman again, Lia.”
I laugh bitterly. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because if a man like me can still feel the things I do despite everything, then you can find your way back to the person you once were.”
“A man like me? What do you mean by that?” I ask.
Drix drops his gaze, staring at his large hands that are pressed against the countertop. The words love and hate tattooed across his fingers “Lia, there’s something you should know…”
“There you are, arsehole! I’ve been calling you all morning. How about you answer your phone for once!”
Drix’s head snaps up as he looks over at the smartly dressed man entering the kitchen, followed by a flustered looking Daisy.
“Sorry, Drix, he just barged right in. Like he always does, the stupid oaf,” she scowls accusingly.
The man, with well-styled mahogany-brown hair and deep set blue eyes, swings his head around to look at her. I notice that he too has tattoos, the black ink edging just above the collar of his shirt. “You do realise that I’m your boss, right? I’d be careful at how you address me,” he warns. “Nice hair by the way,” he smirks, laughing at the flour that still clings to the strands.
“Would you prefer it if I called you a pig-headed womaniser?” she counters, folding her arms across her chest, challenging him with her gaze.
Drix covers his laugh with a cough. “It’s okay, Daisy, you can back down now. I’ve got this. What’s up, Dalton?”
“Dalton?” I question, looking between the three of them, then back at the man who slides his gaze around, meeting mine. “Aren’t you–?”
“You must be the woman Drix took back to my hotel,” he says, cutting me off as he strides towards me, his hand outstretched. I can’t help but notice the assessing way his gaze slides over me.
“I wouldn’t touch him, Lia. You might catch something,” Daisy snaps, still bristling from his intrusion.
Drix pushes up from his seat, rounding the island, and stepping between me and Dalton. “This is Lia Pearson. My friend,” he adds, the tone of his voice protective, threaded with warning.
Dalton grins, holding his hands up. “Of course she is. Nice to meet you, Lia,” he says, smirking in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable.
“You too,” I reply, not meaning it in the slightest.
Daisy lets out an annoyed sound. “Want to join me and Toby in the den?” she asks me, and I’m filled with relief at her offer.
“Sure,” I reply, stepping out from behind Drix, glancing warily at Dalton as I pass them by.
“I won’t keep him too long. Business to discuss,” Dalton says to our retreating backs.
Neither me nor Daisy reply.
“Sorry about him. He’s a douchebag,” Daisy says as I follow her to the den.
“You don’t think much of him then?” I ask.
“Not particularly. He’s an arrogant, cock-sure arsehole. Thinks he’s God's gift to women too.”
“And clearly you don’t think that.”
