Because nothing can defeat reality.
The burn on my shoulder from the fire twenty-two years ago has grown increasingly fouler over the years. The gouge marks haven’t faded one bit. Instead, they stretched out as I grew bigger. They look like teeth, and there is something that looks like anIbetween them. Doris said it’s terrible that I have a scar I can’t get rid of, because no man will want a woman so damaged and disfigured.
“Thank God for Rupert! If he hadn’t rescued you, it could’ve been worse!” she told me more than once, in case I ever forget it’s her stepson who saved me from the fire.
She and Rupert hypothesized theIprobably stands for something awful, because why else would anybody brand me with it? The mark has to be shameful, and I should reflect on what I did to get it.
But nothing comes to mind. Whatever happened to scar me must’ve been horrific—enough to be permanently etched in my brain or permanently deleted from it. The therapist Doris hired said it’s probably the latter. He told me I should hide the scar to alleviate my sense of shame and try not to think too much about how I got it. “TheIcould be anything. Or nothing at all.”
Easy for him to say—it’s not on his body. At least it isn’t aJfor Jezebel. What other bad things start with anI? If it were anH, I might’ve guessed “hoe,” but that seems a little off. Too plebian and silly. If you’d go this far, you would do theWfor whore.
Shoving aside the unpleasant thoughts, I lie on my side of the bed and watch Ares get undressed. More buttons come undone, revealing more of his taut, golden skin. From the sexy way his suit fits him, I figured he was an office worker, but the lean muscles on his chest are thick, the ridges on his abs deep and shadowed. A sprinkling of dark hair dusts his belly, then disappears below his belt.
Cuff links clink on the nightstand on his side. The shirt drops to the floor. I let out a soft gasp at the sight of long, twisted burn scars that stretch from the top of his shoulder all the way to his wrist. They’re slightly raised and pale, except for several gouges that are a shade or two darker than his regular skin. No hair grows on the paler scars, which covers at least a quarter of his right arm.
He doesn’t seem to notice my staring. Or maybe he’s just ignoring me. His expression doesn’t show anything other than methodical calmness as he sheds his clothes. He unbuckles and drops his pants. His lower body is even more muscular and powerful than his upper, taut muscles rippling as he moves. The kick he delivered to Rupert must’ve hurt like hell. It’s too bad he didn’t kick him in the balls. If Rupert got his balls busted for real, he might decide to leave me alone.
As Ares shifts, I spot a small, triangular burn scar on his upper thigh. Did he get it at the same time as the ones on his arm? Does he remember anything about the incident that gave him those marks? Or was it too traumatic? To be injured like this would be pretty bad, wouldn’t it?
“How did you get them?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
He knows what I’m talking about. “In a forest fire. Would’ve been worse if somebody hadn’t saved me,” he says quietly.
“Do they bother you? Like… Do you think, um…they’re gross?”
“The scars?” He sways and frowns, looking down at his arm. “Doyouthink they’re gross?”
I shake my head. “You survived whatever hurt you. As far as I’m concerned, that’s all that matters.”
The tension in his brow eases. “Well then. I won’t worry about them, unless you want me to cover them up.”
“I don’t.” I lay my hands over a pillow and rest my chin on them. My gaze falls on the silver wedding band. Even though his uncle fed him something, he didn’t have to marry me. He still had enough wits about him at that time, and he could’ve said no. So why say yes? “Do you think I’m pretty, Ares?”
“Yes,” he says promptly.
“Even if I have some burn scars of my own?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“You didn’t ask me where or how big.”
“Do I need to?” He tightens his lips in confusion. “I think you’re amazing just the way you are. Gutsy and smart. Pretty.” He smiles then plops on his side of the bed. “You think my scars are fine. Why do you think I’d care about yours?”
“Because I’m a girl…?”
He snorts. “What you are is silly.” His eyes start to droop.
I shift and watch him succumb to sleep. He’s beautiful, his eyelids fluttering as they close. The tension on his face melts away, leaving the stunningly gorgeous features, from the slanted eyebrows to his full, relaxed mouth. His entire body slowly goes limp, like a high-performance machine powering down.
The wedding gown isn’t that comfortable, but I can’t undress myself without help. Doris picked this particular outfit not just because it’s pretty, but because it leaves me helpless.
I think you’re amazing just the way you are. Gutsy and smart. Pretty.
Recalling Ares’s words brings a smile. Nobody’s ever called me pretty without reservation. And smart! Doris had me homeschooled mostly, although she was forced to enroll me in a few online classes on subjects she couldn’t manage. But I never did well enough to get into a decent college. I could only do an online college, and Doris allowed it because it would have looked bad if she hadn’t let me attend it.
My husband thinks I’m gutsy and smart and pretty!
Joy and anticipation cartwheel in my heart. For the first time, I feel like my life is finally on the right track.
