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Respect you.
All lies.
“You ordered a background check on me?”
His face pales. My stomach falls.
“Because I’m ‘hot enough to fuck, but not good enough to bring home’?” my lip curls in a sneer
“Who told you that?” he asks and my heart sinks.
“Well, at least you’re not denying it.” Fatigue makes my sadness heavy and suffocating.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I can’t believe you talked about me like that,” I say, my traitorous voice breaking. The warmth of his hand resting on my shoulder suddenly feels like a branding heat.
I step away. “Don’t you fucking touch me,” I snarl.
“Confidence, what the fuck?” he demands.
My stomach cramps and I hug my arms around my middle.
My heart is sick.
I’m sick.
How in the world could I have fallen for this shit again?
I tattooed this motherfucker’s name on my body.
I square my shoulders, drop my hands and straighten up so I can look him square in the eye. “I heard you last night. I followed you when you left because I thought maybe you needed me,” I tell him and watch his face fall.
He groans and for the first time since I’ve known him, I see fear in his eyes. My own fear feeds on it. The ache in my stomach sharpens. Things are about to get worse and I’m scared by how viscerally I feel the loss already. I’ve fallen so thoroughly and irredeemably in love with him. Just in time for him to break my fucking heart.
“No,” he says sternly. “You’ve got all of that wrong. I ordered it before we were together in Italy. Weeks later when it showed up, I couldn’t remember why I thought I needed it. I never opened it.”
“You didn’t?” I ask and I feel a flicker of hope that maybe I misunderstood.
“No,” he sighs. “I decided I could overlook everything that was wrong about us. Your lack of money, your lack of a name. I already knew about the scandal surrounding your career,” he says.
I pale. But I set my jaw and narrow my eyes at him.
“You’ve overlooked them?” I ask, almost daring him to repeat himself.
“Yes. I decided it didn’t matter,” he says like he’s being a benevolent ruler. Like he’s looking down his nose at me.
My hackles shoot straight up. “I didn’t ask you to overlook anything,” I hiss.
He comes to stand in front of me and reaches for me. “No,” I say quietly.
“Let me explain.” His voice is thick and gruff. Angry.
Fuck him.
I won’t look at him. I can’t.
The heaviness in my body is only outmatched by the ton of pain in my heart.
