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“They cut me off.”
His head tilts to the side. “Who did?”
“My parents. That’s how I ended up in Willow River. They cut me off.”
His jaw tenses. “Sounds like a story.” He’s not pushing me for details, even though I can see his need to ask written all over his face, and if that wasn’t enough to tell me, the firm set of his shoulders would.
“One I won’t bore you with.” I reach for my straw, unwrap it, place it in my glass, and take a quick sip of my tea.
“Nothing that comes out of your mouth could ever bore me,” he says, licking his lips.
Taking another sip of my tea, I decide to just tell him. Palmer knows, and so do my cousins, which are some of his closest friends. He might as well hear it from me. Besides, him knowing where I came from will make it easier for him to keep his distance.
“My dad was controlling. He’s a powerful attorney in New York, and from the minute I was born, there was never a decision in my life that was mine. I never got a say about my hair, the style, or color. I never picked out my clothes, well, unless you count him sending me to his personal shopper and choosing items that were preapproved for me. I didn’t get to choose the college I went to or my major. He even chose my boyfriend.”
“Damn,” Deacon mutters.
“Robert Barrington the Third,” I say his name with disgust. “He was the son of one of my father’s partners at his firm. They had a grand plan. Robert and I would marry, and when our fathers retired, he would take over.”
“Which is why you also have a political science degree.” He nods as if understanding.
“No. Not for the reason you’re thinking. My place wasn’t to be at the firm. I was to be a good little wife, sit on the boards of multiple charities, and make sure the nannies were taking care of our children. My father insisted on a poli-sci degree so that when I was with Robert or escorted him at a fundraiser or event, I could keep up and talk shop to fit in. That is, when I wasn’t supposed to be seen and not heard.”
“Jesus,” he hisses. He reaches across the table and laces his fingers with mine. “I’m so sorry, Ramsey.”
His fingers are warm and rough against my own. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” I exhale slowly and continue, “The day I left was the day my father laid down the law. He was insistent that I marry Robert and put his plan into action. For the first time in my adult life, I told him no. He was angry. Things happened, and I still stood my ground. He told me that if I refused to do as he said, I was dead to him.”
“Motherfucker.” Deacon’s face is drawn up in an angry expression, but it doesn’t scare me. I know he’s not mad at me, but for me.
“I left. I walked out of the house with nothing but my purse and my cell phone. I left my car and everything I owned. Everything he bought me. Everyone I knew that were supposed to be my friends were chosen by my father. I had no one. Scrolling through my phone, I saw Aunt Carol’s name and called her. She told me to get to the airport, and she would have a ticket waiting for me. I called a cab, cleaned out the two grand I had in my bank account, tossed my cell phone, and hopped on a plane to Willow River.”
“Regrets?” he asks.
“None. My aunt and uncle took me in as if I was their own. My cousins rallied around me, and I’m more like their sister than their cousin. We didn’t see one another a lot growing up. My mom, she’s… well, she’s worthless if I’m being honest. She would stand by and watch as my father- She just didn’t love me like a mother should love her child.”
“I hate that you had to go through that. I hate that your childhood was full of control and not carefree happy memories, but Ramsey, I’m fucking ecstatic that your past brought you to Willow River.”
“Here we are.” Becky places a plate of breadsticks in front of us. “Your pizza should be right up.”
“Thank you,” Deacon says, never taking his eyes off mine. “Can I ask you a question?” he asks as he picks up a small plate and dishes up a breadstick for me and then for himself.
“Sure.” I shrug, unwrapping my fork from where it’s rolled up in my napkin.
“Why not your wrists?”
I try not to show my embarrassment. “You remember that, do you?” I ask. He nods. “My ex, he used to grab me by the wrist when I wasn’t agreeable. He was rough and often left bruises. I guess I’m still not over the fear he instilled in me.” I stare down at my plate. I can’t look him in the eye and see pity for how weak I was when it came to Robert and my father.
