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Genesis
Itugmyhandfrom his, unsure if I heard him correctly. “What are you talking about?” My voice cracks, but I don’t care. I don’t want to type my questions and patiently wait for his responses. I want answers. Now.
“Don’t talk, Sin. Please.”
Royce shyly holds my gaze by lowering his lids to half-mast and biting his lip with those blazing white teeth of his. He places his phone in my hand, curling my fingers around it.
My stomach flutters.
His damn vulnerability and his caring pull me in, even more so than his darkness does. I wish I could see the truth in his heart and know for sure if he’s being serious.
I’m given a few minutes to think this over as room service arrives with his meal and my tea.
My tea.
To his credit, Royce recalled from the countless meetings at my desk that I drink Earl Grey with honey.
Again, I think back to my parents and how Mom always said she knew Dad was ‘the one’ because he remembered how she liked her coffee. That, and other little details they learned about each other, added up into a marriage which has lasted for over twenty-seven years. Not that Royce will travel down that road.I wish we would.
I sigh at the fantasy. I’m certifiable for even thinking along those lines. Royce is not the one. He told me he never would be. Why can’t I remember that?
In the middle of making my tea, Royce must take note of my sour expression as he lifts an eyebrow.
I shrug and look down at his phone in my hand, unable to meet his gaze with the remnant of that damn wish in my head.
Instead, I study his device, noting it is the latest model of the most expensive brand.
It’s cool. It’s sophisticated. Unlike me.
I grew up in a trailer park, wore thrift store clothes, and hovered a breath above the poverty line until I graduated from college.
Yet he wantsmeand I can’t it figure out why. What do Royce and I truly have in common?
As he deals with the server, signing his signature on the bill with a flourish, I mull the question over.
Like me… Royce is a hard worker. People around the office say he stays late and comes in early. Something we also have in common is that he’s polite to everyone at STS—from upper management to the cleaning crew.
He doesn’t act entitled or privileged. In fact, he is down to earth, if a little rough around the edges.
Also, like me, he believes in bettering this world. Though, my monthly contributions to organizations that help women in developing countries and an Austin animal shelter are nothing compared to his aid.
Yeah, I’d read about his philanthropic works as I scoured the Internet for more information on him. Those magazines I have are good for pictures and a bit of backstory… but they gloss over the truth.
I’m not above a little hacking for a good cause, and the moment I learned Royce would be back in my life, I used my skills to search behind the glossy smiles and charity work.
On Finn’s clandestine advice about where to dig, I began with Royce’s school records.
His fourth-grade teacher reported bruising to his body. No one followed up.
His fifth-grade teacher wrote on a progress report that he’d missed a lot of school.
And the last red flag: At thirteen, he’d withdrawn from his prep school in New Jersey to attend another one in New York, but only after a gap of six months.
The records corroborated what I already knew. Royce’s father had abused him.
I’ve known since that morning-after in New Orleans when I untangled his arms from around me so I could sneak away.
