AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Your parents weren’t around as much as you’d have liked them to be, I take it?"
"More like, not around at all." He glances up and holds my gaze. "Yep, I’m the poster child for the poor little rich boy," he says in a self-deprecating voice.
"Did they also leave youHome Alone?"
He blinks, then barks out a laugh. "Very good, Chopra."
"Why do you call me by my surname when you think I’m being particularly witty?"
He raises a shoulder. "Shouldn’t I?"
"It’s like when I’m unexpectedly witty you, somehow, attribute my intelligence to the patriarchy."
His gaze widens. "And all this, because I referred to you by your surname?"
"Think about it. When you’re turned on, you refer to me by my nickname, when you think I’m being bratty, you scold me by calling me by my name, and when I say something particularly witty, you refer to me by my surname."
"I still don’t get it." He shakes his head.
"That’s the problem. With all you private school educated, entitled prats, your background fosters emotional austerity and fierce clique loyalty, not to mention the misogyny that runs through you lot."
"You mean, I spent the formative years of my childhood in boarding schools being looked after by adults who didn’t love me," he drawls.
"Are you trying to make a play for my sympathy?"
"I’m merely letting you know that you judge me and my lot" —he makes air quotes with his fingers— "too harshly."
My gaze narrows. "You think I need to re-evaluate my opinion on you and your lot who never grow up. You, who forever remain boys; who think they can do anything and get away without consequences."
"I think" —he tilts his head— "I think you need to see it from my point of view. I remember my childhood as long stretches of desolate homesickness, of having my attachments to home and family broken abruptly several times a year. I lost everything—parents, pets, toys, younger siblings… Of course, I could cry if I liked, but no one was going to help me."
He drags his thumb under his lower lip, and my nipples harden. I shove aside the traitorous reaction of my body and tip up my chin. "So you learnt to cultivate the stiff upper lip. You could either be yourself—homesick, vulnerable, lovelorn, and frightened—or you could perform being loyal, robust, and self-reliant. Wear a brave face and distance your feelings, growing the hardness of heart of the educated.
"And you chose the latter. You convinced yourselves early that you had no great need of love. You decided to act grownup, even when you were very young, for that meant you needed no one. In fact, your experiences toughened you enough that, later in life, when you saw other people cry, you felt no great need to go to their aid. That’s what you’re getting at, aren’t you? That it’s not your fault how you turned out. It was circumstances that made you what you are."
"Didn’t your circumstances make you what you are today?" he counters.
"I hardly think our backgrounds have anything in common."
"On the contrary." He places the champagne flute on the small table and turns to me. "You understand me so well because you’ve been through the same experiences I have, albeit in a different milieu."
I scoff. "Are you contrasting my upbringing with that of your privileged lifestyle?"
He looks between my eyes. "We’re both the products of over-ambitious parents who wanted their children to become over-achievers."
"And here we are," I murmur.
"Indeed. Both of us, high-performing goal-setters, never happy with the status quo. And" —his gaze grows intense— "I’ve never been happier than I am right now, sitting next to you."
I swallow, then set my lips. "You forgot to add, we’re never meant to be."
"You’re here now, aren’t you?" His shoulders are relaxed, yet a nerve pops at his temple. His body is sprawled out against the rich leather seat, but his gaze is wary. This man is so full of contrasts, it makes my head spin. He’s such a puzzle. It both energizes me and chips away at my reservations—all of the hurdles I’ve been throwing in my own path of why I can’t be with him.
"You’re so—"
"Clever, witty, erudite?" he drawls.
"—full of yourself," I snap.
