“Only on the side. Nothing official.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I gave that up.”
“Uh-huh.” My smile is tight. It’s weird, having him here. The two of us together, alone in an apartment. “Well, welcome home.”
He glances around the room. “It’s pretty nice, huh?”
“Yes.” The sun is already starting to set and the sun bathes Perry’s face in golden-pinkish light, which only emphasizes his exceptional bone structure. Those sharp cheekbones, the firm jawline and the aristocratic slope of his nose. His face is made up of sharp, almost exaggerated angles but it’s offset by that mouth.
His lips are full and downright sinful.
I’m not tempted to kiss them though. Not even close.
Liar.
I shove that nasty little voice into the darkest corners of my brain.
“Did you snag the biggest bedroom first?”
“Would you be mad if I did?”
“Not really. It’s your family’s apartment. I’m just the guest.” He shrugs.
“I wouldn’t call you a guest. Aren’t we living here for a while?”
“Well…yeah. But I figured eventually we’d end up somewhere else.”
“I overheard my mother say that they were gifting us the apartment as a wedding present.” I press my lips together, feeling silly even talking to him about the wedding.
“Really?” He glances around the room, his gaze settling on the magnificent view of the city. “Pretty nice gift.”
“I suppose.” Personally?
I think we deserve everything they give us for what we’re sacrificing for “the family.”
“So we’re really doing this, huh?” he asks, and I know exactly what he’s referring to.
Getting married.
“I think so,” I answer, not sure what I should say. “Is that what you want?”
“Is that what you want?”
I’m quiet for a moment, wondering how I should explain myself.
I decide to tell him the truth.
“Anything is better than living with my father,” I admit. “No matter what I do, he’s never going to be happy with me. I’m a disappointment in his eyes.”
“That’s hella unfair,” he murmurs and I can’t help it.
I smile at his response.
“How’s that going, by the way? The wedding planning, I mean.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, watching me carefully.
“My mother has taken over most of it,” I admit, wondering if he thinks that’s weird. Really, it’s just easier. She loves to plan a party, and since I’m marrying a man I barely know, I don’t have the enthusiasm or drive to put together my wedding.
“Your mother run your life?”
I bristle under his tone. “No, I just have no desire to plan something I had no say in in the first place. Does your mother run your life?”
It’s Perry’s turn to bristle—I said that on purpose. I knew I’d get a reaction. “Not anymore.”
Oh. I’m shocked by his brutal honesty. “What do you mean?”
“She didn’t want me moving into this apartment. She wanted you to move into her house—with me.” He grimaces.
That sounds awful.
“I knew you wouldn’t want to move into the compound. It kind of sucks there,” he admits. “It would probably remind you of home.”
I should be honest with him and thank him for getting me out of my house. Even though I panicked for a bit and worried how it might be, living with him, I’m slowly realizing anything is better than feeling like a prisoner in your own home, constantly reminded of your past mistakes.
“I, um, want to thank you.”
He studies me, those deep-blue eyes locking with mine. “For what?”
“For helping me get away from—him.” I don’t need to clarify who I’m referring to.
His gaze softens and he takes a step toward me. “I’m glad I could help. Though you were pretty mad Saturday night when I told you I was getting you out of there.”
“You were so bossy.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t usually act like that. I think the Constantine in me came out.”
I hated it at the time, but now I see his reaction for what it was.
Anger—on my behalf. He just wanted to protect me. And no one wants to protect me, not even my brothers.
“I appreciate you watching out for me. No one ever really does that,” I admit.
He watches me quietly and after only a few seconds I want to squirm beneath his gaze. I’m not used to someone taking care of me. Looking at me as if they’re trying to figure me out. No one ever sticks around long enough to try.
“Not even that one guy?”
I frown. “What guy?”
“Your mystery guy. The one you had the so-called torrid affair with?” His brows shoot up.
I forgot I admitted that to him. How could I be so stupid?
“It was nothing.”
“Uh-huh.”
Why does he sound like he doesn’t believe me?
“A couple of months of my life. That’s it. Too brief to even think about.” That’s not necessarily true. Seamus was all I could think about. He consumed my life those last couple of months in Paris. Being with Seamus was exciting. The first man I’ve ever really been with—he treated me with such care. So much passion. We explored Paris together and he showed me the sights. We took long walks along the Seine, and he kissed me in the rain. We had sex in his office at the university. Right on top of his desk. He’d send me secret smiles in the middle of his lectures, and I’d feel special. Singled out.
He wasn’t with any of those other girls. He chose me.
It was straight out of a romance novel. Forbidden love. The older man teaching me everything he knew, treating me with such care.
I thought I was in love.
Until the morning I was in his class, starry eyed as usual while he lectured, shock coursing through me when a woman entered the classroom, walked right up to him and kissed him on the mouth. He announced she was his girlfriend, a helpless expression on his face when his gaze met mine. In that moment, everything inside of me just…
Died.
We never spoke again. Within twenty-four hours, I dropped out of school. Packed my things and returned home with my tail between my legs. I confessed everything to my mother, crying in her arms while she tried to console me. She promptly told my father, and he gave me a lecture about choosing wisely and not giving it up to the first man who showed interest in me. He made me feel so young and innocent and so unbelievably dumb.
I’ve been the family shame ever since.
And now here’s this man, acting like he might want to be my protector, though I don’t quite trust his motives. I hated how he made me feel Saturday night when he spotted the bruises on my arm, the shame that washed over me when he asked if my father did that. I almost fainted on the spot.
It’s a well-guarded secret, those few moments when my father has gone too far with his anger and hurt me. It’s something I’ve never talked about with anyone.
Ever.
It’s only happened a handful of times, but when he does get angry with me, it always leaves a lasting effect. If not a physical mark, he definitely messes me up mentally.