“Or not,” she said so quietly, it was almost a whisper.
But damn it, I was just curious enough about her to give her something. “I held my mother’s hand while she died,” I offered bluntly.
Shocked at what I’d revealed, I imagine I gaped at her likeshe’dsaid the words. Hating the pity in her eyes, I shrugged, tone bland, “Is that the kind of thing you were looking for?”
Her gaze washed over my face in understanding, and I wanted to lash out at her for it. To my relief, she didn’t offer me a uselesssorryor sympathy.
“My mum was an addict,” she confessed softly instead. “It started with alcohol and then eventually whatever she could get her hands on. The substance abuse turned her into someone else. I … She … she abused me as well.” She lowered her gaze, fiddling with her fork. “Emotionally and verbally. She … she didn’t have the nicest boyfriends either,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
Sharp pain sliced up my palm.
I glanced down to realize I’d gripped the small table too hard and there was a splinter sticking out of my skin. I pulled it out and returned my attention to Sarah.
Her gaze was filled with so much hurt, I wanted to run from it. Yet I forced myself to stay. “When the one person who’s supposed to love you, to think the sun shines from your arse, continually tells you that you’re stupid, worthless, that you ruined their life … you start to buy into it.”
“And where was your father in all this?” I bit out, guilt eating at me.
“He died in a farming accident when I was a baby. He was Grandpa’s son. Mum took me away from the farm after he was killed. But I stayed with my grandparents during the summers.Eventually, when I was twelve, things got so bad that I called Grandpa. He contacted social services and after a bit of time, my grandparents were given custody. They tried hard to undo what she’d done, but her words were tattooed on my brain. Every time I thought of asking a boy out or going to uni or going for a job I really wanted, I’d hear her voice in my head telling me that I couldn’t. That the boy wouldn’t want me, that I wasn’t smart enough for uni, or good enough for the job.”
“Jesus fuck,” I muttered, horrified.
“It took everything I had to publish the first Juno McLeod book. I’d been writing the series for years and Grandpa knew about it. When Jared found out, he hounded me until I decided to self-publish it. It was the success of the series that made me start to realize my mum was wrong about me. That was solidified when a publisher, a big publisher, wanted the print rights. Then Grandpa … not long before he died, he sat me down and told me he was worried about me. That he wanted me to go out andlive. Really live.” Tears glimmered in her eyes. “When he died, I decided I owed him to try. To go after what I want.”
Understanding dawned. “Which is why you came to my room to ask me to adapt the book?” And I’d treated her like an insignificant simpleton.
All the droll remarks I’d made about being so shocked by how smart and intelligent she was, how beautiful she was, I was just being typical me. Not thinking of the harm in it.
But I realized I’d probably been inflicting much harm indeed.
“I know I’m a cold-hearted sod sometimes, and I can’t promise not to be myself, but I can promise that from now on, I will never poke fun at your intelligence or worthiness again.”
Sarah’s lips parted in shock and then her expression softened in a way that scared the shit out of me.
So I pushed away my plate and pulled out my wallet and added blandly, “Thank goodness you realized you’re far fromstupid or you wouldn’t be enjoying someone asmensefulas I am.”
She snorted. “You’re not at all well-behaved or particularly polite. I’d say you were morejaculiferousthan menseful.”
Grinning, I stood, holding out a hand to help her from the table. “You think I’m prickly, little mouse?”
“As a porcupine.”
“I have never been accused of prickliness before.” I narrowed my eyes at her teasing. “But I shall try to refrain from being jaculiferous in the future.”
Sarah sighed dreamily. “It’s such a good word.”
My smile was so wide, it almost hurt as I stared down at her, resisting the urge to pull her into my side. “It is an excellent word.” We strode together to the counter to pay, and I waved away her hand as she held out her card. “Mendaciloquentis also a good word.”
“To tell lies,” she defined.
Good lord, she really did have the most exceptional vocabulary.
“It sounds better when you say it in your posh accent,” she teased.
“Everything sounds better in my posh accent.”
“True.” Her gaze flittered to the handsome tourist from earlier before coming back to me. “Though other accents are nice as well.”
Had the tourist spoken with an accent? I hadn’t heard him speak. Frowning, I paid for the meal, left a tip, and then took Sarah by the elbow, blocking her view of the tourist as I led her out. “How aboutcrepuscular?”
