“You don’t remember?” I say in surprise, keeping my arms around her because the weight of her feels good. And it’s only until we arrive at my place.
She doesn’t make any move to squirm off my lap, and gazes off into the distance. “There are a lot of things I don’t, although I get a warm, fuzzy feeling right here”—she places a hand over her chest—“every time I think of my parents. They passed away from food poisoning when I was little. But I recall Mom taking me on her travels and teaching me how to draw. She was an amazing artist, and she was always generous with praise. Apparently, she refused to live in Nesovia until Grandpa did more to protect me and my inheritance.”
Fucking Nesovia. That explains a lot about her predicament. That country is ridiculously medieval in its attitude toward women.
She continues, “After we finally settled there, Dad taught me to ride, since he wasn’t much of an artist.” She smiles a little. “Lady was a wonderful pony. All white, with a beige spot on her forehead. I used to say that was where her invisible horn was, because I was convinced she was secretly a unicorn princess hiding from her evil stepmom, and my parents indulged me.”
“They sound like lovely people,” I say softly.
“They were. Not sure what happened to Lady after my grandfather passed away. I didn’t have much time to spend with her. On top of that, I was too upset and traumatized, and Doris kept me busy with school, tutors and therapists who were hired ostensibly to help me overcome my grief. I hope she sold Lady and found her a great new home. I don’t even care that she might’ve made a profit from the sale, as long as Lady had a good life.”
Her wistful tone sends a ripple through my heart. I squeeze her hand, trying to comfort her. “I’m sure she did.”
She rests her head on my shoulder. The gesture feels shockingly natural, which is weird and uncharacteristic for me. Normally I don’t care for women leaning on me. It means they’re starting to develop feelings, which means they’re beginning to become obsessed. And then there’s the clinging and sobbing about love and just generally being nightmarish.
But with Lareina, having her lean on me a little doesn’t seem so terrible.Just until we reach the house. I can indulge her for that long. Besides, she smells good, so it isn’t such a hardship.
“I miss Mom and her paintings,” she continues. “And drawing.”
“Are you any good?”
“No.” She makes a face. “Mom always said I was amazing and talented, more so than her. But apparently I suck at it.”
“Do you paint often?”
“Yeah. Doris begrudges spending money on me—but not art supplies, especially after a conversation with my therapist. It supposedly helps me stay calm and dream of an escape and a better life. He thinks that since I’m reluctant to open up to him, he can use my art to see into my mind. But I doubt he’s good enough to figure anything out, paintings or no, and I need something to keep me sane when things get too stressful and unsafe.”
Unsafe?“Did they hit you?”
“No. But they wanted to pair me up with Rupert. Badly.”
“Did he…try to force himself on you?”
“He tried, but failed. I slashed at him with a fruit knife I had, and he got scared. He tried again, but then quit when he realized I wasn’t going to give up my knife, and he might never get his filthy paws on my inheritance.” She snort-laughs at the memory.
Her laughter horrifies me. She’s laughing because that’s the only way she can cope with the trauma.
She adds, “I made sure to have a knife, but I also threatened to jump off the balcony if Rupert forced himself on me, which scared them. They couldn’t afford to have me dead and lose my inheritance, so Rupert behaved, sort of.”
“I’m going to murder that son of a bitch.”
“Get in line. I plan to make them all pay.” Her tone is shockingly light, and her eyes show no hint of rage as she straightens her knees before dropping her feet.
I can’t process her reaction at all. “You aren’t upset?”
“Is the past worth being so angry about right now when my belly is full of delicious food and I’m with a husband who can keep Rupert away from me?”
I frown at the question.
“Not really,” she answers without waiting for my response. Her practical outlook is stunning. Perhaps her therapist reallyisgood, even if he can’t figure out her situation with Rupert and all.
“But enough about me. I can tell it’s just making you gloomy,” she says. “Tell me aboutyou. I feel like I should know something about my husband.”
A clumsy attempt at distraction, but I humor her. “I’m a lawyer. My entire family is, actually, except for my stepmom and my cousin. I have two brothers—twins. Bryce and Josh. Hard to tell them apart, and they’re both dicks unless you’re family. And one aunt. Jeremiah is her name.”
“Sounds like a man’s name.”
“Yes, but we don’t mention that because it was Grandmother’s decision. She wanted her daughter to be strong and powerful.”
