“No. I see a whole lot more.” With a smile, he sat back in his chair. “I know you were married or are married. I’m not sure. You lived in South Africa before moving here just after we sle...er...we met.” He smiled for emphasis. Aria blushed. “You have a gorgeous daughter who’s an angel, so job well done on her. I assume it’s not as easy as it looks, so kudos on the whole single parent thing. You have an ‘I got this’ strength about you, and it’s appealing. Whatever the reason, your hubby’s an idiot for leaving a beautiful, brave woman like you.” Reece offered a gentle smile. “I ain’t the best judge of character at times, but from what I’ve seen so far, you’re an extremely independent woman, yet I sense someone hurt you, badly. I see the fear in your eyes, the indecision in your face, and your reaction to certain things as though you don’t like people crowding your personal space.”
The last words made her shift uncomfortably. Aria found Reece’s ability to read her so well after one night of sex and a few more in her company, uncanny. She paled at the idea of what he’d accomplish on a more defined relationship. Perhaps his easy way of appreciating life could melt her rigidity. Something she’d adapted to after Jay’s sarcastic façade he called love. Aria heaved a long sigh. Telling Reece the truth might bring the closure she sought.
“To answer your question, I was celebrating...” she paused and searched for the right words. “My freedom.”
“Your freedom?”
“I shot my husband.”
“You what?”
His flabbergasted question followed a comical look of disbelief, and Aria restrained the urge to laugh. Of course, this was a serious matter. But, she’d learned to self-heal quickly, and finding a humorous side to her predicament helped deal with the situation before. Not that there was humor in an abusive relationship.
“I shot my husband and celebrated with a one night stand. Unfortunately, the bastard didn’t die—”
“Whoa, babe.” Reece’s hands shot up in a stalling gesture. “As fascinating as the story sounds, do you mind startin’ at the beginning.”
“You’re right. When...” she broke off as Beth approached with two sumptuous steaming steaks. Aria inhaled. Smoked flavors of rosemary and mint filled her nostrils. “Wow, this looks good.”
“Only the best for my two gorgeous customers.” Beth beamed. She appeared to enjoy her role as hostess to a private dinner.
“Thank you, Beth.” Reece smiled, one that no doubt charmed her little old ticker.
“Enjoy.” She blew him a kiss then returned to the kitchen.
Aria cut into her steak. “Just after my sixteenth birthday, my father remarried. Let’s say she put Cinderella’s stepmother to shame.” Aria recalled the woman’s eccentricities with a grin. “Third stage psycho BFH is how I described her to my friends.”
“BFH?”
“Bitch from hell,” Aria explained, and Reece laughed. “Meena, my stepmother, was set on making my life a misery when my dad wasn’t around. She changed everything—no television, no sleepovers, and no pets. And when that didn’t work, she found ridiculous chores for me to do. If I went against her wishes, she’d sweet talk my father and have him believe I’d misbehaved. Or, she’d tear up one of my novels. My mom created this small library closet in my bedroom. Every book she purchased for me held an important place in my heart.” Tears pricked the back of her lids as Aria recalled the last few days before her mother died.
“You were close to your mom?”
Aria nodded. “She had an accident two days after my fifteenth birthday and died a week later from severe internal bleeding.” A sob hitched in her throat. With a heavy sigh, she swallowed to dislodge the obstacle.
“You okay? You don’t have to go on.” Reece’s soft words caressed her ears with a syrupy tenderness.
“I’m good, thanks. When I turned eighteen, my father suffered a stroke. Six months later, my stepmother took it upon herself to get me engaged. She called Jay the world’s catch of the century. An unlikely surmise since the man was about nine years older than me.” Aria cringed at the thought of his cold, clammy fingers on her body.
“At eighteen, you’re considered an adult and old enough to make your own decisions, right?” Reece asked, and she nodded. “Couldn’t you stand up to her?”
Aria chewed on her steak thoughtfully then set her utensils down with a shrug. “Indian homes are a little different in terms of respect. No matter the age, you don’t challenge your elders. Anyway, my father’s stroke took away his ability to walk and talk and confined him to a wheelchair. His wife saw no reason to consult him on any decisions. Naturally, her behavior frustrated the hell out of me, and I retaliated. I had no intention of marrying Jay.”
She sipped her drink. Distracted, she remembered the last one-sided conversation with her father. Aria had begged his forgiveness. His tear-filled gaze and tight grip on her fingers, the only indication he understood. It had taken every ounce of energy, to pull out of his grasp and turn away. The emotion as strong as that fateful day, Aria swallowed hard. She craved just one more day with her father.
“Aria?”
“Sorry.” She looked up and blinked away her tears in haste.
“Don’t be.” The gentle words held a ton of compassion.
Reece’s warmth scared her senseless. Aria wasn’t used to this kind of affection and unsure how to handle it; she gulped against the invasive emotion.
“When an opportunity presented itself, I ran away from home.” She thought back to the day her friend, Shivani, helped her escape. It turned out, Shivani’s mother was best buds with Aria’s stepmother, and she called Meena. “It hadn’t gone according to plan, and I became a prisoner in my home. Bodyguards at the door, my mobile, and laptop were taken away, the landline in my room disconnected, and I was locked in. Only allowed out when Jay visited.”
“God, babe, I’m sorry. Did Jay...hurt you?” Reece’s stilted question spoke to his underlying fury.
“Fortunately, he never touched me. When he came around, it usually ended in a drinking session with my stepmother and her friends. Sometimes there’d be drugs, loud music, and orgies.”
