He circles me, like I’m his prey, probably because I am. After all, he’s spent years making me so. “The future king well within your grasp, Contessa, and you choose to bed the court jester, simply because he makes you laugh.” He walks away then, speaking with each controlled step. “Consider your last semester of law school unpaid—and consider it a charitable punishment. I tire of your incompetence.”

I startle when the door slams shut behind him, the sudden movement causing the room to spin and nausea to engulf me. I race into my bedroom and into the bathroom, throwing the lid to the toilet open as I fall into an awkward crouch.

I’m sure I’m going to be sick, the pain crawling from my stomach and to my throat burning like liquid fire. But despite the agony, I can’t escape my father’s judgment or his words.

It doesn’t matter how hard I’ve worked, or what I’ve achieved. To him, I’m nothing more than a drunken slut, far too inept to ever evolve into more.

The pain increases as his cruelty consumes me. I don’t want to be so weak. But when it comes to my father, I always have been.

Tears drip from my chin. How is it possible for him to defeat me with only words? Wasn’t he supposed to be the first man to love me?

The pain takes its time to dissolve until I’m finally able to stand and wash my hands. Slowly I walk out to my bedroom and lower myself to the edge of the bed. I glance down, realizing for the first time how hard I’m trembling.

I stare at my shaking hands. This time, misery doesn’t cause my tears. But hate does.

I hate my father.

It should hurt to think it, and I should feel some guilt. Yet all I feel is numb.

There are women who worship their fathers. Women who seek their advice. Women who easily express affection to the men who gave them life.

I was forced to worship.

I was told to idolize.

I sought advice to pacify him.

And I was expected to show affection.

But I never meant any of it.

One memory. I rack my mind for one moment that would hint at a true gesture of love or kindness. I find nothing.

I hate him. But I realize then that perhaps he hates me, too.

I’m not sure how long I sit there, only that it’s long enough for my trembling to subside and for darkness to claim the room. I finally stand and return to the bathroom, stopping short when I see my reflection.

My mouth falls open. Am I really this pale, or is this how my interactions with my father leave me—an apparition of what I could be?

I startle again when someone knocks, two beats followed by one, then two.

Curran has arrived.

Chapter 23

Tess

I rush to open my cosmetics drawer when Curran knocks again. “Baby, you in there?”

I pass some blush powder over my cheeks. “I’m coming. I’m in the bathroom.” My fingers make quick work of fluffing my hair and adjusting my glasses before I all but run to open the door.

Curran crosses the threshold with a bag of groceries tucked under his arm. His smile isn’t forced. Not like mine. “Hey, angel face.”

“Hey, cop.”

As soon as I lock the door, he pulls me into a one-arm hug and kisses me, but when he pulls back, he’s frowning. “You okay?”

I step back, glancing around nervously. “Yes. Just tired. Long day of reading and research.”

He watches me for a beat, his attention traveling to the dining room, where my laptop is open and my books and notes are spread out. Yet despite my “evidence,” it’s clear he doesn’t believe me. I rub his shoulder. “But it’s better now that you’re here,” I say. And because I mean that so much, it helps me smile for real this time, helping us both to relax.

When his smile meets mine, I take his hand and lead him into the kitchen. “So, what magnificent feast do you have in store for me tonight?”

“Spaghetti. With my secret sauce.”

“Ketchup?” I offer.

He laughs and places the bag on the counter before stripping out of his jacket. “It’s actually made with roasted vegetables. It won’t take long once they’re done cooking.”

I stand behind him and circle his waist with my arms before kissing the spot behind his ears. “Mmm. Sounds awesome.”

“It’s not all wild sex and movie star looks, babe. I got mad skills you’ve never even dreamed of.”

“Really?” I nuzzle his neck. “I can’t wait to see them.”

“Yeah?” He turns his head to meet my face. “Well, what say we get these groceries unpacked and I’ll show you while the veggies cook.”

My body warms at the sizzle in his eyes. I release him, grinning, and step toward the paper bag perched on the counter. When I reach in, I expect to find only food. Instead my fingers latch on to the thick string of a small gift bag.

He shrugs when I glance back at him. “It’s no big deal. I saw it, and thought of you.”

“That’s so sweet, babe.” I push aside the green tissue paper, touched by the gesture. But when I pull out a pair of pink and navy argyle socks, my heart falls to the floor.

“I know you like those things, and I figured you can never have enough, right?”

His voice trails when he sees my face.

My father’s appearance had left me raw. And while Curran had managed to lift my spirits, these ridiculous socks and their significance cause me to lose my composure.

“Tess…what’s wrong?”

I back away when he reaches for me, batting my hands and trying to shake off my reaction. “What’s wrong?” he asks again. This time, he clasps my wrists and doesn’t let go.

“Christ,” he says, pulling me to him to cup my face. “What is it? Did something happen—did someone hurt you?”

“It-it’s nothing,” I insist, even though by now I’m crying.

A fierceness I’ve never seen spreads across his features, hardening them to steel. “Tell me what’s happening,” he says through clenched teeth.

My face meets his, that awful feeling of hate returning. “I don’t like the socks.”

It’s an asinine thing to say, and at first he seems confused, until he realizes I mean a lot more. “Why?”

I release a shaky breath. For all I didn’t want him to know, there’s no going back now. “Because I’m forced to wear them,” I admit.

“How are you forced to…Jesus,” he says, when he notices my worsening state. “Is this about your dad?”

I don’t want to answer, but manage to nod.

“He…dresses you? Picks out your clothes? Is that what you’re saying?”

Again, all I do is nod.

“Does he…” Curran drops his arms away, swallowing hard, his rage brewing close to the surface. “Does he put his hands on you?”

“No. Not like you think. What he does isn’t physical.”

“Then how does he force you, and why do you let him?”

My lips part. Curran’s harsh tone borders on accusing. “It’s not easy to explain.”

“Maybe not. But you need to tell me, and you need to tell me right now.”

There’s no getting out of this. And while I hate that I’ve kept so much from him, it doesn’t make it any easier to speak. I cross my arms and walk into the living room.

Curran follows, lowering himself beside me when I take a seat on the couch. He waits, giving me time to gather my thoughts. I only hope I can form them into words he’ll understand.

“I have nothing,” I tell him. “I have no claim to this apartment or anything in it. My education, rent, utilities, and everything else is paid for, but it comes at a price.”

Curran doesn’t move and barely blinks. But he’s listening. The anger stirring in his irises tells me as much.