Page 34 of Lillian

“You did! You think I wouldn’t remember that? When you broke up with me, you said it was because you wereembarrassed,”I say hotly, holding onto the memory of those words, how much they hurt me. Even after all this time, it stings.

“Yes,” he growls back, just as hot as my own. “I was embarrassed. Of them! It’s always them.” He points toward the door likethemare in the room with us.

“Them? Them who?” I ask back, throwing my hands out, confused. Then it clicks. “Wait. Your parents?”

Because who else could it be, if not me? We were fine before I met them.

An audible sigh. “It’s always them.” He looks out the window for a second before his eyes drop to the couch. “Can we sit?”

I don’t hesitate to nod this time—too anxious to actually get some answers—and follow him over to the couch. He sits in the middle, and I choose the farthest end of the couch near the arm. He raises an incredulous brow and pats the seat next to him.

I hesitate. “Frasier, I just had my dick in you a few hours ago. I think we’re past this,” he grins, laughter in his voice.

I don’t even berate him for using my last name. It sounds so familiar coming from him, and I’m tired of pretending I want the distance. Physical or emotional. I scooch over the cushions until I’m inches from him.

My body is turned so I’m leaning against the back of the couch, facing him, and he does the same. The box is settled on his leg now, and I’m itching to ask what’s in it. But I manage to bite my tongue.

The arm he has leaning against the couch comes up and tucks a now mostly-dry strand of hair behind my ear before dropping back down to hold onto one of my hands. The movement feels too intimate. Sex is one thing, but I have to protect my heart at least a little, so I pull my hand free.

Hurt fills his eyes, so I lean over and grab the blanket, pulling it over my lap to make it look like I needed my hands because I was cold. Though, I’m not sure why I even care so much about his feelings being hurt.

But I do.

“Your parents?” I prompt to move the story along, but also keep him distracted from my slight rejection.

He sighs but continues his story. “My parents are…” he pauses, searching for his words. “I don’t know why I’m trying to sugar coat it. They’re awful. Snobby and selfish. Hateful just for the spite of it. They’re everything that’s wrong with the wealthy. And they’ve hated every single girl I’ve ever dated.”

“They hated me?” I frown, and he nods. “They barely even met me.”

A snort escapes him, derision dripping from the single action. “As if that could possibly matter. They knew enough. Knew I was avoiding introducing you to them. Knew you didn’t come from money. Knew you were, and are, too sweet for their world.”

“Sounds like you hate them,” I whisper, pulling at a piece of loose fabric on my blanket.

“I have hated them for most of my life,” he states matter-of-factly.

“They’re your parents.” I frown at the cavalier way he says it. I can’t imagine hating my mom and dad. Kim and I have always had a healthy relationship with them.

“Just biologically. They didn’t even raise us. We had nannies growing up.” He rolls his eyes.

Nannies? I knew he came from money, but I didn’t know how much money. Wait…

“Us?” I ask him, unaware he has any siblings.

“I have an eighteen-year-old sister. Rebecca,” he admits. When he says her name, though… there’s something different about him. One sentence and I can almost feel the amount of love he has for her.

“I didn’t know.” I frown at him. His eyes soften.

“I don’t talk about her a lot. She’s had some mental health issues, so she lives onsite at an Equine Therapy Institute.” He pulls up his phone though, opens his camera roll, scrolls, and then shows me a picture of a young woman with dark, shoulder-length hair, and bright blue eyes. They must each take after a parent since Lincoln’s are a stunning hazel.

“She’s beautiful,” I smile at him, and he returns mine with a big, cheesy grin.

“I know,” he laughs, “and she knows, too.” He rolls his eyes, locks his phone, and puts it back in his sweatpants pocket.

“Linc… I don’t get it. What does having shitty parents and a sister have to do with anything? Did you think I couldn’t handle it?” Hurt laces my voice, and he straightens.

“Absolutely not. If anyone could handle my crazy parents, it’s you. They met you for two seconds, naturally didn’t approve, and I was still ready to tell them to fuck off that night. To go to you that next day, tell you I love you, and keep going as if nothing ever happened.”

My heart lifts to hear hedidlove me. That matters to me somehow. He told me he loved me this morning, but I realize how important it is for me to know he loved methen,too. “But?” I prompt, needing to know more about what happened that night.

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