Page 66 of Pucking Billionaire

Then again, his arm is somehow helping me recover, which I think justifies allowing the embrace for a little bit longer.

For a couple of minutes. Or a dozen minutes.

He also smells really good, like a winter forest. There is such a thing as aroma therapy, so I just inhale deeper and let myself enjoy it.

He glances at me and nods approvingly. “Your color is returning.”

Maybe. Or maybe it’s the foundation I applied while I was in the bathroom. “What was the song you sang to me?”

He abruptly removes the comfort of his arm, and through the wet tank, I can see his muscles tensing. “Estonian Lullaby. My mother would sing it to me when I was little.”

Oh, shit. I think I finally get it. “Something happened to her, didn’t it?”

Mason’s expression turns stormy. “No.”

“Oh.” What then? Because his parents seem to be a touchy subject, to say the least.

I must be staring at him expectantly because he scrubs a rough hand over his face and blows out a breath before looking away. When he looks back at me, his expression is carefully blank. “My mother and father are alive and well,” he says evenly.

I bite my lip. I can still sense something there, and some devil prods me to ask, “Did your dossier mention my mother?”

He shakes his head. “It really wasn’t as in depth as you think. Mainly, I learned your credit score, how much income you had prior to your inheritance, and most importantly, the places where I might bump into you.”

Oh. So… nothing about Rupert. A huge weight lifts off my shoulders. I’d rather puke in front of Mason a dozen more times than have him learn about how I was duped like a lovesick fool. I do feel the urge to tell him something more, though—if only because I’m certain there is something complicated going on between him and his parents… just like between my mother and me.

“When I turned eighteen, my mother opened a bunch of credit cards in my name and used the money to pay for her drug addiction,” I say, matching his even tone. I don’t know why, but I don’t find this as embarrassing as the Rupert situation—maybe because in this case, I didn’t participate in my own destruction. “Needless to say,” I continue. “We’re no longer on speaking terms.”

Mason’s hard features soften. He takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze that is a touch too hard. “I’m so sorry. I know exactly how you feel.”

“You do?” I stare at him.

Mason’s jaw tenses. “What I am about to tell you, I’ve never told anyone.”

I don’t blink. I even momentarily stop breathing.

“My parents do not want me in their life.” The words are loaded with so much pain my throat burns on his behalf. “Remember when I told you how Estonia is the least religious country in the world? Well, as irony would have it, my parents found religion and turned into the kind of zealots who give you two choices: join us or we never want to see you again.”

That is the last thing I expected to hear.

Speechless, I gape at him.

“I actually tried. Went to services with them and read their holy books—but of course, enthusiasm is very difficult to fake. It didn’t help that they thought I was up to ‘debauchery’ based on the bullshit they read about me in the tabloids. Even if the stories were true, for them to judge me is hypocritical to say the least—my father used to drink more vodka than our captain, and my mom had at least two affairs that I know of. But anyway, eventually they sat me down and told me they decided it would be best for them if they didn’t have a son, and requested I never call or visit.”

This time, I’m the one who grabs his hand. It’s ice cold, so I rub it between my palms, using friction to return some warmth to his skin.

“I’m so sorry,” I say earnestly. “And I hope you realize that it’s their loss.”

And I mean it, too. He’s an attractive, successful, wealthy man who is, some stalking aside, also genuinely nice. At least insofar as taking care of a seasick woman. Or saving a man’s life.

Yeah, that last one is kind of a biggie.

“Same goes for you,” he says. “Your mother is the one missing out.”

I swallow a sudden knot in my throat. “Yeah, sure.”

“I mean it,” he says.

I sigh. “Rationally, I know that’s true, but I often feel shitty regardless.” And have issues that led to me ending up with someone like Rupert.

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