Page 52 of Thorns of Malice

She puts her hand on mine. "Well, Dax Carrington, have you suddenly become a prude?"

It's the first time I've ever been called that. And I hate it. It's a dose of reality of how she must've felt when I would use that tactic on her or the others.

"Ivy, you don't have to do this."

"Do what?" she asks as I drive up the long path to the main house.

I answer, "You don't have to do whatever you think you have to do right now."

She gives me an innocent look. "What do you think I need to do, Dax?"

I stay quiet, unsure how to answer, continuing up the driveway and catching a glimpse of the lighted windows.

She states, "You know, I've never been inside this house."

"It's because I hated it," I admit.

"Why did you hate it so much?" she questions.

I park the car and shake my head. "Lots of reasons." I go to get out.

"Stop," she commands.

I freeze and then look at her, waiting.

She declares, "I want to know why you hated it. I've always wondered what was so bad that made you not want to live in this grand house. So tell me."

My gut flips. "Let's talk about it a different night."

"No, let's talk about it now," she firmly asserts.

The tables have turned, and I hate it, but I'm too desperate to keep her in my life. So I swallow my pride, admitting, "My father hated me. But you knew that. My mother couldn't stand me much either. She preferred Cooper. My dad preferred Avery. I was the kid they didn't really want."

I can see compassion in her eyes as her voice softens. "What do you mean they didn't want you?"

I pull my thoughts together, shoving my emotions down, confessing, "They didn't want me. My mom got pregnant. Mygrandfather hated my father, but my father tricked my mother into marrying him."

Ivy continues to push, asking, "Why didn't your grandfather like him?"

I sniff hard and stare at her, knowing the answer will sound horrible.

"What is it? Go on. You can tell me," she encourages.

All the trust I had in her reappears. I try to collect my thoughts.

She softly demands, "Don't lie to me, Dax. Just tell me the truth. For once, tell me the truth."

I cave. "Okay. My father was poor. According to my grandfather, he grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. So he didn't like him."

Ivy's eyes turn to slits, but then she starts to laugh, asserting, "So he was like me."

I shake my head. "No. My father was nothing like you."

"No? I'm poor. It's just a reverse situation, isn't it?"

I hate that it looks that way on paper. I claim, "You don't understand my father. He was conniving. He's a horrible person. He used to hit me," I blurt out and then turn my head in shame, staring out the window.

Tense silence fills the car.

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