Page 21 of The Way You Hurt Me

I blink. “I can’t imagine what you might want with me.”

That makes him pause, and turn to face me. “Can’t you?”

I’d like to say I’m more sophisticated than that, but nope. I’m blushing all over, again. There’s no doubt I’m the hue of a tomato.

“I’ll give you a hint. An overly cheesy lasagna, half a dozen plates, an empty chair. You keep missing Christmas.”

I sigh. “Not everyone is into Christmas, you know. Growing up, it was no big deal in the Brown household.”

“Well, your sister is trying to make it a big deal now, and your continued absence hurts her.”

Ouch.

When he says it like that, I sound like an asshole.

“They live in California. Not all of us have a private jet we can just hop on.”

“Your sister would happily pay for your travel and you know it. Besides, you’re very welcome to a seat on said private jet.”

“Maybe I don’t want my sister to keep footing the bill for everything I do,” I retort, not even addressing the second argument.

The very thought that I would ask him for a ride is ludicrous, and he knows it.

“And why is this any of your business, anyway? If Morgan truly minded, she’d tell me.”

“She told you, several times. I’m making it my business because you’re not listening.”

The fact that he’s so protective of my sister’s feelings triggers the hurt I’ve long kept behind thick walls and ignored. The feeling that no matter what I do, I’ll never be as loved, as cared for, as good as Morgan. Not to him. Not to anyone.

“Piss off,” I snap, wrenching his arm away from my back, before striding forward.

Except I can’t just storm away dramatically, leaving Lucy, so instead I just return to my friend, hoping against all hope that Dimitri’ll leave me alone.

To my surprise, he does, returning to his CEO pal instead.

But I can’t help it: my eyes return to him several times.

Each time, his are fixed on me.

This is far from over.

9

WILLOW

Istop drinking, although I didn't dream up Dimitri. Somehow, something tells me that being imbibed around him would be the next terrible idea in a long list of bad ones associated with him. They say alcohol makes people honest, and the last thing I need is a loose tongue around him.

But he truly does keep his distance, which should make me feel...nothing. I should be indifferent to anything regarding the guy. He's indifferent to me. He's married, for Christ’s sake. That makes him officially not my problem. Still, I can't deny I'm disappointed. It seems like I'll always be fucking stupid when it comes to him, doesn't it?

But he doesn't speak to me again that night, although he certainly watches me.

I can't quite make sense of the looks. It's different from the way he used to look at me, like he didn't quite know what to do with me—send me to an asylum or spank me again. Clearly, I would have preferred option two. Now, it's more intense. Decisive. Although I have no cluewhathe's decided, really. Given the fact that he leaves me alone, he probably chose to have nothing to do with me.

The next morning, I'm still pondering all of it when someone rings the doorbell.

As a self-employed person, Anne's already out the door, working at her bookshop, and Lucy's hungover—judging by the way I saw her drag her feet to grab a water and Tylenol an hour ago—so although I'm not waiting for anything, it's up to me to get up. I sigh as I throw a robe over my PJs and drag my ass off the sofa. My company, like Lucy's, is shut down today to give us all a long weekend, so I intended to lie down for as long as possible.

It's a food delivery, and it smells fucking delicious.

---