Page 92 of Heartless Sinner

"Continue my search for a job. Your mom wants to come to one of my auditions." I giggle. "Maybe she can be my good luck charm." The thought sends a warm flutter through my chest.

He grins, looking proud as he rests his hands on his knees. The muscles in his forearms flex with the movement, and my heart skips a beat at the casual display of strength. "She likes you a lot. That's rare for her to like someone she’s just met."

"I feel honored. I like her, too. She's really something."

In the buildup to the wedding, Genevieve took it upon herself to be there for me. She took care of me in a way that I imagine a mother would, her presence both grounding and uplifting. The memory of her gentle guidance makes my throat tighten withemotion. I know she didn't have to help me, but I was so grateful she did.

"My mother is one of those unique characters that make life more interesting.” Micah’s voice carries a note of pride that makes me smile. “You saw how she was at our engagement dinner. Not even my father wanted to cross her."

We both laugh. I laugh a little harder when I remember how she casually asked everyone if we wanted more ice cream after she roasted Eloise. The memory tastes sweet, like victory.

"I want to be like her. Confident and strong." The words come out softer than I intend, carrying the remains of my old insecurities that still cling to me like shadows.

"You are like that. You'd have to be confident and strong to be an actress and do all the things you've done." His conviction makes my skin prickle with goose bumps.

"You're too nice to me, Mr. Delarosa."

He smirks, and the look sends heat coursing through my veins. "You know I'm not nice, Mrs. Delarosa."

I blush at the sound of my new name. "Yet all you've been is nice to me."

"Because that's what you needed from me. I would never be nice by lying to you. So, believe me when I say you are confident and strong. You've just been through shit."

"I guess that’s true. It was nice having your mom around. I don't even know where my mom is. She wouldn't care to hear that I got married. Maybe the money would bring her out from wherever she is. Maybe not." I shake my head at myself, feeling the familiar hollowness in my chest whenever I think of my mother. "I... never talk about my mother, but I presume you must know she left me." The admission tastes bitter on my tongue, disappointment rising like bile in my throat.

Sadness drifts into Micah’s eyes, and he nods. "I know. I figured you'd talk about her and anything else on your mind when you were ready."

"Sometimes, I feel like I never want to speak about any of those things again. At other times, I want to shout it from the rooftop so people know the hell I’ve been through." My fingers twist in the sheet.

He reaches across and takes my hand, giving it a little squeeze. His palm is warm against mine, offering comfort that seeps into my bones.

"When was the last time you saw her?" His voice is gentle, like he's afraid speaking too loudly might shatter me.

"I was nine. It was the day she left. I barely remember what she looks like. She had blonde hair and blue eyes like my brother does. That's all I remember." The memory is fuzzy around the edges, and each year, it fades just a little more. "I can't imagine leaving my children the way she did."

"I'm sorry she left you. You deserved better."

My breath hitches and a tear runs down my cheek, hot against my cooling skin. "Thank you for saying that, but apart from you, so much bad has happened to me. It started with her and ended with Anton. I've tried not to think about him, but he's always in the back of my mind." The admission ignites that old pain that's never far away.

"What did he do to you, bellezza? Tell me. I don't know those parts, and I want to." Micah’s jaw clenches and he gives me a hard stare, a muscle ticking beneath his skin.

"Anton really messed with my mind." I press my lips together and decide it's time to talk about those darker parts of my life. “He used to beat me when he'd had too much to drink and when he was stoned.” Each word feels like glass in my throat but I take a little breath then continue talking, telling him everything.

It’s strange but I feel better after. Like talking to Micah was another part of the healing process.

"Why didn't you tell me this before, Scarlett?" Micah’s voice roughens with anger but his touch remains gentle on my skin.

"It's hard to talk about. And I'm embarrassed I stayed so long. I stayed until I was too weak to leave. If not for that federal investigation, I'd either still be under Anton’s control or dead." I blow out a ragged breath thinking of those very real possibilities.

Micah brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. "You don't have to worry about him anymore. You're with me now. I'm not going to let anything happen to you." His promise sounds just as dutiful as the vows we took on our wedding day.

"I don't want anything to happen to you." My fingers tighten on his, seeking solace.

He smiles back at me, but I can still read the tension in his eyes. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm Micah Delarosa."

I find myself smiling, too, warmth blooming in my chest. "Yes, you are. And there is no one like you. You're the prince."

"I like that. Can the prince give his princess another present?" The playfulness in his tone lightens the heavy atmosphere.

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