Page 128 of Square Deal

A soft smile crossed her sun-kissed lips as she watched the surf break. “I don’t really decorate with pictures.”

I noticed that the very first time I set foot into her house. It’s why I knew I was pressing my luck when I asked, “Why not?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You know, things are rarely as complicated as we make them in our own heads.”

She gave me a doubtful look as she pulled a hair tie off of her wrist and raked her hair back into a stubby ponytail.

I bumped her hip with mine. “Talk to me, Princess.”

Hannah stared out at the horizon. “My parents’ house is a damn shrine. Years ago, my mom had a five-foot-tall oil painting of our family commissioned. It hangs in the foyer, and it’s creepy as hell. There are tons of photos of my brother and me. They’re all over the place. Pictures of us and our awards. Debate team and cheerleading. Jake and his little league trophies. Me winning pageants.”

There was something about the way she lacedpageantswith deadly venom that piqued my interest.

“So, no pictures because your mom went overboard?” I mean, it made sense, but I had a feeling there was more to it than decor preferences.

Hannah shook her head. “She put me in the pageant circuit when I was a baby. When I was in elementary school, she’d pick me up early for spray tans and nail appointments. I thought it was great because I liked getting all dressed up and having people tell me how pretty I was. But, when I started losing baby teeth and had gaps in my smile, she had me start wearing fake teeth. It was all downhill from there.”

I tugged on her hand and we sat down in the sand. The edge of the tide rushed up the beach and grazed our bare feet.

Hannah picked up a waterlogged piece of wood and poked at the wet sand. “I was not the best looking teenager. Puberty wasn’t kind to me, and I went from looking like an adorable little kid to struggling with acne and weight gain. I had glasses and braces for years. It was a real ugly duckling situation until I hit college and took control of my life. My appearance didn’t really bother me, but I started losing pageants. That’s what my mom cared about. She couldn’t brag about trophies and tiaras. She stopped putting pictures up, and the ones that she did had been retouched.”

“You were just another trophy for her to show off.”

Hannah nodded. “I was just a pretty thing for her to keep on a shelf. They raised me to marry a CEO while I wanted to be theCEO. For a long time, I did everything I could to please her. I tried every skincare routine on the planet to get rid of my pimples. I starved myself to lose weight. Nothing worked. I wasn’t good enough. Pretty enough. And the thing is, I thought it was me. She let me believe that I was the problem. It didn’t matter that every other girl my age struggled with the same things because that’s just teenage hormones for you. I needed to cover my acne up with makeup. I needed to work out more, eat less. I needed to be the prom queen and the homecoming queen. Not for me—for her. To prove in some sick, twisted way that I was good enough for her. Good enough to be a Hayes.”

Everything made sense. All of it. Her secret obsession with forbidden cereal. The intense desire to be in control. To have her house looking perfect. To always be put together. To never be seen without a full face of makeup.

The desperate need to cut herself off from a diseased tree.

I had always wondered why she was hesitant about our relationship being public knowledge, and now I understood. She was a recovering people pleaser. She didn’t need the pressure of a social media commentary and tabloids documenting and judging her every move.

I scooted her over into my lap and wrapped my arms around her. Pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, I said, “You’re not a fixer-upper. I love you as is.”

Hannah leaned back in my arms and closed her eyes. “My therapist would have a field day if she ever met my mother.”

That made two of us.

Hannah had me questioning the legality of buying an entire city and going back to the olden days of flogging someone in a public square, just so I could shame the woman who nearly broke Hannah.

We stood and brushed the sand off. As we turned to head back to where the poker club had set up camp, Hannah slipped herhand in mine and asked, “What about your family? You don’t talk about them often.”

I chuckled. “We’re about as dysfunctional as yours.”

“Let me guess—y’all hide it well, too,” she said a little more lightheartedly.

“You and me, Princess. Peas in a pod,” I quipped. “We go together like chocolate and peanut butter,” I said, remembering her vehemence that she was complete just the way she was but still wanted to find her life partner. I gave myself props for recalling that little tidbit. I had this boyfriend thing down pat.

This seemed like a conversation we should have had a long time ago, but better late than never. Our relationship certainly wasn’t running on a typical timeline—at least by my guess. But regardless of how we got together and how backward our path to each other was, it was our story, and it was perfect.

“I went away to boarding school when I was in kindergarten and had a live-in nanny during the summers,” I began. “My parents divorced before I learned how to talk. I’m the only child from my parents. I have a ton of step-siblings, but I stopped bothering to meet all of them a long time ago. My mother spends her days alternating between inpatient rehabs that pretend to be luxury spas and going on plastic surgery benders. I call my father by his first name, and the only time we see each other is in board meetings. I think he’s on wife number seven now, but to be perfectly honest, I’ve lost count. I have no idea what her name is, but I do know that she’s younger than you.”

Hannah laughed, loud and long. “You’re joking, right?” She giggled, wiping her eyes.

I grinned. “Not kidding, Princess. We’re a shit show.”

The poker club tent came into view, and we spotted everyone crowded around a cooler, passing around food.

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