Page 48 of The Opposite Effect

Grabbing the carton of milk, I stand in front of her. “It’s all good.” I set the milk down in front of her. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes lift from the speckled black counter to me before she nods.

“Then we are all good.”

Taking a step backward, I brace my back on the kitchen counter. The next few minutes are filled with quiet as we stand across from each other enjoying the pick-me-up only a healthy dose of caffeine can give. Although Clara doesn’t look as tired as she did last night, she still appears restless. That probably has something to do with the little whimpers that escaped her lips while she slept.

Once her mug is empty, Clara sets it on the countertop and lifts her eyes to me. “How come you didn’t take advantage of the situation last night?” she queries with her brows scrunched tightly.

After placing my mug in the sink, I cross my arms in front of my bare chest. “Because under thisbeastlyexterior is a man whose grandma raised him right.”

Clara smiles softly. “You were raised by your grandma?”

I nod. “Yeah. My momma died when I was little. I have no clue about my dad.”

A flash of remorse passes Clara’s eyes, but she remains quiet.

“You?” I query, hoping since I’ve shared personal information, she may as well.

Her face cringes. “I was raised by a handful of nannies.” She straightens her spine and sits higher in her chair. “My mom had been unwell for a long time, and my dad was always busy.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Clara shrugs. “I guess it’s all part and parcel of being born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Not something you would have ever had to worry about.”

She balks as her pupils widen. Even though I can see she wishes she could ram her words back down her throat, it doesn’t stop my anger from rising.

“No, it’s not something I could ever say concerned me.” I try to keep the sneer out of my tone, but I fail miserably. “Can I ask you a question?” Even though I’m asking a question, I continue speaking, not giving her a chance to reply, “Where was that silver spoon when your car got towed and you were served an eviction notice? Where was it when you moved into a rat-infested dump? And where the fuck was it when you got jumped in the alley while working on the side of town you should haveneverstepped foot in?”

Clara locks her soul-burning gaze with mine. “You,of all people, are going to judge me?”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ am,” I reply, ignoring the way her little snipe dented my ego. “Because if you didn’t have the crew of Inked and me stepping up to the plate, you’d be out there swinging the bat on your fucking own.”

My words are callous, but now that they’re unleashed, I haveno chance of reeling it in. My mind is spiraling, incapable of grasping how Clara can sit before me declaring she has a glamorous life when all I’ve witnessed the past several months is her taking blow after blow after fucking blow.

Ignoring the anger blemishing her skin with a pink hue, I ask the question I’ve wanted to know for weeks, “Where’s this Isaac guy you wanted to mark your skin with? You cared enough about him that you were going to permanently bear his name on your hip, but he’s nowhere to be found the instant your life starts circling the toilet bowl.”

Clara pushes back from the kitchen counter, sending the barstool toppling over. She glares at me with nothing but disdain tainting her arctic eyes. Her lips twitch, dying to fight back, but not a single word spills from her mouth.

“He was your daddy replacement, wasn’t he? A strong, dominant man you wanted to swoop in and look after you the way your father should have.”

Her nostrils flare as anger envelops her entire body. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her words fly from her mouth like daggers.

“Fucking bullshit, Princess.” My voice is as vicious as my words. “You’re the classic story of a poor, unloved little rich girl. When you failed to secure the love of your daddy, you went hunting for the next best thing… a man just like him.”

With her fists clenched at her side, Clara charges into the laundry room. The washing machine beeps, announcing it has been opened, when she yanks the door so hard, it indents the drywall.

Ignoring the fact her dress is still wet, she throws my shirt over the top of her head before dragging her dripping wet dress up her quivering thighs. You’d think her absurd overreaction wouldsurprise me. It doesn’t. The only thing I’m shocked about is that she doesn’t attempt to refute my claim.

No bitchy reply.

No snarky remark.

Nothing.

“Come on, Princess. Where’s your fighting spirit? What happened to the feisty little temptress who has told me time and time again how she can look after herself? Where the fuck has that Clara gone?”

“Icantake care of myself,” she hisses, her angry words unable to hide the sob sitting at the back of her throat, dying to break free.

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