Page 136 of The Sea Witch's Son

“More than you would think.”

Staring up at him, I marvel at the amount of pain he must have gone through to get to that height. The amount of suffering he went through alone because his mother couldn’t be bothered to care about anyone other than herself.

“How bad was it?”

He lifts a brow, “The rumours?”

“The growing pains.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Nothing that I couldn’t handle.” A grin hits that handsome face, “If I had known you were this small, I wouldn’t have bothered growing at all.”

Laughter bursts out of me, and I swear those eyes glow a shade brighter.

“You’re such a dick.”

“I believe that is the size you are most fond of.”

A stupid smile hits my face when I flip him off.

“So, this is it? Marlin Seaborn’s great suit collection?”

Sweeping my eyes back over the rows of designer clothes, I can’t fight the feeling of disappointment.

I wanted more. More of him, more clues as to who he is beneath those suits.

I wanted to see beyond the wealthy, untouchable surface.

“Do you know how much these dress shirts cost?” Marlin walks over and pulls out a sleeve for my inspection, “Custom-tailoredandimported from the finest silk shop in town.”

“Sounds like you need to work on budgeting.” A disbelieving laugh escapes me, “What do you need all this for, anyways?”

“Is it wrong for a man to take pride in his appearance?”

“Of course not, but this is a bit obsessive. It’s like you’re...”

The words shrivel up on my tongue when Marlin pulls out an honest-to-God ironing board. It’s worn from years of use, the faded blue material speaking to the number of times he’s used it.

And suddenly Iunderstand.

Long, strong fingers carefully pinch the grey material, folding the shirt so perfect creases line the side. He plugs in the iron and smooths the material down, following the same pattern of steps for each and every crease.

“It’s your armour.” I say the words quietly.

He shoots me a bemused glance, “Unfortunately, silk does not hold up well against a knife. Calista has tested that fact on many occasions.”

I stare at him, taking in the perfectly styled white hair and violet eyes. Such rare and distinct features that nobody would ever think twice about whose son he is.

“What happened to your father?”

The iron pauses mid-air before continuing on its way.

“If you were listening at dinner, you would already know the answer.” His tone is colder, a little harsher than before.

“He left you.”

“He made his choice.” His eyes stay trained on the expensive material, “As did I.”

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