Page 78 of Ashes of Saints

Yes, he’s insanely possessive and rough with me in bed, but if I’m honest, it makes me feel like I belong.

With him.

And I want that.

“Tell me. Tell me about her.” Parker repositions himself so his arm is around me as I nestle into his warm body.

What can I tell him?

There’s only one honest answer.

“I don’t think she loved me.” I confess for the first time out loud.

PARKER

THAT WASN’T AT all what I thought she was going to say. My interpretation of Aurora's life, from my perspective as a boy taken to Mary-Anne’s home, was that she was loved and cherished.

She was protected from what was going on in the other parts of her home and looked to live a golden life.

If I hadn’t spent the last few weeks with Aurora, I’d be rolling my eyes at the Manhattan princess, telling her to call a shrink.

But things are not adding up.

Knowing that she’s not my sister—thank fuck—I start broadening my curiosity. She shared that she was homeschooled and didn’t know who her father was. With all the men I remember floating around, it could’ve been anyone.

“Do you have any details on your father now?”

She shakes her head.

“The stork must’ve delivered me.” She sighs. “Mom wouldn’t tell me. The more I pushed, the angrier she got.”

Angry?

That’s an odd reaction to a child wanting to know who their father is. I brush the hair off her forehead and she sits up straight.

“I used to pretend he was the president or a famous actor. Kevin Costner was my dad at one point.”

I let out a soft chuckle. Then ask a question that is creeping way too close to the entire reason I’m here. “What men were around in your life when you were young?”

Aurora’s gaze darts across the room, like she’s searching for a memory. “A lot. But no one who acted like a dad. Or said he was my dad.”

So she has some memories.

“Define a lot. Did she bring a lot of men home?” I prod.

“No. Not like that. She had a lot of parties.” Aurora answers and my back teeth begin to grind as my heart rate increases. “I wasn’t allowed to join in.”

I force my expression to stay neutral.

The past races to the present as two sets of eyes who have once before gazed up one another revisit it.

“Adult parties,” I say but it’s a question.

“I guess.” Her eyes hold mine when she adds, “But there were other kids.”

Fuck.

She’s meaning me.

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