Page 85 of Love Arranged
“Is that why you had it torn down?”
“No.” I itch to touch the dice, but I stop myself. While I like to use them as a grounding tool and a coping mechanism, I don’t want it to become a compulsion. I already have enough of those to keep me busy.
“According to an article?—”
“I wouldn’t trust everything you read because that particular journalist owed my uncle a lot of money in gambling debts.” The truth slips out easier than expected.
Her lips part twice before she speaks. “He asked them to write this story?”
I nod.
“Why would he do that?”
I take a deep, centering breath to prepare myself for her never-ending curiosity. “Because he knew everyone would assume I’m an asshole.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the way her lips press firmly together. Seeing how she was quick to believe the worst only a few seconds ago, she knows I’m right.
The Moirai being torn down was the final straw for me, but at least something good came out of it—if you can even call him divulging the truth about my parents’ deaths that.
After that, I dug into the hit-and-run accident, and once I discovered what really happened, I sold my shares and got the hell out of Vegas. I had no plan outside of wanting to visit my parents’ graves.
When I learned about Trevor’s plan to run for mayor,I joined the race too. My
uncle was spiteful about it, and he knew hurting my reputation would do wonders for my competition.
“I’m sorry,” Lily says quietly after a couple of minutes.
“What are you apologizing for?”
“For assuming the worst without thinking twice about it.”
I shrug. “It happens more often than you think.”
“That’s so sad.”
“I better not be hearing pity in your voice.” I don’t deserve it after all I’ve done and said to her.
She fakes a gasp. “Me? Pityingyou? I could never.”
My lips curl at the corners.
“But if Iwereto feel that way?—”
I’d shoot her a sharp look if I wasn’t driving.
She continues, “It’s because at some point in your life, you learned to protect yourself by letting people think the worst of you. It was probably too easy to play the part of a villain, and I bet you became so comfortable with the role, you never expected anyone to question it.”
I pause at what she says and wonder how she got to that conclusion. People are quick to write me off as an uncaring asshole, and I’ve embraced the incorrect assumption. It was safer, because then no one—especially not my uncle—could exploit me.
“If you’re expecting me to agree with your psychological analysis, you’ll be waiting a long time.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t expect someone as defensive as you to come out and admit anything.”
“I’m not defensive.”
“Sure you’re not.” She laughs in a condescending way that grates on my nerves. “Do you ever get tired?”
I lean away despite not having anywhere to go. “Of what?”
