Page 89 of Butterfly

For a moment, the hard lines on her face relax. She scowls again. “It’s tempting. I’m not saying it isn’t. But I want to earn that money. It’s something I have to do for myself.”

“Can’t we do it together?” I take her hand and brush her knuckles with my thumb. “You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to carry that burden on your own. Let me share it with you.”

“I don’t want money to get between us,” she whispers.

“I don’t want your past to get between us. Sienna,” I press on as she opens her mouth. “You wake up every night after a nightmare. At first, I thought the nightmares were about the storm in Tua, but they have nothing to do with that, do they?”

Her slim figure radiates nervousness. “What do my nightmares have to do with anything?”

“You need help with those nightmares.” I place her hand over my heart, hoping she understands how much I care. “My love isn’t enough to make you forget.”

“What do you mean?” Her fingers stiffen under my hand.

“Fiona knows a psychiatrist who’s an expert in childhood trauma. She can help you with the nightmares and the anxiety. You can move on.”

A deep crease digs between her eyebrows. “You want me to go to therapy?”

“Don’t you want to leave your past behind? I’d pay for it, of course.” Dammit, I must have said it in the wrong way because fire flashes in the depths of her eyes.

“Of course. So, you pay, and all my problems are solved. Money fixes everything.”

I exhale sharply. “I don’t mean it in that way. You’re twisting my words.”

She slips her hand out of mine. “I guess this psychiatrist is an expensive one. Someone I would never be able to afford.”

“You’re making a fuss about nothing, and you’re being stubborn again. I have the money. I can help you. Why wouldn’t you accept it?”

She presses a finger to her chest. “Because I have my dignity. Don’t you understand that you paying for my house, my student loan, my surgery, and even my therapy makes me feel cheap?”

“Cheap?” I step closer. “As if you were a—”

“Whore? It’s written all over my back.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” She has the same expression as that day when she refused to let me examine her back, and my patience is wearing thin.

“Insult me,” I say through gritted teeth. “And insult yourself.”

“You don’t understand.” She turns around and strides towards the bedroom. “You’re too rich to understand.”

“Now you’re aiming low.” I follow her. “I haven’t always been rich.”

She spins towards me, her hair flapping around. “But you’ve always had a family! If that doesn’t mean being rich, then I don’t know what it is.”

“Hell, Sienna. Yes, I have a family. That doesn’t mean I don’t understand what you’ve been through.” Damn. Everything I say comes out wrong.

Throwing her hand up, she stomps into the bedroom. “I’m tired.”

“No.” I take her hand again. “We can’t end the conversation like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I haven’t finished.” I swallow the knot in my throat. “You think I don’t understand what it means to feel cheap? Well, I do. And as usual, you made assumptions about me.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.” I lick my dry lips. “I’m going to tell you something you’ve only guessed.” She isn’t looking at me, but at the floor. It bothers me, but I don’t force her to turn to me. “Rebecca.”

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