Page 62 of Wrecked By You
My stomach dropped. I’d hoped he wouldn’t go there, wouldn’t focus on that particular subject. But he had, and I couldn’t blame him. Earlier, drowning in post-orgasmic bliss, I’d considered telling him about Mateo, but now that he’d opened the door, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t walk through it. The risk was too great.
“My parents.” The lie tripped off my tongue so easily and rotted me from the inside. I hated myself for it. “And I’m not running as such. More that I don’t need their brand of control in my life, or in Chloe’s.”
“I thought you were going to say Chloe’s father.”
My pulse rocketed tenfold, and another lie spilled out. “Chloe’s father was a one-night mistake. I never saw the guy again.”
Buy it. Buy the lie. Please, Johannes, stop digging.
“Then you’re better off without him. If he doesn’t want to be a father to his child, then he’s a worthless piece of shit.”
“I’m definitely better off.”At last, a truth. “Can we change the subject?”
He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, and a piece of my heart cracked. “Whatever you want.”
I searched for a safer subject, one that didn’t involve our pasts, our presents, or, God forbid, our futures.
“Tell me something fun.”
He arched a brow. “This is me. I don’t do fun.”
“True.” I nodded sagely. He dug me in the ribs, and I squealed. “Ow.” I prodded him in the chest. “Tit for tat.”
His eyes lowered. I lifted his chin. “Eyes up here, mister.”
“You were the one who mentioned tits.”
I giggled. With every minute that passed, my adoration and admiration for this complex man grew. “Not that kind of tit.”
“Ella, yours are the only kind of tits that matter.”
“Ugh. You’re so frustrating. Okay, forget fun. Tell me something interesting.”
“Okay, although whether this fits the bill is anyone’s guess. Our family name used to be the far more common Kincaid rather than Kingcaid.”
“Oh? When did it change?”
“Centuries ago, when the British ruled America. One of my ancestors, a man named Robert Kincaid, fell in love with the King’s daughter. He thought he stood more of a chance to win the hand of the princess if his name sounded more regal, so he changed it to Kingcaid.”
“And did he win the hand of the King’s daughter?”
“Sadly, no, but he kept the name and later went on to marry a duke’s daughter, so maybe the change of surname did help him marry into the aristocracy in the end.”
“Wow. Fascinating. I know nothing about my ancestry.”
“I’m not particularly interested myself. I’d rather live in the present. The past is done, and the future is uncertain. Now is the only time we can count on. But my father loves that story. He tells it at almost every dinner party, despite my mother’s exasperation.”
It was the first time he’d mentioned his parents to me, and the fond way he spoke about them caused an arc of pain to rip through me. To distract myself, I traced my fingertips over his defined cheekbone, but as I moved close to the neckline of his sweater, he caught my fingers in a viselike grip.
“Don’t.”
My heart tripped. Whatever he was hiding lay beneath that sweater. His eyes begged me to back off, not to push or continue on this path. Out of respect for him, and out of guilt for my earlier lie, I refrained, nodding. His audible sigh of relief cut me deeply.
“Let’s get some sleep.”
He pulled the sheets over me, but not himself. Leaning closer, he kissed my forehead. “Night, Ella.”
I swallowed my hurt. “Good night.”