Page 23 of Arranged Scars
I’m pissed off, but I’m also curious. I can’t help myself. I’m just a curious girl. “What kind of rules?”
“We’ll live here.” He gestures around him. “From the outside, we’ll look as though we’re actually making this work.”
“I don’t hate the idea of having easy access to this room.”
“Good. It can be all yours.” His eyes roam my body again. “I’m not interested.”
It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to make a point. “What other rules?”
“Your family stays far away from here. You don’t interfere in my job. You keep to yourself.”
“What’s with you and my family?”
“I want clear boundaries. We’re getting married, but we’re not falling in love. I don’t want you to think we’re doing Thanksgiving with Daddy.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t call him that. Mostly, I call himeldest asshole.”
He smiles slightly and I think it’s the sincerest smirk I’ve gotten out of him so far. He likes that I’m insulting my father. Very interesting.
“Do you feel that way about your brothers, too?”
I can’t hide the sudden flash of anger. “Most days.”
“I take it there’s some friction.”
“My brothers are selfish pricks. My father’s an egomaniacal bastard. Does any of that surprise you?”
“Not in the slightest.” He seems very engaged now. He draws closer. “You’re by far the youngest in your family. That must’ve been hard.”
“It definitely wasn’t easy. By the time I came along, my parents were done with being parents.”
“They threw you to the wolves. And in this case, the wolves are your brothers.”
My eyes narrow and my jaw tightens. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
He’s close now. He reaches out lightly. “How did you get those scars, darling?”
“Fuck off.” I jerk back, splashing him. I know people look at them, but nobody’s ever rude enough to directly ask how they happened. It’s pretty obvious where my scars came from. I can’t reach around and do them myself.
“Touchy subject?”
“How about you talk about yours first.”
He laughs and there’s definitely an edge now. “You’re deflecting. Tell me how you got them.”
I storm out of the pool. It’s definitely not graceful. I’ve never angrily swam before, but there’s a first time for everything. I yank myself up the ladder and wrap a towel around myself, seething.
“How about you get something straight. You want to make rules? Well, I’ve got rules too. And the first one is: mind your own fucking business.”
I gather my things, head pounding. I know I’m overreacting. My scars are ugly and people are curious about them. Especially a guy with his own. But I don’t owe him my trauma and I’m not interested in giving him a piece of myself like that, not when he’s clearly unwilling to do the same.
I make sure the towel is around my midsection and most of the harsh white slashes are hidden before going for the door.
Finn gets out of the pool. “You don’t have to hide them, Caroline.”
I hesitate. My heart’s slamming in my throat. I feel sick, angry, and overwhelmed. “Yes, I do. Otherwise, assholes like you think you have the right to ask about them.”
He pulls a towel around his lower half. The top remains uncovered, his own scars out in the open. “They’re beautiful, you know.”
