Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
A wild thought pops into my brain and out of my mouth before I think it through. “Daniel, are you sure you actually like women?”
His face turns redder than a beet.
“It’s okay if you don’t,” I say as gently as possible.
“Of course I like women,” he says through clenched teeth. “Why would you even ask that?”
“Because everything about me seemed to annoy or disgust you.” I swallow hard, debating my words. “You put me down every chance you got. For the strangest things. You were quite hateful.”
He lifts his chin. “I don’t sugarcoat the truth.” He sweeps his gaze over me and his lip curls in disgust. “You’re not a ten, Margot. You’re adequate. You come from a good, traditional family. You’ll make a good wife. And I’ve reached a stage in my life where that’s more important. Getting married.” He drops his gaze and sort of sneers at my body. Not the look of a man attracted to me—or any other woman. “Especially since you seem to have lost a few pounds.” He raises a hand and slowly swirls his finger in the air around my midsection.
Ice crackles in my chest. Tears sting my eyes.
I don’t care what Daniel thinks of me. I don’t. But damn, who wants to be reminded someone finds you unattractive?
And why the fuck should I care that he’s at a “stage in his life” where he wants to get married?
I swallow hard and gather all my courage. I have years’ worth of things to say, and I won’t allow him to rob me of this opportunity.
“Have you ever had a moment of self-reflection, Daniel?”
He frowns. “About what?”
“You have the personality of a baked potato.” I gesture wildly to his perfectly styled—to cover his receding hairline—dirty-blond hair. “And your hairline looks like it’s trying to run away from your face, yet you have the audacity to stand there and insult me?”
Instant heat sears my cheeks as my cruel words hang in the air. I shouldn’t have stooped to his level of petty insults.
“I…I…” He runs his hands over his hair several times, as if checking that it’s still there.
Instead of making me feel better, knowing that I rattled him makes me feel worse. The awful comments he always made about my breasts or hips or thighs stuck with me for way too long. I wouldn’t wish that kind of self-doubt on anyone…well, except maybe Daniel.
His jaw works overtime to form words that won’t come. For once, I’ve managed to leave him speechless, and the irony of it is quite tasty. This man, who always had something cruel to say, who never hesitated to pick me apart like a grapefruit, finally has no retort.
Good.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the rage burning in my chest doesn’t recede.
It’s not about him anymore. It’s about me and the years I wasted doubting myself because of him. Fury bubbles over. He really thought I’d give him another chance to tear me down again.
“You know what? I feel sorry for you, Daniel.”
An angry scowl slashes his expression. “Excuse me?”
“It must be exhausting to be so hateful. Shredding everyone around you just to make yourself feel better.”
Telling Daniel off should be more satisfying but this whole conversation is leaving a sour taste in my mouth.
“Are you insane?” He raises his eyebrows and steps toward me. “I make four times the amount of money that you could ever hope to earn.” He waves a hand toward the parlor. “I’m not stuck in a backward little town playing with dead people all day.”
I steel myself from flinching. What I do helps people. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. He used to tell me it was a “respectable” career. How we could make so much more money if we didn’t “get sucked in by charity cases all the time,” as he put it.
“Money isn’t everything,” I say. “And if your life is so wonderful and I’m so pathetic, why are you trying to get back together?”
Who cares about his reasons? I’d rather gargle with formaldehyde than spend another minute in his company. I turn away, crossing my arms over my chest, as if the physical barrier can protect me from this conversation.
“Obviously, I’ve made a mistake. You used to be a nice woman—”
I turn and glare at him. “No, I used to be a doormat.”
He’s blocking my way to both doors. The closest leads into the parlor but I’ll have to skirt right by him to reach it.
He frowns and runs his hand over his hair again. “I never thought you were a doormat.”
A burst of outraged laughter explodes out of me. “Of course you didn’t.” Why would he when he was busy wiping his feet all over me?
The back door creaks open and bangs shut. I hope it’s not people leaving for the church already. The last thing I want to do is be alone in the house with Daniel.