I pull away from the door and slowly and quietly make my way back to the living room, my eyes and chest stinging from that unexpected blow. A charity case. That's even worse than the puppy comment.
Could that be true? Is that the only reason they put us together? I wonder if Kat somehow had something to do with this and convinced Dr. Hollister to set me up with the richest guy in the program. Dr. Hollister is her boss, after all. I'm sure she could have thrown her opinion in there. And, from an experiment standpoint, how interesting would it be to see the plain, poor girl matched up with the sexy, hot, megarich rock star?
Cradling Pixie, I wander out to the screened porch and settle into one of the blue-cushioned chairs. This all feels so wrong. My whole reason for participating in this crazy experiment was to find someone to love me, someone who wouldn't hurt me. To find someone to share the rest of my life with. I never expected to be insulted and have my soul torn apart, or to have my lifestyle sliced and diced and judged by someone who was born into a famous family and has loads of talent.
"There you are." His booted feet appear on the floor in front of me, but I can't look up at him because I don't want him to see how hurt I am. "What's wrong?" he asks.
"Oh, not much. I'm just sitting here being a puppyfuck charity case with zero bang factor."
Sarcasm has always been something I seem to have no control over, and today is no exception. When I'm hurt, it’s my first choice as a self-defense weapon.
Chapter 13
Talon
Shit.
"You were listening to my conversation?" I demand, keeping my voice low so Gram doesn't hear me. The last thing I need is her over here playing referee or calling Asher or my mom here to counsel us.
"Yes." She leans her chin against the top of the cat’s head, and the cat in turn rubs up against her neck. "I know I shouldn't have been, and it was really immature of me. But I wanted to hear what you said about me. I just wasn't expecting to hear all that."
Her head finally rises, and I'm looking into watery, purple gems that literally stop my heart for a few seconds.
I've never hurt anyone before—or made a girl cry. Well, not since in third grade when I refused to sit next to Jenny Mallow on the school bus. But since then—nope. I've never been through a messy breakup or broken a girl's heart, because I've never been with a chick who cared about anything other than sleeping with a guy in a band.
But just one day after my wedding, I've already made my wife cry.
Marriage isn't easy.
It's a whole lot of fucked up.
It's a fucking melting pot of emotions.
And a ton of damage control.
How the hell do people do this for twenty-five years or more?