The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,64

lies.

“You ordered a background check on me?”

His face pales. My stomach falls.

“Because I’m ‘hot enough to fuck, but not good enough to bring home’?” my lip curls in a sneer

“Who told you that?” he asks and my heart sinks.

“Well, at least you’re not denying it.” Fatigue makes my sadness heavy and suffocating.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I can’t believe you talked about me like that,” I say, my traitorous voice breaking. The warmth of his hand resting on my shoulder suddenly feels like a branding heat.

I step away. “Don’t you fucking touch me,” I snarl.

“Confidence, what the fuck?” he demands.

My stomach cramps and I hug my arms around my middle.

My heart is sick.

I’m sick.

How in the world could I have fallen for this shit again?

I tattooed this motherfucker’s name on my body.

I square my shoulders, drop my hands and straighten up so I can look him square in the eye. “I heard you last night. I followed you when you left because I thought maybe you needed me,” I tell him and watch his face fall.

He groans and for the first time since I’ve known him, I see fear in his eyes. My own fear feeds on it. The ache in my stomach sharpens. Things are about to get worse and I’m scared by how viscerally I feel the loss already. I’ve fallen so thoroughly and irredeemably in love with him. Just in time for him to break my fucking heart.

“No,” he says sternly. “You’ve got all of that wrong. I ordered it before we were together in Italy. Weeks later when it showed up, I couldn’t remember why I thought I needed it. I never opened it.”

“You didn’t?” I ask and I feel a flicker of hope that maybe I misunderstood.

“No,” he sighs. “I decided I could overlook everything that was wrong about us. Your lack of money, your lack of a name. I already knew about the scandal surrounding your career,” he says.

I pale. But I set my jaw and narrow my eyes at him.

“You’ve overlooked them?” I ask, almost daring him to repeat himself.

“Yes. I decided it didn’t matter,” he says like he’s being a benevolent ruler. Like he’s looking down his nose at me.

My hackles shoot straight up. “I didn’t ask you to overlook anything,” I hiss.

He comes to stand in front of me and reaches for me. “No,” I say quietly.

“Let me explain.” His voice is thick and gruff. Angry.

Fuck him.

I won’t look at him. I can’t.

The heaviness in my body is only outmatched by the ton of pain in my heart.

I turn to face him.

“I may not have a name. Maybe I didn’t know where Positano is or what some random Latin words mean … or whatever.” I narrow my eyes at him and stab the air with my finger. “But, I’ll tell you what. My mother worked her way up to manager at a small plant in Tennessee at a time when it was really hard for women to do that. While she lived with a husband who treated her like a punching bag and a son she was afraid of. And she put up with that shit for me. She worked a second job to help pay tuition to put me,” I say, pointing at my chest, “through college. And law school. Because she looked at me and saw what you and the rest of your stuck-up friends fail to see. All of my potential.”

I wave my hands in the air around my head, my fingers pointing down to my body. His expression is one of pure shock.

“I was raised to treat everyone with respect,” I continue. “I was raised to be proud of my integrity, my loyalty and my kindness. My name means something because I’ve made it mean something.”

“Confidence,” he growls.

“You don’t have the right to say my name,” I snap and his eyes widen. “I’m not going to let you or anyone else look down on me because I don’t have money and my last name isn’t on a stadium or museums or a hospital somewhere.”

“Fucking hell, Confidence,” he grinds out.

I ignore him.

“You’ve had everything handed to you. And yet, here we are.” I fling my arms wide in a sweeping flourish that covers the whole room. “In the same place. At the very same time. Who’s slumming?” I sneer. “And who’s leveled up?” I give him a hard, challenging look. “Who should be looking down on who?”

“I don’t look down on—”

“The one who’s here because she worked, scraped, and beat back