I frown. “What guy?”
“Your mystery guy. The one you had the so-called torrid affair with?” His brows shoot up.
I forgot I admitted that to him. How could I be so stupid?
“It was nothing.”
“Uh-huh.”
Why does he sound like he doesn’t believe me?
“A couple of months of my life. That’s it. Too brief to even think about.” That’s not necessarily true. Seamus was all I could think about. He consumed my life those last couple of months in Paris. Being with Seamus was exciting. The first man I’ve ever really been with—he treated me with such care. So much passion. We explored Paris together and he showed me the sights. We took long walks along the Seine, and he kissed me in the rain. We had sex in his office at the university. Right on top of his desk. He’d send me secret smiles in the middle of his lectures, and I’d feel special. Singled out.
He wasn’t with any of those other girls. He chose me.
It was straight out of a romance novel. Forbidden love. The older man teaching me everything he knew, treating me with such care.
I thought I was in love.
Until the morning I was in his class, starry eyed as usual while he lectured, shock coursing through me when a woman entered the classroom, walked right up to him and kissed him on the mouth. He announced she was his girlfriend, a helpless expression on his face when his gaze met mine. In that moment, everything inside of me just…
Died.
We never spoke again. Within twenty-four hours, I dropped out of school. Packed my things and returned home with my tail between my legs. I confessed everything to my mother, crying in her arms while she tried to console me. She promptly told my father, and he gave me a lecture about choosing wisely and not giving it up to the first man who showed interest in me. He made me feel so young and innocent and so unbelievably dumb.
I’ve been the family shame ever since.
And now here’s this man, acting like he might want to be my protector, though I don’t quite trust his motives. I hated how he made me feel Saturday night when he spotted the bruises on my arm, the shame that washed over me when he asked if my father did that. I almost fainted on the spot.
It’s a well-guarded secret, those few moments when my father has gone too far with his anger and hurt me. It’s something I’ve never talked about with anyone.
Ever.
It’s only happened a handful of times, but when he does get angry with me, it always leaves a lasting effect. If not a physical mark, he definitely messes me up mentally.
Meaning I’m pretty screwed up when it comes to men. Doesn’t help when your parents force you into an arranged marriage…
Perry’s expression hardens, his gaze stormy. “So you never think about him.”
I slowly shake my head. “Not really.”
“But you always bring him up.”
He’s all I have to compare Perry to, not that I want to admit that. “It was nothing.”
“If it was nothing, then why won’t you tell me this guy’s name?”
My spine stiffens. “It’s really none of your business. And why does it matter to you anyway?”
“If we’re going to be married, I should know about your past—involvements.” He hesitates for only a moment. “Don’t you want to know about me? And my past?”
“Not really, considering it’s all over the internet,” I remind him.
An irritated sound escapes him as he rubs at the back of his neck. “Has he ever tried to contact you?”
I frown. “Who?”
“Your French lover.”