But I can make myself one less pawn in his game.
“So it's true? You really broke up with her?”
I look up to see Aly in the doorway, wearing one of my t-shirts I laid out for her. All of our clothes from last night are still crumpled in a heap on the floor beside the couch. “How long have you been listening?”
She rubs the dirt out of her eyes and stretches. As she does, the shirt she’s wearing exposes her thighs. It stops short of where my mind automatically goes. I doubt she’s wearing any underwear. And I did promise we’d christen every surface of the house. We haven’t made it out to the kitchen yet.
“Just around the part of you needing to propose to Chloe to win her back,” she says.
“Oh.” Good. She missed all the other details about the payments I’d made.
“So, you really are done with her?”
“You didn’t believe me?” A small pang stabs at my chest. She looks so hopeful. Did she not believe anything I said to her last night? Perhaps I didn’t do a good enough job of proving myself to her. There’s still time to do that, at least.
“Well, I mean. I just figured it was one of those things guys say to women to get them into bed.”
“Then why would you sleep with me if you thought that?”
She blushes.
Her eyes shift to the side, and she quickly changes the subject. “Is he really taking away everything?”
“No. Well, I mean, yes.” I pull a second coffee mug from the cabinet and pour her a cup. “For the most part. But there are things he doesn’t know about.”
“Does he always talk to you like that?”
That she heard. At least it was all pretty tame compared to how my father usually reacts. “It’s fine, Aly.”
“No, it’s not. He shouldn’t threaten you like that.”
“Well, he does. He’s always done that.”
Her soft blue eyes peer back at me with all the warmth of a cloudless summer day. I want to fall into her gaze all over again. I want to share everything with her. But what good would any of it do?
“Zach…”
“Look, I grew up in a big mansion,” I explain. “Nothing ever denied me. Best schools, best tutors. Country clubs. All of that. I don’t really have a right to complain about my childhood, do I?”
She stares back at me, blankly. Unconvinced.
I sigh and run my hand across my face. “You don’t want to hear this.”
“I do.” She sets one hand on her hip. If this is her way of intimidating me, I think I can handle it. “Just tell me.”
What’s the harm in telling her? She’s never going to meet this man. With any luck, he’ll be out of my life for good. “My father doesn’t really have that warm and fuzzy setting. That was always my mother. Dad runs hot or cold. There is no in-between. If he was upset with you, the man could ignore you for days. All it would take is one ‘business trip’ to Monaco during your piano recital, and you’d get the picture.”
Those large doe eyes cut through me once again.
I don’t deserve the sad, round eyes she’s giving me, the ones that look up at me with love and compassion. I grew up with both parents. Never had to worry about bills or anything getting taken away from me if I missed a payment. So why is she looking at me like that? Like she’s actually hurting listening to me recount my childhood.
“And your mother?” she asks. “How did she react to all of this?”
“She just picked up the slack. She would be there for everything, do everything. I mean, it felt like he wasn’t even necessary really. But when my mom and he would get into it, I just, I couldn’t stand it.”
“What would they fight about?”
“Affairs. His. Overspending. Usually hers. Not that it was ever anything too crazy. It was just his way of deflecting things off of himself.”