He lifted a brow and waited.
Expelling a long breath, she nodded. “Anyway, as I was saying. I hated him. He was a spoiled, rich brat used to getting his way, and yes he was gorgeous, and yes he had lots of money, but it seemed like I was the only one who could see the ugly inside.”
His jaw clenched and the need to touch her intensified. He spread his fingers along her own, lacing their hands together. She sighed.
“And why did you not like him?”
She made a sound between her closed lips. “I just didn’t. I couldn’t explain why back then, which is probably why no one listened to me. Not my parents, and especially not my sister. Before long the two of them were living together. At first my sister was all happy and cool about it. But you know how when you know somebody and suddenly they start acting differently, but they won’t really tell you why?”
He nodded.
“That’s what was happening with her. One day she was just different. I idolized my sister. She was so pretty, and fun. I remember that about her. She was always so much fun to be around. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. She’d always tell me how she couldn’t wait until I turned eighteen, we’d have so much fun together. Anyway, the two of them dated for a year. And it seemed like the longer they dated, the less happy she became. One day I asked her why she was even with him anymore and all she did was shrug.”
She scowled and looked at him. “I mean, would you continue to date someone for that long if your only response is a shrug?”
“You’re asking the wrong man, little bird,” he said, trapping her ankle with his foot, “I don’t date. Not even with Talia. I saw her, I claimed her. In my world, it’s really very simple.”
Pink touched her cheeks and she smirked. “The cavewoman in me likes that approach.” She grinned, then turned serious once more. “I didn’t know it at the time, but he’d begun beating her. I should have had a clue, when all she’d started wearing was long sleeve shirts and pants. I mean my sister had a killer body meant for booty shorts and tank tops, I should have known, but I didn’t.”
In his world the beating of women happened. He never engaged in such activities, finding the practice wholly repugnant and beneath him, but it happened. If he didn’t want a woman, he’d simply make her leave. To beat her seemed the height of weakness.
“My parents, me, friends at her college, none of us knew. She hid it well.” She shook her head. “Then one day he asked her to marry him and she said yes.”
“Why?” he frowned. “Did she enjoy the humiliation?”
Trishelle scowled. “I seriously doubt that, but I think she was scared of him. Of what he’d do to her. Only after she died did we finally learn the full truth, she’d recorded it all in her journal. He’d threatened to kill her many times. I think she did it to protect us from him.”
He sighed. “I apologize. I did not mean to imply—”
She squeezed her eyes shut, running her foot up and down his calf, as if seeking warmth. “No, I know. It’s just a touchy subject for me. Even though it’s been ten years since she died, sometimes it feels like just yesterday.”
“Did he kill her?”
She brought their laced hands to her chest and any other moment he would have found a reason to trace the curve of her breast, it was a battle of wills for him not to. But even a pirate knew when the time wasn’t right and the time was definitely not now. In order to resist temptation, he withdrew his hand from hers, and ran it along her bare, upper arm. Goose bumps broke out on her skin.
“I think he did. The law though says he didn’t. A year after their marriage she committed suicide.”
His jaw clenched. “Did she feel like she had no other options?”
Closing her eyes, she rubbed her forehead. “Honestly, I don’t think she cared anymore. She was two months pregnant, but he beat her so bad she lost the baby. It broke her. I found her the next morning. Lying on the couch, pistol on the carpet, and a bottle of vodka on the coffee table.”
It suddenly made so much sense why she held herself back.
“So,” she laughed, a sound full of bitter regret and unshed tears, “now you know why I can never love. I will never allow that to happen to me. I belong to myself and that’s how I like it.”
He squeezed her arm and she gave him a wobbly smile.
“I am sorry,” he whispered, staring deep into her eyes. He held no admiration for men like that, in fact, it sickened him and he hated that Trishelle had to live through seeing that. Hardened as he was, he understood pain, the kind that kept you up at night, that made you howl in grief, the murder of a loved one. “Believe me when I say, I understand.”