I roll my body around until my back is stuck to the door and I’m staring at Miller. He’s standing quietly watching me, completely na**d and dripping wet. ‘You can’t leave, can you?’
‘No,’ I sob, my knees becoming as weak as my falling heart and refusing to hold my body up any longer, leaving me sliding down the door until my bottom hits the floor. My anger turns to tears, and I cry silently to myself, the last of my defences melting away. I let my hopelessness pour into my hands and my barricades completely diminish under the scrutiny of the confounding Miller Hart. It feels like a lifetime, but I know it’s only mere seconds before he’s gathering me up and carrying me back to his bed. He doesn’t say a word. He sits me on the edge and slips my shoes and knickers off, and then pushes his shirt from my shoulders and down my arms, leaning into me and resting his lips on my cheek as he does. ‘Don’t cry, sweet girl,’ he whispers, uncharacteristically throwing his shirt to the floor before taking me gently down to the bed. ‘Please don’t cry.’
His plea has the opposite effect and more tears flow, his bare chest becoming as sodden as my face as he presses me into him, tenderly kissing the top of my head every now and then, while he hums that peaceful harmony above me. It starts to soothe me and my sobs begin to abate under the hard warmth of his body holding me and the calming hum of his voice seeping into my ears.
‘I’m not a sweet girl,’ I whisper into his chest. ‘You keep calling me sweet girl, but you shouldn’t.’
His humming fades out and the tender kissing of my head stops. He’s thinking about my declaration. ‘You are very much a sweet . . . woman, Livy.’
‘It’s not the reference to “girl” so much,’ I whisper. ‘It’s the sweet part that bothers me most.’ I feel him stiffen a little before he encourages me from his chest. We’re conversing, he wants eye contact, and when he finds it, he wipes my damp cheeks with his thumbs and gazes at me, his eyes full of pity. I don’t want pity, and I don’t deserve it.
‘You’re my sweet girl.’
‘You’re mistaken.’
‘No, you’re mine, Livy,’ he asserts, almost showing annoyance.
‘I don’t mean that,’ I sigh, dropping my eyes, but soon bringing them back up when he shifts his hands from my cheeks to my neck and tilts my head back.
‘Elaborate.’
‘I want to be yours,’ I murmur, and he smiles. He gives me that rare, beautiful smile, and my heart skips with happiness for a split second, but then I remember the conversation direction. ‘I really want to be yours,’ I affirm.
‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.’ He drops his lips to mine and kisses me delicately. ‘But you really don’t have a choice in the matter.’
‘I know,’ I agree, aware that it’s not just because Miller says that I don’t have a choice. I tried to leave, and I couldn’t. I really tried.
‘Listen to me,’ he says, sitting up and dragging me onto his lap. ‘I shouldn’t have pressed you. I said that I’d never make you do anything I know you don’t want to. That will always stand, but please know that whatever you fear will change my opinion of my sweet girl is wasted anxiety.’
‘What if it isn’t?’
‘I’m never going to know unless you choose to tell me, and if you don’t, then that’s fine, too. Yes, I would prefer it if you confide in me, but not if it’s going to make you sad, Livy. I can’t see you sad. I want you to trust me that it won’t make any difference to how I feel about you. Let me help you.’
My chin starts to tremble.
‘Your mother,’ he says quietly.
I nod.
‘Livy, you’re not like that. Don’t let someone else’s bad choices affect your life.’
‘I could have been like that,’ I whisper, shame beginning to flood me, my head dropping.
My face is grasped and pulled to him, but I keep my eyes low, not wanting to face the contempt he’ll be showing. ‘We’re talking, Livy.’
‘I’ve said enough.’
‘No, you haven’t. Look at me.’
Forcing my eyes up, I meet his, but there’s no contempt. There’s no anything. Even now, Miller Hart gives nothing away. ‘I wanted to know where she’d gone.’
He frowns. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘I read her journal. I read about the places she went and who with. I read about a man. A man named William. Her pimp.’
He’s just staring at me. He knows where I’m heading.
‘I put myself in her world, Miller. I lived her life.’
‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Yes, I did. What was so amazing about that life that it kept her from being a mother? That it made her abandon me?’ I fight to control the tears threatening to break free again. I refuse to shed another tear for that woman. ‘I found Nan’s gin and then I found William. I tricked him into taking me on and he set me up with clients. Her clients. I went through most of the men listed in my mother’s journal.’
‘Stop,’ he whispers. ‘Please stop.’
I harshly brush at my wet cheeks. ‘All I found was the humiliation of letting a man slam into me.’