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Folding her arms defensively over her stupidly achy nipples, Iris refused to comply and glared down at him with a defiant tilt of her jaw.
“No. I’m ready to go back to my prison cell.”
God, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted less, but he’d touched a nerve. She was such a confused mess, following in the footsteps of a father she really did not respect at all, wanting to show him up, and prove to the world that she was a better person than he’d been. It was fucked up… she was fucked up. Out here trapped in the middle of nowhere, in pursuit of a dream she didn’t believe in. And did not want.
She needed space to sort through her cluttered brain, and she needed to be out of Trystan Abbott’s disturbing company. She couldn’t think when he was around and actively antagonizing her.
His lips twitched and his eyes—still fixed on her face—flickered.
“I’ve read some of your work,” he said, ignoring her demand. “What little there is of it.”
His words surprised her as she had no body of work readily available on the Internet. In fact, she had nothing out there for public consumption that she could think of off the top of her head and wasn’t sure to what he was referring.
“What work?”
“There’s the poetry you wrote for your university paper.”
“Oh my God.” She sank back onto the seat and covered her face with her hands. She couldn’t believe that any of those abysmal poems were actually available online. They were truly awful and dripping with teenaged angst and despair. “I thought they’d all been taken down.”
“The Internet is forever, Miss Hughes.” It was the first time he’d actually said her name. She’d honestly believed he’d forgotten it until he’d dropped those truth bombs about her father.
“So, it seems.”
“For a budding journalist, you have surprisingly little content online, not a smart move. No blogs, vlogs, TikTok, Instagram. Other people your age are gagging to reveal their every shallow opinion to the world. Someone with your… ambitions should be even keener to share every puerile thought.”
This was better—it felt like familiar territory. Iris relaxed marginally, slumping against the wall of the spa and allowing herself to enjoy the soothing jets once more. Maybe she should continue to nurse her outrage over what he’d said earlier, but Iris never could maintain a good mad. She was too cheerful and optimistic for that. Besides, it was hard to remain angry when she agreed with so much of what he’d said about her father.
“There’s a mere five-year age gap between us so you don’t have to make yourself sound like Father Time in comparison to me,” she told him with a sympathetic little moue. “Cut yourself some slack, you’re only a little past your sell-by date.”
“I’m in my fucking prime, you little witch. I’m not so shallow and vain that I’ll be stricken with despair and doubt by the mere inference that I’m old. Back to my point, why don’t you have more of an online presence?”
“Because I don’t have time to sit around maintaining social media accounts. I work. I help my family, I…” she stopped. Nope. No! She was here to interview him, not vice versa. He didn’t need to know about her life.
But there was one thing she needed to correct.
“My dad,” she began, and watched his magnificent shoulders stiffen and his face go still. He looked like he couldn’t quite believe that she’d dared bring up her father again. “The one allergic to animal dander? His name is Jason Hughes. He’s my stepfather, and he’s been my dad since I was seven years old. He raised me, nurtured me, loved me, and is the only father I’ve ever really known. I’m shocked your extensive research into my life didn’t reveal that most basic fact about me. Jason Hughes is my dad while Stanford Carter is the man who blew into and out of my life once or twice a year for my first thirteen years. But I got my talent and love of writing from him and I owe it to myself, and to him, to explore that talent. This interview with you was my opportunity to do that. To honor my biological father in some way and make my real dad proud of me.”
He stared at her, eyes narrowed, his straight, white teeth chewing at his bottom lip as he appeared to consider her words. He didn’t say anything for a long time before his shoulders shifted. The play of muscles across that broad, tanned expanse captivated Iris and stole her breath away.
“Seems to me that the kind of man you describe your stepdad to be would already be proud of you, regardless of your achievements. While the type of man I know your biological father to have been wouldn’t give an actual fuck about your achievements because he’d likely only ever seen you as an extension of himself. Emulating a fucker like that should be very low down on your list of priorities.”
She hated that his words were a reflection of everything she’d believed herself, but never dared to acknowledge. Stanford Carter had showed little to no interest in her academic achievements, had never read any of her school essays, or poems, or stories. He’d glanced at them whenever she’d proudly handed them to him and patted her on the head, and said things like, “Like father, like daughter” or “That’s my girl” or “Of course you got an A, you’re a chip off the old block.”
Her every achievement had been an opportunity for him to talk about himself. She’d known it, she’d seen it, but until now, until this awful man had laid that obvious truth bare with just a few cruel words, Iris had hoarded all of those non-compliments close and held them up as proof that her father had loved her and had been proud of her.
She dropped her gaze to the water, refusing to let him see how much the obvious truth had devastated her. She didn’t say a word for a few long minutes, and he allowed the silence to simmer between them.
Chapter Seven
“Come on,” Trystan said a while later. “We’re turning into prunes. Some time in the sauna, stretches, and you’ll feel much better.”
“I already feel better, thank you,” she said, the words stilted and overly polite. “The sauna might not be necessary.”
His brow pleated and he shook his head.
“No, you’ll likely stiffen up again once your muscles cool down. Trust me on this, I’ve had to deal with this type of pain enough times while bulking up for roles.”
Iris hesitated for a few seconds before nodding and pushing to her feet. He helped her out of the pool and led her to the sauna, handing her a thick white towel at the entrance.
