Page 76 of Painted Truths

“You’re mine.”

His words run through my head over and over on some kind of tortuous loop. I’m the biggest, most naïve idiot to walk the face of this earth.

My cheeks heat in embarrassment when I think of how easily I’ve fallen for his pretty declarations and delicious kisses.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

It feels like it takes me hours to calm my racing, breaking heart, but in reality, it’s probably only been a couple of minutes. I have just begun to relax, focusing on reading a book on my Kindle, when the bedroom door opens with a barely heard click.

“Peaches, everything okay?”

My eyes meet his concerned ones, and I shove my true feelings down, down as deeply as I can manage, hoping that I’m at least semi-convincing. I can’t let him see what a fool he’s played me for.

Again.

“I’m fine, Henry. Just tired.”

“Give up talking shit, baby. You’re pissed. So come on, just rip me a new one already!”

Refusing to take the bait, I reply with a popped brow and bland expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, baby!”

I cringe internally at my inability to stop myself from throwing that last passive-aggressive tone in there for no reason other than the fact that I can’t seem to prevent my emotions from bubbling over in the face of this man.

“Peaches.”

His voice is a reprimand, his face anguished.

Coming closer and kneeling on the bed, Henry shucks off his trainers before pulling his hoodie over his head in that sexy, one-handed motion that I’ve never seen in real life, but all my book boyfriends have it down pat.

It’s so much sexier in person. Fuck!

Frustrated with where my thoughts are headed, I sit up, depositing my Kindle on the nightstand beside the bed. Then, facing him head-on and closer than I’d realised, I let him have it.

“Fine. Let’s just do this. You’re a prick, Henry. It’s as simple as that.” I throw my hands up as words erupt from my lips, and then I keep going with the word vomit. I couldn’t hold back now, even if I wanted to.

“I don’t know why I thought things were finally changing between us. It’s my own stupid fault for giving you the benefit of the doubt, despite expressly being told not to. I don’t let people in, you great big twat, and fucking your air hostess while taking your current fling, or whatever the hell we are, away to a friend’s wedding for the weekend has reminded me of why I shut myself off, so I guess I should be thanking you, really.”

I extend my hand, waiting on him to shake it. “So, thank you, Henry—I mean, Mr DeMarco. I understand what this is now more than ever.”

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, hold it for the count of ten, and then blow it out before looking at him again, hand still outstretched.

“Okay, Peaches. May I speak now?”

His sweet-talking tone sets me even further on edge, so my nod is a curt one, quick and unwilling, as I drop my hand from between us. I’ve said my piece, and there’s very little he can say or do that will make me believe otherwise at this point.

“Okay, so firstly, I told my staffer to make sure an air host was on duty today. Not any of the hostesses. You may not like hearing it, but I want us to be honest with each other, so here it goes.”

Pausing to suck in a deep breath, he ploughs on. “I’ve fucked Kyra and… several other air hostesses that work for the company.”

My sharp inhale is the only sound that fills the room, and those noodles I’d had before Henry picked me up threaten to make a swift reappearance as he goes on.

“But surely, Peach, you understand the difference between fucking and what we have between us. I know you feel it too. I feel more connected with you than any other woman in my life, besides maybe my mother. That right there should tell you how much I am in this with you.”

At the mention of his mum, my eyes burn with tears. Goddammit, I hate being such an empath. I hate being able to see where he’s coming from, even as he hurts me.

“Secondly, Peaches, Kyra will continue on this flight, but only because it’s not possible, or legal, to throw her into the middle of the Atlantic.” My eyes shoot up to his, full of questions he is only too willing to answer.

“She let herself into the bathroom as I washed up, threw herself at me, and made sure to cover me with as much of that ugly fucking lipstick as possible. It was entirely uncalled for, unprofessional and, needless to say, she won’t be working for me going forward.”