Page 52 of The Revenge

I turn and glare at him. “How many more times do I have to tell you to stop acting like I belong to you?”

“The word never left my mouth,” Syn responds looking genuinely confused.

Reaching out, I grab one of the garments hanging on the rail and pull it towards me. “For my initiation, you took away all of my clothes and gave me what you wanted me to wear, like you owned me. The diamond might be real, but this engagement is as far from real as it can possibly get. Even in an alternative universe, where the engagement was real, I wouldn’t be your wife: you’d bemyhusband.”

Syn stares at me, his lips pressed tightly together, like he’s trying to stop himself from saying whatever is on the tip of his tongue. Finally, he calmly closes the drawer and then takes a half step back. “You were only able to attend James Keyingham University because of a scholarship. One of your suitcases has lost a wheel, and the other looks like you found it in a dumpster. The only new items of clothing you have are your uniforms, which were also provided to you due to the scholarship. Has it not crossed your mind that I’m simply giving you a gift?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

I release the fabric I’m still clinging onto with a little more force than necessary, causing the hangers to clink against therailing. “Why would I think any of this is a gift? Have you ever actually given a gift without there being strings attached?”

“There are no strings attached to this, Victoria. Every tag has been removed—both literal and metaphorical. Why can’t you just accept the gifts?”

“Because I doubt a gift is just a gift with you. The ring and clothes have got to be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.” I cross my arms. “With you, this is either a bribe or…” Frowning, I shake my head. Because the other option isn’t really possible.

“Or…?” Syn presses.

“All this is your attempt at an apology.”

Syn glances down as he slips his hands into his pants pockets, and then he looks up at me. “And what if it is?”

The surprise has my arms falling to my side at the same time as my lips part. Then, narrowing my eyes at him, I plant my hands on my hips. “Then it’s a piss-poor attempt. You apologize by saying you’re sorry.”

The room falls silent. Then Syn licks his lips. “I am sorry.”

It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. “For what?”

“What do you mean, for what?”

I really want to shake him, even though I know I shouldn’t be surprised by this. “What are you actually apologizing for, Syn?”

Syn’s eyes narrow as his nose wrinkles. Then he shrugs. “For whatever you need me to be sorry for.”

All this time, I’ve never really expected to get an apology from Syn. ‘I’m sorry’ are two words I didn’t even think were even in his vocabulary. Hearing them now doesn’t fill me with any sense of satisfaction. But how can they when he doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for.

I suck in a deep breath and turn my attention to the clothes. Syn’s empty apology hasn’t deterred me from my plans,but not having my own clothes means I need to amend them slightly.

“That’s it?” Syn asks.

“If this is all I have to choose from, I’ll find something to wear,” I tell him.

“No, I mean that you accept my apology.”

I pause in flicking through the clothes hanging on the hangers to look at him over my shoulder. “Does it count as an apology if you’re only saying it because you’re told to? I never expected an apology from you. If you really do feel bad, if you want to apologize properly, think about why.” I pull out whatever dress I happen to have hold of. “I’m going to get dressed for dinner now.”

“Victoria—"

I allow the towel to drop to the floor, and then I take the dress off the hanger. Before I put it on, I turn to face Syn.

His gaze is roaming over my naked body.

All this time, he’s acted with revulsion at the idea of being with me, but I’ve seen the way he looks at me, even when he said he hated me. The last thing I want right now is to pretend I’m madly in love with him, much less have sex with him.

But I will leave here satisfied in the knowledge that I got him frustrated enough that if he wants me to get him off, he’s going to have to do it with his imagination.

XX

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