Page 48 of Personal Foul

I’m sure he’d hoped that Victoria would marry someone who’d join the dynasty as well. Not sure that’s in the cards, though.

Regardless, Charity and I would never work as a romantic pair. But I find myself loath to cut ties with her altogether. Especially now that we’ve established this ruse that we’re a couple.

If we keep hanging out for a while, we can stage some kind of breakup so she can save face, and …

Well, I haven’t really thought much beyond that.

Based on her reaction, though, none of that seems possible. That was all just some fantasy I’d constructed.

I should’ve known better. She hates me. Our brief cessation of hostilities and partnership on our date was an anomaly. Not something to build on.

Christ, I’m an idiot sometimes. An idealist living in a fantasy land.

That’s always been my problem, though. I’ve tried over the years to squash the tendency, because I wind up disappointed more often than not. Like when I got a scholarship to play football at Marycliff. I know it’s not Harvard, but it’s a Division I school with a really good political science program. I thought my parents would be proud of me, or at least happy for me to achieve something I worked hard for. Plus, being at Marycliff instead of back east somewhere means I can easily come home for holidays and long weekends. Instead they were disappointed I’d want to “waste” more of my time playing football and choosing a lower tier school to do it.

“Look, Charity,” I begin when she doesn’t respond to my last statement. I’m not sure where I’m going, though.

Thankfully, I don’t have to figure it out.

“No,youlook,” she hisses, eyes narrowed. If she could spit venom, I’d surely be dying of painful convulsions in a cloud of poisonous smoke. She stabs her finger at me again, getting me in the biceps this time. “You’re the one who set this whole thing in motion. You’re the one who threatened to out me unless I cleaned your apartment. You’re the one who decided we had to just go with your friend’s assumption and pretend to be a couple since you made me wear that horrible uniform. I’ve doneeverythingyou’ve asked of me. You don’t get to just up and decide you’re tired of me and spill the beans to everyone!”

Her voice rises until she’s practically shrieking the last words, her self-control slipping beyond her ability to call it back.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I hold up my hands in self-defense. “Who said I was going to spill the beans?”

She stares at me, her face blank. “This is the bargain we struck. My services as your maid in exchange for your silence. If I’m not cleaning your apartment, why wouldn’t you tell everyone?”

I smirk. “I think you’re overestimating how much I care about your secrets.” I don’t mean it like I don’t care about them because they’rehers, but like I don’t care about blabbing secrets in general. I’m not a gossip.

But she flinches like I’ve struck her. “Right.” Her throat works as she swallows convulsively, and she wraps her arms around herself like she’s cold. Or trying to hold herself together after being gut shot. “Right.” She closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “Of course you don’t give a shit about me,” she mutters, though it sounds like the words are more for her than for me, and though she’s opened her eyes, she’s looking down at the floor. “What was I even thinking?” She bonks her forehead lightly with the heel of her palm.

I want to say something to set her straight, but I can’t come up with the right words. Everything I’ve said and done today is wrong, and I’m worried anything I say now will only make it worse.

A range of emotions crosses her face—fear, worry, anger, confusion—before she lifts pleading eyes to mine. She swallows hard and extends a hand in my direction. “Look, I know I mean nothing to you.”

“Charity—” I start, needing to try, but she cuts me off with a shake of her head.

“Don’t try to pretend like you didn’t just say that. I know I’m just some random transfer student from your high school who your rich friends liked to pick on.”

I snort. “Like your family’s not loaded.”

She holds up a finger. “Not like yours. And not like your friends’ families. And you and I both know that. Especially now …” Another hard swallow.

My brows pull together, that last part catching my attention. “Especially now? What happened?”

Closing her eyes, she shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.” Her dark eyes pierce me when she opens them, glazed with tears, but distant. Remote. Like a craggy mountain across a lake in the winter. She opens her mouth, but it takes a moment for her to decide what to say. “Everything is awful. I know I don’t matter to you, but I need you to not tell anyone what you know about me and my family. I can’t—”

She holds one hand up to her forehead, shielding her face from my view, and I stand rooted in place, unsure what to do. Her shoulders shake, and she draws in a shuddering breath, and I know she’s crying. As quietly as possible, trying desperately to hide it from me and failing.

I still don’t know what the best choice is. She obviously doesn’t want me to see her crying. Should I pretend I don’t realize? Offer her comfort? I really don’t know which option would make me the bigger asshole.

Fuck it.

Even when Victoria would go off and cry by herself, she still felt better when someone found her and offered comfort, even if it was just a shoulder to cry on, and she still denies wanting that.

With a grunt, I close the distance between us and pull Charity against my chest, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and rubbing her back with my other hand. She remains stiff for a moment, her hand still covering her face.

Then with a giant sob, she grabs handfuls of my shirt and buries her face in my chest, her whole body shuddering with the force of her cries. I don’t say anything, just rest my mouth on the crown of her head and continue rubbing her back until she quiets.

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