Page 88 of A Heart So Haunted
“Excuse me?” I blurted. I pressed a hand to my throat. “I wasn’t affected? Really?”
Images, like scenes on a movie roll, clicked in rapid fire before me. Still shots of moments between us, the silent tears in my bedroom, the moment on the back of the truck, his hands in my pants, his nails digging into my skin, his teeth on my shoulder, pressure, so much pressure as he pushed me into the place he wanted, the feel of his knee splitting mine apart and his weight trapping me. Everything. All of them, all at once, so stout and bitter that my lungs caught fire.
He made a withering sound. “Let me finish.”
I turned mute with shock.
Like so many times before, he took my silence as a go ahead, and went on. “I wanted to say that I forgive you for what you said. Or, well, didn’t say. I didn’t take it to heart—I know you were hurt by our breaking up, and in the end, I truly think it was for the best. I’m sure you’ve had some amazing relationships since, as have I, and I think we can both agree that the tension is still there but what people said afterward is more important. I didn’t appreciate the bullshit you managed to catch fire to, and to be frank, I had to work pretty hard to convince my coach that I wasn’t bullying women in my free time.”
It was like someone had sucked all of the air out of the room.
I saw red.
“Youbullyingwomen?” I snapped.
He gave a look as if he agreed. “That’s what I said.”
“And how were you just bullying women, Ivan?”
Either he was plain stupid, or he was really terrible at reading people, because he waved a hand, almost nonchalant as if we were talking about the weather, and said, “Someone overheard you speaking with that friend of yours. Sayer, I believe? And there was somesuspicious connotation to it, about how you didn’t seem comfortable with me and then it run rampant and people started to speculate that I was, how would you say”—he rolled his hands together, in aget-on-with-itmotion—“pushed myself upon you. We both know it was consensual, and teenagers will be teenagers—”
My heart was too fast, my limbs too buoyant, my brain too clouded.
I exploded.
“You think I ruined your life? You think I hurtyourreputation?” I ground out.
His posture didn’t so much as tense. It was languid. Easy. Lazy, as he watched me. “All I’m saying is that I didn’t appreciate the speculation, especially when it affected my family, is all.”
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do this.
Did I want to list with Ivan? Is thisreallywhat I wanted? This house, this money from the sale, to go to him?
Was this a sign? Was I pushing things too quickly? Did I really,reallywant to give Aunt Cadence’s home to someone—someone likethis?
It took every fiber of my being to clench the arms of the chair instead of his papers and rip them to shreds. Images of the house selling, of me being unsuccessful in the search for Hadrian, someone who didn’t love the house for its character, flooded my mind. My chest clenched so hard that I felt it in my spine.
This could go well—but it could also go very poorly. I wanted this place to be loved.
It was supposed to be a home. I wasn’t sure Ivan could provide that—history or not. I didn’tneedto do this. I was done—absolutely, completely done.
Maybe Hadrian was right. I gave the project such a tight timeline, all for the sake of getting it gone, replenishing the monetary hit I was taking, and running so, so far away, just so I didn’t have to sit inthisany longer than I needed to.
“You know what,” I said gently. But the words were strangled. Choking. Just like my heart was. “I don’t think Harthwait needs to sell. I think I’m going to pull back on listing.”
“What?” He sat forward, expression shuttering.
Weight rolled off my shoulders, away from my ribs. The slightest of pressures released from my heart. “I’m not selling. I’m sorry. I’ve changed my mind.”
Ivan’s laugh was scratchy. I stared at the floating shelf on the wall behind his head, now empty of the tea set. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No. I’m not.”
He shook his head and pushed up from the table. “This is out of spite, isn’t it? You thought you’d dangle something in front of me now, just like before? Is this to get back at me?” He placed both hands on the table and leaned over me while I held my seat. I could smell the cologne—rich and intoxicatingly sweet, so much of it that I wanted to vomit. “A tease?”
I schooled my features. My phone vibrated—again. This was starting to get ridiculous. I should have turned it off.
“I think you should go, Ivan.” I stood, already pushing my chair under.
