Page 24 of Ren: Warlord Brides
His words were perfect, if stiff in delivery. They were exactly what she had wanted to hear for so long. He had been wrong. He regretted what happened. He wanted another chance.
“Wow.” Sweat trickled down her back, and the fabric of her tank top clung to her uncomfortably. She swiped a hand across her brow. “Did you rehearse your speech?”
“I am sincere.”
“Look, I’m not trying to bust your balls, but I don’t get why you’re here.”
“I have regret—”
“Guilt. Yeah. Join the club. But why now? Why wait four years? And don’t say you couldn’t find me because I was on Earth until nine months ago, working in a damn bakery with my name on the door.”
“I know. A fine establishment. I enjoyed the whimsical selection.”
Her head snapped up, surprise jolting through her. “You were there? You were in my shop and didn’t say anything? How long have you been stalking me?”
He held up a hand as if to calm her. “I did not stalk, and I never entered the premises.”
She tried to imagine her red alien standing outside the bakery, looking forlorn in the rain, and the thought made her… happy? Yeah, delighted. Not in a cruel way, but that Ren went out of his way to check on her made her feel significant.
He thought about her in the years they were apart, thought about how he hurt her. His actions weighed on him, he said.
“Help me understand why you sent me away,” she said.
“My planet is not safe for a human, and the warlord was unstable. It was an unfit environment.”
“Unstable? What does that mean?”
“He is deceased. Do not concern yourself with that insignificant male.” His jaw clenched as he debated what to say next. “He ordered me to reject you, but I bear full responsibility. I should have disobeyed. Left the clan. Any number of options. A warrior is equally at fault for blindly obeying bad orders as the male issuing them.”
“Wow, that’s a lot,” she said. “So it wasn’t, you know—” She waved a hand at her face.
“I do not understand.”
“My face.” Heat flooded her cheeks as she said the words, feeling somehow vain, but so many had gawped and teased her about her scars. This was not just vanity.
“What is wrong with your face?”
“Seriously? My scars. I got fucked up in a car accident, and now I look like this.” Again, she waved at her face.
Ren held out a hand and hesitated before touching her face. “May I?”
She nodded.
His fingers brushed the scar, the ghost of a sensation. The jagged scar pulled one side of her mouth into a constant smirk. In the beginning, her skin felt too tight, and she had constantly chewed gum to mask the fact that she couldn’t stop working her jaw. Once an angry red, it faded to near white.
His thumb ran across the bottom of her lip and up the length of the scar. Moving his hand to the opposite shoulder, he traced the surgery scar from a broken clavicle. Leaning in closer, she caught the whiff of sweat, and her breath hitched.
“Hmm. The only scar tissue that is offensive is this one.” His thumb brushed the bite mark he left on her four years ago. “It is a falsehood and not given in good faith. You deserved—deserve—better.”
Her heart. His words made her want to believe and a cynical voice inside her told her that what she believed didn’t matter. She needed him to help her, and she should just pretend it didn’t hurt, that everything could be forgiven.
“I’m ugly,” she said.
“No.”
“A butterface.”
“I do not know this word, but I know it is incorrect.”
