Chapter Twenty-Five
Lilac
“I need help with my abnormal psych paper.” I grit my teeth, smiling.
Irvin lifts an eyebrow, and I place my hand on his warm palm. His eyes follow the movement. He knows I’m up to something. He has to. Maybe I’m way over my head if I think I can manipulate him. He’s the king of manipulating people.
I withdraw my hand and bite into my cinnamon muffin. We’re at home. Classes got canceled today because of the storm.
He sips his cup of coffee, not taking his eyes off me.
“What is it?”
I straighten my spine. “I have to pick a disorder and write about it. I need to interview you.”
His eyes narrow, and he folds his arms across his chest. “So you chose mine?”
I ease my MacBook onto the marble dining room table, sitting in the chair next to his.
“Yeah. I figured this would be the perfect time for me to get to know you since I’m stuck with you and all.”
So I can study you like a lab rat and learn your weaknesses and hurt you. I keep those thoughts to myself, though. Can’t let the enemy know what I’m up to.
He crinkles his nose and smirks. He places his arm on the back of my chair. “Interesting.”
That’s the thing I don’t like about Irvin. He’s not going to let me know if he knows I’m onto him. He’s a true predator, and I’m his prey. He’s watching me, sizing me up, seeing what my angle is. I have to be really careful with my words. If I come on too fast, he’s going to pull a fast one on me.
He gives me a slow look, staring at me intensely. Of course.
I fake a smile and fire up my laptop. “Do you have any other plans this evening?”
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t.”
I inhale deeply and exhale, tapping my feet against the dark marble floor.
“Okay. You told me you were diagnosed with ASPD. How did you feel about it?”
I bring up a Microsoft Word doc on my laptop and pull up my list of questions.
He strokes the side of my cheek. “I didn’t feel anything about it at first, but I thought Jameson’s mother was full of shit.”
Heat blooms beneath my skin. My posture relaxes. Get it together, Lilac. Don’t let his touch affect you. I cock an eyebrow and type on the keyboard.
“Why?”
He leans forward, eyes lingering on my lips.
A blush creeps across my face. I want to draw into his touch, but I pull away. I shouldn’t want him touching me.
He is my enemy. I should hate him.
“She fucked me during our therapy sessions.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
Coldness wraps around my chest. Tears wet my eyes, and I wipe them away quickly. He was a child. A fucking child. How can someone take advantage of a kid? It explains why Irvin doesn’t respect boundaries. But I ask myself that about Emerson. We were kids when he took advantage of me.
He strokes his lips and the back of his head. “I’ve never told anyone she molested me.”
Why is he sharing this with me? Usually, Irvin doesn’t share much personal information with people. When I used to ask Lyrical about him, she would tell me he’s a very private man, which explains why he’s not close to any of the American Gods.
“Why didn’t you?”
His eyebrows draw together. “Because no one would believe me. She spread nasty rumors about me after I rejected her. I didn’t care. I just wanted to get away from her.”
Numbness spreads through my limbs, and my stomach churns. “Why would no one believe you, Irvin?”
He traces his fingers on my palm. “Why would anyone believe me?”
My heart aches at his words. I imagine a younger Irvin all alone with no one to talk to. It makes sense now why he’s a loner. People have let him down before. People he was supposed to trust hurt him.
I place my hands over his. “I believe you. I do. You said that it happened, and I believe you.”
He grips my hand harder and intertwines his fingers with mine.
This is not how I expected this to happen.
My plan is failing because I didn’t plan on soothing him.
I wanted to exploit him, but instead, we linger on a heavy topic.
Is he trying to manipulate me? Is this a game for him?
I do believe Irvin, but at the same time, Irvin is calculated—two steps ahead of me.
“Does Jameson know?”
“He believes our relationship started my sophomore year in college.”
“You should say something to him. Maybe she did it to him, too.”
“It happened so long ago; it doesn’t even matter anymore.”
I remove my hand, clear my throat, and tuck my legs under my butt.
“Did you accept your diagnosis?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t care what I was. I knew I was different from my friends, and I didn’t feel empathy on the same level as them. I also felt a great deal of loneliness in groups or around people.”
I need to move away from heavy conversations. Lighten the tension between us.
“Do you think people should understand you better?”
He side-eyes me. “I don’t give a fuck if someone understands me better or not.”
“Why?”
“Because people will hate you one minute and love you the next.”
I need to dig deeper. Ask questions that aren’t on the list. See what ways I can manipulate him.
“When do you know to trust someone?”
He freezes, stares at me, and a smirk spreads across his face. He’s onto me. He has to be. Why else is he looking at me as if he’s figured out my secret?
“Why do you want to know that, my princess?”
I straighten my spine. “I have to ask those questions.”
He grins. “Really? For an abnormal psychology class?”
I swallow. “Why would I lie to you?”
He chuckles, strokes his fingers around my neck, and down my collarbone.
“What other questions do you have?”
A chill spreads down my spine. Goosebumps sprout on my skin.
He leaves trails of kisses on my neck. His lips are soft and warm. I sigh, and warmth spreads through my core. Why can’t I push him away? Why can’t I tell him to stop? I’m stuck. Frozen. Even though warning bells are blazing inside my head.
“What are things that make you feel powerless?”
He cups my face, stroking his finger along my lips. “Are there other questions?”
“Yes.”
He pulls me into his lap, wraps his arms around my waist. “Ask away, my princess.”
I feel his hard erection press against my ass. Desire burns deep in my core. My nipples harden.
“How do you respond when your limits are pushed?” Then, “Have you dated girls on your own, without an arrangement?”
“That question wasn’t on the list,” he says.
I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t. Why are you so fixed on me? What makes me so special?”
If I don’t get off his lap, I’m going to do something I’ll regret, so I slide back into my own chair.
He leans forward, resting his hand on my thigh. “I’ve never pursued anyone besides you.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Because I didn’t have to. Every woman I wanted came to me.”
“Have you had a real girlfriend before?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. You were my first girlfriend.”
“You’re twenty-three.”
“And?”
“So you never met a woman where you thought, Hey, I vibe with her?”
“Besides you? No. I only used them to get what I wanted out of them. Sex. It didn’t take much to do.”
“How does that make you feel?”
He shrugs. “I don’t care. The women I was with were boring.”
I don’t like how I feel special. And I don’t like how he makes me feel—like he actually wants me. I’m trying so hard not to blush, not to think about how I wanted him as much as he wanted me before he tricked me into this marriage. Old feelings are resurfacing. I lean back.
“What makes me so special, Irvin?”
He simply stares at me. “You’re not fake. You’re not using me. You like me for me. You’re honest with me. Even when you found out that I have ASPD, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t judge.”
“Is that your biggest fear? Being judged?”
He shakes his head. “No.” He smiles. “Figure that one out on your own, my princess.”
I jump up from the chair, closing my laptop. He gets up from his seat and leans forward, close to my ear.
“Nothing you ask me can be used against me, babe.” He presses a kiss to my head. “Let that be a lesson in manipulation.”
With that, he leaves the dining room. I tuck my MacBook under my arm and crinkle my nose.
It dawns on me—he seduced me to avoid answering my questions.
Bastard. He knew what I was doing. I am so fucked if I’m not careful.