Free True for You by Marquita Valentine Page A

lived?”
    “Ten.”
    “Are
you serious?”
    I
exhale. “Too old, too young, too Mexican—my mother was
Columbian by the way and my daddy white— too quiet… too
whatever. When DSS found out the Richards
weren’t actually homeschooling me, they sent me to another
house, and then another, until I was fourteen and the Coreys decided
they wanted me. ”
    “Do
you still talk to them?”
    The
Coreys are the only people on the planet I’ve ever wished harm
on. They’d taken me in at fourteen and proceeded to make the
next two years of my life a living hell.
    “What do you
want, Jackson?” I’m done talking about a past he has no
business knowing.
    He
runs a hand through his hair. “To apologize.”
    My
heart races, though it should be forbidden to ever do so in his
presence. “Again?” I sit up, facing him. “How many
times do you expect me to forgive you?”
    “As
many times as your willing to forgive, and just as many times I won’t
forget what I did.”
    “But
you keep repeating the same mistakes,” I point out, struggling
to stay calm. My plan to be the one who saves him, and me in return,
is becoming more and more difficult to follow. I hadn’t
expected his rejections to hurt so much.
    “Put
your glasses back on and look at me, sweetheart. I want you to see
how serious I am,” he says, holding out my glasses. “Give
me the chance to make it up to you.”
    I
put them on, doing exactly as he asks. He does look serious, but I
wonder what has happened to make him change his mind.
    Then
I remember—his inheritance. He needs me to get his money.

Chapter Ten
    Bliss
    “I
can’t,” I say. “I’m tired of being hurt by
you, over and over. I’m tired of being rejected, until it’s
convenient or someone owes a debt… or wants their
inheritance.”
    “I
don’t give a damn about the money.”
    “Then
why did you—oh God, you lied to me.”
    He
nods, sheepish. “Yeah.”
    “Why?
It makes no sense. You said it yourself. We’re not in love.
We’re not—”
    “But
we are desperate for each other. Call me a liar about anything but
that.”
    “Liar.”
I glare at him. “You were more than happy for me to stop
touching you.”
    He
scrubs his hand over his face. “Give a guy a little slack, baby
doll. You wounded my ego with the assumption of divorce.”
    I
gape at him in amazement. “I wounded your ego? There are not
enough pins in this world to deflate that thing.”
    “You’d
be surprised just how easy it is, coming from the right person,”
he says wryly.
    My
mind whirls. He wants me. He doesn’t want me. He needs me for
money. He doesn’t need me for money. Are all celebrities like
him—forever changing their minds to suit their moods?
    “What do you
need me for? And don’t give me some bullcrap answer about
pissing off your dad. I’m sure you could find a million ways to
piss him off that don’t involve getting married to someone.”
    A
grin kicks up the corners of his mouth. “Because June Bliss
Davenport, aka Mrs. June Bliss Morgan, you’re my new muse.”

    *** *** ***

    Jackson
    “I’m
your what?” Bliss asks, her nose wrinkling.
    “My
new muse. The reason I spent the last five hours singing old songs
and composing new ones,” I say, laying it all out there for her
and waiting for some kind of reaction. This sounded much better in my
head. Out loud I sound maniacal, like I should be rubbing my hands
together—evilly.
    But
the only kind of reaction I get from her is a blank stare.
    I
try again. “You know, muse—inspiration for my music. You
and I are going to be Country Music’s next big act.”
    Her
face goes from blank to pale. “But I can’t sing, play an
instrument, or even dance.”
    “You
can learn. I’ll teach you everything,” I insist. “It’s
easy to read sheet music.”
    She
shakes her head vehemently. “No.”
    “But
you have to. You’re my June.”
    “I’m
Bliss.” Crossing her arms over her chest, her look turns
mutinous. “I’m not this June,