Free Pretend It's Love by Stefanie London Page A

serious damage, but the message was clear. He leaned in close and whispered something that made the blood drain from her father’s face.
    When Paul released him, the older man glared at Libby before stalking toward the front door.
    “You should start looking for somewhere new to live,” her father said in his usual ice-cold tone just before the door slammed shut behind him.
    “What did you say to him?” she asked, wariness spreading through her system and making her limbs heavy.
    “I simply reminded him that as a father it’s his job to take care of his daughter, not to treat her like a piece of meat.”
    “I’m sure you said it so eloquently as well.”
    Paul smirked. “I may have colored outside the lines a little.”
    She shoved her shaking hands into the pockets of her sundress. Having Paul witness the truth behind her family—especially after seeing how loving and caring his family was—made her feel exposed, like he could see the fabric of imperfections that she’d tried so hard to cover up.
    She was unlovable, and it shamed her.
    “I wish you didn’t see that.” She sucked on her top lip and turned away from him, needing a moment to gather herself.
    “Why?”
    She shrugged, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. Heat burned in her chest and neck. She walked to the fridge, her heels clicking against the tiled floor, and reached for a bottle of water.
    So much for keeping Paul at a distance. The image of him standing there—protecting her, defending her—rolled around in her brain. No one had ever done that for her before…and it felt good.

    “T he guy’s clearly a jerk. It’s not a reflection of you.”
    Libby didn’t turn around, so Paul had full view of her copper hair as it tumbled down the back of the white dress she wore. The sharp contrast struck a chord in him; she looked like a painting. Unreal.
    Perfect.
    Except that her guard had shot up the minute he walked in the front door. No surprise there, her father was a Grade A prick. If it had been anyone else they’d be sporting a broken nose for talking to her in such a demeaning way.
    Getting him out of the house before he caused the guy some serious damage had been tough.
    Tightness gripped his chest. She wasn’t his to protect, in reality, she wasn’t his at all. So why did he feel that roar of desire to pull her into his arms and comfort her? He did not comfort women.
    That was a job for real boyfriends.
    But the question hovered on his tongue, needling at him. “Are you okay?”
    She nodded. “You’re right. He’s a total jerk…sadly, I’m used to it.”
    “So this isn’t just because you’ve dropped out of med school?”
    “No, it’s not. He treated my mother like crap for as long as I can remember.” She turned and closed the fridge, leaning back against it while she sipped water from a bottle. “They only got married because she got pregnant at nineteen. They fought most of the time while I was growing up, and they ended up divorcing when I was ten.”
    He listened as her history tumbled from her mouth in a rush of words as if she’d been trying to get it out for a long time. Normally this would be his idea of hell—being a shoulder to cry on wasn’t exactly his forte outside the sob stories he occasionally got at the bar.
    But he found himself wanting to listen to Libby, wanting to be the person she turned to…not that he had even the slightest clue as to what to say to her in return. He’d always been better with actions than words.
    “Mum got nothing out of the divorce. Dad had made her sign a prenup, and she ended up working crazy hours to make rent in the area where I went to school. Dad paid for my education, but he made it hard for her whenever he could. I think by the time she remarried and had another kid she didn’t want to see me much because I reminded her of all that.”
    “And your Dad remarried?”
    “He’s onto his fourth wife. It’s no wonder I don’t believe in marriage.” She