Free Her Every Wish by Courtney Milan Page A

heard this from him a great deal in the last months. In some ways, it had felt like Crash had suspended her good sense.
    She’d started arguing his side to herself.
    Who do I hurt if I kiss him? If I let him put his hand there? It can’t really be wrong, not if it feels so right.
    She’d told herself that so often that she’d almost completely believed it. Almost. She was already making excuses for him.
    That had brought her to this moment, naked in bed with him.
    â€œReally,” he mused, “the only true check in my past was the time Jeremy and I robbed Mr. Wintour. But he deserved it, and everyone does stupid things when they’re young…”
    All Daisy’s explanations had failed her at that moment. Her stomach had roiled uneasily, and the almost she could not quite dispel returned with a vengeance.
    â€œYou did what?”
    â€œOh, did I not tell you about that?” He’d given her a brilliant, unashamed smile. “Actually, it’s an amusing story. Mr. Wintour, see, was Jeremy’s employer at the time—you recall Jeremy, yes? In any event, he accused Jeremy of thievery. Which was…” Crash had shaken his head. “Stupid and wrong, and in any event, Jeremy was sacked without his wages. Taking matters into our own hands was a matter of justice…”
    Daisy had scarcely heard the account that followed.
    Who does it hurt? He had always asked her that question. He’d given her his magical smile, and she’d gone along. His magic had finally failed.
    Who does it hurt?
    Here, there was an answer. Never mind his earnest confession. Never mind that it wasn’t that much or that Mr. Wintour had deserved it. Crash could only alter Daisy’s sense of right and wrong so far, and stealing was wrong. Under all circumstances. It was wrong, demonstrably wrong.
    Maybe he’d been wrong about everything else.
    â€œIt was nine years ago,” he finished. “I was seventeen and stupid, and, well…”
    And he was sorry now. She clutched at that. It had just been the once. Boys did stupid things.
    Her thoughts might have been rationalizations, but she held tight to them. She had reached out and taken his hand impulsively.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter,” she had said. “I love you. I forgive you.”
    He’d frowned down at her fingers twining with his.
    â€œYou forgive me,” he had finally said in a low tone. “Why do you forgive me? I didn’t steal from you. What are you forgiving me for?”
    â€œFor everything,” she had said earnestly. “I forgive you for everything you’ve done.”
    â€œEverything.” The pleased animation had slipped from his face. The next words came slowly. “You forgive me for everything. Not just the one-time theft. Pardon me; I should like to have your everything spelled out.”
    She’d felt confused.
    He pulled his arm from her. “Do you forgive me for taking wagers?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œYou forgive me my former lovers, I assume.”
    â€œNaturally.”
    Instead of appeasing him, each answer of hers made his face even more dangerous. “You forgive me for being a bastard, I suppose.”
    â€œYou know I do.”
    His voice was low and cutting. “Next, you’ll forgive me my aunt and my mother. You’ll forgive me for not having English features, for the color of my skin, for—”
    In the months since, she’d come to understand that she’d misstepped. She had said the wrong thing, precisely the wrong thing.
    At the time, she’d thought she was reassuring him.
    â€œYes,” she had said desperately. “I do. All of it.”
    â€œThen you surely forgive me for having the stones to believe I’m worth something.”
    She’d stared at him in confusion. “How can you doubt it?
    He had pulled away from her, standing up, hunting in their clothing piled together for his