Free Her Every Wish by Courtney Milan Page B

trousers. “Very well. Do you want me to forgive you for your mother? She’ll be a burden, that’s for sure. Shall I forgive you for working in a shop? I know you flirt with the men who come by.”
    â€œOnly a little—it doesn’t mean anything, just enough to puff up their esteem—”
    â€œDon’t worry.” He made the next words sound ugly. “I forgive you.” His voice dropped. “I forgive you the fact that you were raised to think yourself better than you are.”
    She had gasped.
    â€œI forgive you your impertinent and unwomanly desire to be more.”
    She had been beyond gasping.
    â€œI forgive you your utter ignorance in bed,” he had continued, “and your maidenly qualms. Hell, I’ll forgive you your very existence in return. Even though, as these things are reckoned, you are a complete waste of a woman.”
    She felt as if she’d been flayed alive. As if she were as sore in her spirit as she’d been between her legs. She’d pulled the sheets about her.
    â€œWhat are you saying?”
    â€œWhat does it sound like I’m saying? I forgive you, Daisy. I forgive every miserable thing about you.”
    She had choked back tears, but his words hurt. Not because they were lies; they were all the truth. The truth she’d hoped he didn’t see. The simple facts of her, laid bare.
    She was ignorant about lovemaking. She was impertinent. Her mother was a burden.
    â€œI’m only saying what you said,” he told her. “I forgive you.”
    â€œMaybe I didn’t say the right thing the right way.” She’d struggled to understand. “But there’s no call to hurt me like that. Good heavens, Crash, it’s not like I wounded you.”
    Even now, even months later, it still hurt to remember his words. So she had said the wrong thing. What should it have mattered to him? She’d seen him shrug off worse insults, and her remarks had at least been kindly meant. His response… Now that had been truly unkind.
    â€œOf course you didn’t wound me,” he had said. “I never feel pain. Why should I care if you do?”
    She had been too devastated to think. “Get out.” She’d scarcely managed those words.
    â€œThese are my rooms.”
    â€œI don’t care.” She turned away from him. “I can’t look at you. I can’t talk to you. Get out.”
    He’d hesitated. Perhaps at that moment, he realized that he’d said too much. “Daisy.”
    â€œDon’t.” If he talked to her, she would remember all the lies she told herself. She’d remember thirty minutes ago, when he had said he loved her, when he’d kissed her and entered her and talked to her and made her laugh. She’d remember that, instead of what he had just said.
    â€œDaisy. Wait.”
    She had looked over at him. “For what?” she had said viciously. “For me to forgive you?”
    He sat beside her. “I lost my temper. I have a— Oh, God, I have more than a little chip on my shoulder about some of this. And, well…” He had looked over at her. “I know everyone thinks I don’t care. I can’t let them know when I do. But I thought you understood me.”
    She had thought she had, too. “Did you mean it? Any of it, somewhere—did you mean it?”
    He had inhaled. He’d looked away. There had been a long moment where she’d scarcely been able to breathe. His knuckles had turned almost pale, clenching so hard. Very quietly, he’d spoken. “Yes.”
    One word, and it had ended everything. All her lies. All her wishes. All her dreams.
    Crash had been the lie she told herself.
    Who does it hurt?
    Her. It hurt her. It had stabbed her so deeply she thought she might weep blood.
    â€œDon’t wait two months.” She had shut her eyes. “Go to France.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œThere are