Jaimie: Fire and Ice (The Wilde Sisters 2)
Page 102
“I’ll have you know our housekeeper was a smart woman. You got punished by being ignored when you asked for seconds the next time around.”
“Seems reasonable.”
“Is that what your father did?”
“No.”
“You mean, you got away with asking for something and leaving it over?”
“I mean,” he said, trying for a light tone, “I’d get sent to my room.”
“How little parents know, right? Send a kid to his room. Sounds good—but he probably has a computer in that room, and maybe whatever you call those video game thingies, and all kinds of toys and books…”
“My room was four walls, a bed, a chair and a bureau.”
“Oh.”
“And the reason for being sent there was to wait for him to finish eating. Then he’d come in and mete out the appropriate punishment.”
“Oh.”
The “oh” was softer this time. Zach told himself to stop while he was still ahead. You didn’t get very far entertaining a woman by telling her the sad stories of your life.
“What was the appropriate punishment?”
He looked up. She was watching him with such tenderness that he felt his throat constrict.
“Depended,” he said, still trying for a light tone. “On what you’d said you wanted and hadn’t eaten. Hot dogs, hamburgers, cake, pie… He had a system. So many whacks for one, so many for the other.”
“He beat you?”
Jaimie’s voice was hot with disbelief. Dammit, why was he telling her this? Nobody knew anything about his childhood. Why should they?
“Zacharias. Did he—”
“Yeah. And I don’t know why in hell I told you about it.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“I bet. Nothing like a sob story on a Saturday night.”
“Zacharias.”
Zach pushed back his chair. “Honey, look, I have some business calls to make…”
Jaimie grabbed his hand. “I’ve been lucky, you know? A pretty easy life. Sisters. Brothers. I know it isn’t that way for everyone.”
“I’m not complaining. Life is what it is.”
“I know you’re not complaining.” She stood up, moved close to him and brought his hand to her cheek. “You’re a good man, Zacharias. I’m not sure you know that, but you are.”
A good man.
He wasn’t. He had done things he could never talk about. They’d been the right things at the time, at least, he’d believed they were, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d done them.
And now, with her, he was the worst kind of liar.
A good man?