Temporary Boss, Permanent Mistress by Kate Hardy

Author:Kate Hardy [Hardy, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: ePub Bud (www.epubbud.com)
Published: 2014-10-20T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘IT’S a long story.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’ Jake pressed a light kiss against Lydia’s forehead. ‘Tell me, elskling.’

‘My parents…’ How could she tell him that her parents hadn’t wanted her? That she’d been a mistake—and compounded that mistake in their eyes by being a girl rather than a boy.

And even saying it sounded whiny. It made her feel like a spoilt child stamping her foot because she couldn’t get her own way. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

He drew her closer. ‘I think it does. Or you wouldn’t be locking yourself away like this. You were saying: your parents?’

She sighed. ‘They had my best interests at heart.’ She’d been telling herself that for years. ‘I mean, artists are ten a penny. And I could spend years working hard and getting nowhere, not even earning enough to live on. Starving in a garret. Whereas if I followed them into law, I’d always have a steady job and I wouldn’t have to worry about where I was going to find the next payment for my rent. And they were absolutely right. I have a steady, fulfilling job and no financial worries.’

‘And you hate it.’

‘I don’t hate it, exactly.’

‘But you’re not happy. There’s something missing.’

She couldn’t deny that. ‘Maybe,’ she hedged.

‘All right. Let me ask you this. If you had the chance to do it all again, would you do anything differently?’

She nodded—and then realised how ridiculous it was. There wasn’t enough light for him to see her. ‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘I would’ve done Art instead of Economics. And I would’ve gone to art school.’

‘Your art teacher must’ve been able to see how talented you were. So why didn’t your teacher step in and fight your corner?’

‘She tried. My father’s quite…’ How could she put this? ‘Formidable.’

‘Was he violent towards you?’ Jake’s voice sounded cool and neutral, but at the same time his hold on her tightened. Telling her that he was furious on her behalf, wanted to protect her.

‘No, not that.’ The blows her father had used hadn’t been physical. The scars they’d left were invisible, and she’d never spoken about them. ‘Just that it’s very rare for my father to lose an argument—in court or outside. He’s very good with words.’ She sighed. ‘And yes, I know I probably should’ve stood up to him and followed my heart. But I was young and I’d always been pretty much sheltered.’ And her father had discouraged her wilder friends, making very sure that it was inconvenient for her to go out with them.

‘And maybe where other teenagers rebelled against their parents, I just wanted mine to be proud of me.’ She’d needed to hear the words ‘well done’. Needed the proud smile, the quick hug, the softness in their eyes. And she’d so wanted to prove that she could live up to their expectations—that she was better than the son she knew they would rather have had.

‘Why would you think they weren’t proud of you?’

Because it was so obvious.

And how pathetic that sounded. She didn’t need other people to validate her.

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