Breaking Him (Love is War #1)(44)

The old nickname was familiar and despised, and epitomized everything I hated about this place.

I straightened with my lipstick in hand to face a small group of snickering women. There were three of them, all girls from high school that I recognized instantly as being part of the mean girl pack that had done their best to terrorize me back when I’d been a stuttering mess.

I was not a stuttering mess now.

“I see the bitches still travel in packs around here. And by the way, guests aren’t even supposed to come into this part of the house.” I told their leader, Mandy, my voice steady, eyes flashing. That had been a strict rule of Gram’s. No guests in the kitchen, ever.

Also, I was extra defensive and hostile with the way they had caught me, the sore spot they had rubbed right off the bat.

“Oh, guests aren’t welcome, but charity cases are?”

She had a point. Mandy was a bratty little bitch, but even a stopped clock is right twice a day.

Just because Gram had treated me like family didn’t make me any less of a charity case. I’d just been too stupid to see it myself back then.

No, I shook off the thought. No. Just because Dante had thrown me away didn’t mean Gram had.

Gram had really loved me. I was as sure of it as I was of anything.

I smiled unpleasantly at Mandy. She hadn’t grown up to be an attractive woman, but then she’d never been an attractive teenager. Looking at it in retrospect, I could see clearly now at least one of the reasons she’d hated me. I may have been trash, but I was beautiful trash, and there was not one beautiful thing about her. Her weasel face was as ugly as ever.

“Well, this charity case is allowed in the kitchen, and you’re not.” I waved at the door that led to the front part of the house, the section where company was allowed.

Mandy took a threatening step toward me.

I laughed, setting down my clutch. I held my arms out wide. “Please. Is that a threat? Come at me. I dare you. If all three of you attack, it’ll be just like old times, right? I remember how you thought the odds of three to one would help you.”

Of course they backed down. When they went in for the kill, it was usually with words.

Because mean girls don’t kill. They dehumanize.

A few times they’d tried their luck with me the other way, but I could see that they still remembered how that had gone for them.

That was the moment that Dante walked into the room, and damn him, and me, I was actually happy to see him.

He zeroed in on Mandy and strode right up to her. “I’m only going to say this once,” he told her harshly. “It’s your first and final warning. If you can’t be civil, if you try to pull one of your childish stunts, or I catch you making one snide comment, or even hear that you did, you’re out of here. Also, no guests in the kitchen.” He pointed to the door.

The pack of bitches left, shooting murder at me over their shoulders.

“God, do you have any idea how you just crushed her?” I asked him, smiling. “She’s had a thing for you since high school, and don’t ask me why, but it looks like she still does.”

“I give less than zero f*cks how she feels. That one is a coward and a bully. I don’t even want her in this house. I haven’t forgotten how she treated you in high school.”

“You haven’t?” I asked him.

He looked at me. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”

I looked away. “Well, this started as badly as it could have. I already got caught digging in the trash and almost got into a fistfight, all before I’ve even walked into the reception.”

“If anyone else gives you any problems, I’m kicking them out, I swear to God.”

My eyes flitted to him and then away. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“It’s not hard, Scarlett. In fact, it feels a hell of a lot more natural than what we’ve been doing.”





CHAPTER





TWENTY-THREE





“If I know what love is, it is because of you.”

~Herman Hesse





PAST


Something awful had happened when we started going to high school. It wasn’t immediate, more of a gradual shift, but nonetheless detrimental to me.

Dante was physical and he always seemed to need an aggressive outlet for it so, much to my chagrin, he was often in some sport or other. Football was his favorite so every fall from the time we were in sixth grade, he had practice. Every year practice seemed to eat up more and more of his time.

I tried to take it well, but I was so jealous of his time and attention that I didn’t. But I did try.

I started taking drama after school myself, and it suited me. My stutter still plagued me at the worst of times, so I never got a speaking role in the school plays, but I was happy to fill extra spots and work on the set.

I thought for a while that it would work. We both had things to do, opposite interests that took up our time.

I’d finish drama and go watch him from the bleachers, sometimes I’d do my homework, sometimes I’d read, sometimes I’d just ogle him, and then we’d either drive or walk home together.

On paper it sounded great, but that’s not what happened.

In high school it became apparent that he was quite good at everyone’s favorite sport and for some reason it started to matter to people and seemingly overnight he was one of the popular kids.