The Truth About Kian

11. And I discovered that my castles stand

"I've had lots of practise running away from people who want to hurt me," I snapped, refusing to let myself sag into heaving chest.

"Hurt you? Oh, Reed, no — this wasn't a set up." His breath ghosted over my ear. "I should've told you that I changed my plans. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," I said stiffly, attempting to extricate myself from his arms. Apology or not, I wasn't going to let my guard down again. "Let me go."

He loosened his grip on my waist, but all I could do was turn around until we were face to face. Which was so much worse.

I was so close to his face that I could see the freckles sprinkled across his nose, the individual lashes that brushed his brow bone. Sure, he wasn't perfect — I could see his pores and a long scar above his right eyebrow — but he wasn't bad for a teenage boy.

His eyes met mine, and they were even lovelier close up. Clear and bluer than my favourite blue raspberry gelato, they were deep and expressive — and they stared at me earnestly.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered, reaching up to push a lock of sweaty hair out of my eyes. "I couldn't do that to you."

I leaned back as far back as his arms would allow, pretty sure that my breath was less than stellar. "I'm not going to hold you to that promise, Li-Sinclair."

His lips quirked up at my near slip up. "But I'm going to promise anyway."

I was nearly bent over backwards as his face inched closer to mine. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I am going to keep my promise. I won't hurt you, I swear." He hauled me back up, keeping one hand pressed to my back so I couldn't lean away again.

I grunted, ducking my head and sealing my lips. Liam seemed to understand that I wasn't going to cooperate and look him in the eye, and he finally released me.

"Now," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Are you ready to go in, or are you going to run away again?"

"You took me by surprise," I retorted. "It's instinct."

His expression grew even grimmer. "Was it really bad?"

"Was what really bad?" I asked as we began to walk back to his car.

"The bullying." He swallowed uncomfortably and looked away. "It's bad, isn't it? Bad enough to make you into one of the best sprinters I've ever met in my life."

I stiffened. I didn't want to think of the verbal taunts, being pelted with eggs and mud and whatever else the Inheritors thought would look bad smeared on my face. I didn't want to remember the names they called me — fat, worthless, hideous, pathetic, trash — or the time they shaved off my eyebrows during sophomore year. And I especially didn't want to think about the finger-shaped bruises on my arms that had refused to fade for several weeks. 

"Nothing," I forced my mouth into a small smile, "that I couldn't handle."

Liam watched me, a worried crease between his eyebrows. Despite his popularity, Liam hadn't really been one of my main tormentors. He'd never intentionally bullied anyone — and people noticed and called him a decent person — but he'd also stood by and let the bullying happen. And that was just as bad in my eyes.

I squared my shoulders. There was no use dwelling in the past. "Are we actually going to work this afternoon?"

He blinked, still watching me intently before smiling. "I'm the hardest worker you'll ever find."

"I'm not drinking to that," I muttered darkly as we climbed back into the car and drove through the gates and onto the Sinclair estate. I gasped. Liam's home was castle-like with a manicured lawn and hedges trimmed into funny shapes. At the end of the long gravel driveway a modern white mansion towered over the trees.The front wall of the building was almost entirely made up of glass with thick white pillars sitting on either side of the door.

"It's stupid and ugly and a complete waste of money," Liam muttered, climbing out of the car and pushing his way into the foyer. Thanks to the front wall and pale wooden floor, it was light and airy and high-ceilinged.

"It's not too bad," I said, although I secretly agreed with him.

He moodily kicked the base of the staircase that led up to a higher level. "It's hideous. Don't try and spare my feelings. I didn't choose to live in this thing."

"I feel like I should wear a ball gown and practise walking down the stairs like a princess."

He grimaced. "I told you to wear the dress today."

"Unlike you, I can't just break St. Benedict's dress code whenever I feel like it," I shot back.

"I don't like the uniform. The shirt makes my skin itch."

"What a travesty! The precious heir to the Sinclair fortune can't be forced to wear an itchy shirt. It simply isn't be done."

"You make me sound like a spoiled kid that can't handle any pain." A beat of silence and then, "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"Pretty much," I said examining the elaborate painting on the wall of the carpeted corridor. Liam seemed eager to get me out of the area of his house that looked untouched, and he grabbed my elbow, pulling me into the kitchen.

It wasn't as bad as the rest of the house. There were magnets on the industrial-size refrigerator, a dirty bowl in the sink, a folded newspaper on the granite island countertop. It look lived in, but still too fancy with Vermeer painting on the wall behind the breakfast bar that I suspected wasn't a replica and glass-paned cupboard doors and sophisticated appliances. 

"Want a snack?" Liam asked, reaching into the pantry and pulling out a box of Oreo cookies. He stuffed a few in his mouth, once again demonstrating his utter lack of eating finesse. He looked strange standing in his luxurious kitchen with cookie crumbs around his mouth.

Frowning, I checked the clock above the sink. "I thought we were working at the library. We don't have time to eat."

"Oh, that," he said casually. "I figured we could just work here."

I scowled at him. "You can't just manipulate me into doing what you want, Sinclair. We agreed to work at the library."

"You decided to work at the library. I decided to work here." He stuck his tongue out at me. "And I'm not moving. Want a snack?"

We eyed each other for a few seconds. I hated how he'd orchestrated this afternoon to his liking, and I hated how I didn't even feel like fighting it.

But wasn't that the problem with Liam? As much as I gained a backbone around him, I let him get away more than he should get away with.

And I didn't like it. Not at all.

***