acting so casual and friendly, as if he hadn’t just smashed all of her blazing hopes into tiny, unrecognizable pieces. Marisala felt sick to her stomach, and
he
was making plans for tomorrow.
“That’s fine,” she murmured. “I’ll see you then.”
She went up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom, wondering at this odd queasiness that made her chest ache. If she didn’t know better, if she weren’t so sure that her feelings for Liam were based only on years of friendship and sheer physical attraction, she might’ve thought that once again he’d managed to break her heart.
FOUR
“T HIS ISN’T THE best neighborhood in the city.”
Marisala looked at Liam over the top of his car. “That’s what you said about the
last
apartment we looked at.”
“Yeah, that was a real dump too.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“The living-room window had a view of a brick wall. And it was three feet away. And the entryway door didn’t lock. Anyone could get in.”
“I lived in the jungle for nearly four years,” she reminded him. “Compared to some of the places I spent the night, that apartment was not bad.”
“I’d never sleep,” he told her as they walked toward the next address on her list. “I would be up until dawn, worrying about you. What’s the street number of this next place?”
“Five thirty-two. The landlord’s in Apartment Two.” Marisala glanced at the lines of fatigue on Liam’s face. As it was, he hadn’t slept much last night. She’d heard him moving around quite late and had gotten up to see the lights blazing throughout the rest of the condo.
She wondered if he had nightmares.
She
still did. She couldn’t imagine anyone living through what they had and
not
being haunted by it for the rest of their lives. But Liam had also survived all those months in prison, suffering God only knew what kind of mistreatment and abuse. She’d seen the scars on his back from the countless beatings. She could only guess what other scars he bore as well—both inside and out.
God knows she had her own scars.
Marisala caught sight of the crescent-shaped mark on her left cheekbone in the glimmering reflection from a newly washed car window. She’d always considered that scar a badge of her tremendous good luck. She had been struck by flying shrapnel. Had it hit her a few centimeters higher, she would have lost her eye. And if her head had been slightly turned, it could well have hit her in the temple, where even a glancing blow might have killed her.
But now, as she saw herself reflected in the car window, she saw the way the scar interrupted the smooth lines of her face. And while she had always scoffed at her uncle’s suggestion that a plastic surgeon might be able to make the scar smaller and less noticeable, Liam hadn’t seemed to think the idea was so far-fetched.
Maybe such a large scar on her face made Liam find her unattractive. Less womanly.
Marisala glanced at him as they climbed the stairs to the porch of a three-family house and rang the landlord’s bell. He was wearing a funky pair of mirrored sunglasses that hid his eyes and made his face unreadable.
“After this, I’m taking you to a realtor,” Liam told her. “They’ll find you a
real
apartment.”
“But I’ll have to pay a fee of a half month’s rent.”
“I’ll pay it,” he said shortly. “I’ll pay for the whole damn thing if I have to.”
Mother of God, he was eager to be rid of her. Marisala kept her face carefully expressionless, trying to conceal the anger and frustration that boiled inside of her. What had happened to their easygoing friendship? What had become of the man who had once trusted her enough to put his life in her hands? Who was this stiff stranger who stood in front of her now? “Well, it will be good to be settled. Classes start on Monday.” Her voice shook slightly, giving her away. He glanced at her, and she knew he could tell how badly his words hurt her.
Liam rang the bell
he
was making plans for tomorrow.
“That’s fine,” she murmured. “I’ll see you then.”
She went up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom, wondering at this odd queasiness that made her chest ache. If she didn’t know better, if she weren’t so sure that her feelings for Liam were based only on years of friendship and sheer physical attraction, she might’ve thought that once again he’d managed to break her heart.
FOUR
“T HIS ISN’T THE best neighborhood in the city.”
Marisala looked at Liam over the top of his car. “That’s what you said about the
last
apartment we looked at.”
“Yeah, that was a real dump too.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“The living-room window had a view of a brick wall. And it was three feet away. And the entryway door didn’t lock. Anyone could get in.”
“I lived in the jungle for nearly four years,” she reminded him. “Compared to some of the places I spent the night, that apartment was not bad.”
“I’d never sleep,” he told her as they walked toward the next address on her list. “I would be up until dawn, worrying about you. What’s the street number of this next place?”
“Five thirty-two. The landlord’s in Apartment Two.” Marisala glanced at the lines of fatigue on Liam’s face. As it was, he hadn’t slept much last night. She’d heard him moving around quite late and had gotten up to see the lights blazing throughout the rest of the condo.
She wondered if he had nightmares.
She
still did. She couldn’t imagine anyone living through what they had and
not
being haunted by it for the rest of their lives. But Liam had also survived all those months in prison, suffering God only knew what kind of mistreatment and abuse. She’d seen the scars on his back from the countless beatings. She could only guess what other scars he bore as well—both inside and out.
God knows she had her own scars.
Marisala caught sight of the crescent-shaped mark on her left cheekbone in the glimmering reflection from a newly washed car window. She’d always considered that scar a badge of her tremendous good luck. She had been struck by flying shrapnel. Had it hit her a few centimeters higher, she would have lost her eye. And if her head had been slightly turned, it could well have hit her in the temple, where even a glancing blow might have killed her.
But now, as she saw herself reflected in the car window, she saw the way the scar interrupted the smooth lines of her face. And while she had always scoffed at her uncle’s suggestion that a plastic surgeon might be able to make the scar smaller and less noticeable, Liam hadn’t seemed to think the idea was so far-fetched.
Maybe such a large scar on her face made Liam find her unattractive. Less womanly.
Marisala glanced at him as they climbed the stairs to the porch of a three-family house and rang the landlord’s bell. He was wearing a funky pair of mirrored sunglasses that hid his eyes and made his face unreadable.
“After this, I’m taking you to a realtor,” Liam told her. “They’ll find you a
real
apartment.”
“But I’ll have to pay a fee of a half month’s rent.”
“I’ll pay it,” he said shortly. “I’ll pay for the whole damn thing if I have to.”
Mother of God, he was eager to be rid of her. Marisala kept her face carefully expressionless, trying to conceal the anger and frustration that boiled inside of her. What had happened to their easygoing friendship? What had become of the man who had once trusted her enough to put his life in her hands? Who was this stiff stranger who stood in front of her now? “Well, it will be good to be settled. Classes start on Monday.” Her voice shook slightly, giving her away. He glanced at her, and she knew he could tell how badly his words hurt her.
Liam rang the bell
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