Once, I wrapped a fucking light-green ribbon around a bag, and from that day on, she wears it in her hair, wrapped around her wrist, or looped in her belt. Then I left a second ribbon, and she uses that one as a shoestring.
Then I bought her some tennis shoes. I never see her wear them, though. I guess she doesn’t like them. As a result, the next week I left her slippers, the kind you can wear indoors and out. I suppose I have bad taste in shoes because she never wears those, either. She continues to wear the busted-up tennis shoes with the light-green ribbon…every…single…day.
What she has liked are the books. The smile that forms on her face when she gets one does something to me. She may not know where the books come from, but I do. Those smiles are undoubtedly about the little escape she gets by reading, but they are caused by me; therefore, they are all mine.
When I was younger, Momma read to us. We didn’t travel much—hell, we didn’t travel at all—but we escaped the hardest times through the books and the stories Momma shared, stories of gallant knights, dragon slayers, pirates, thieves who stole from the rich and gave to the poor, and princes who saved princesses from the towers they were being held in.
Tatiana is a princess; there is no doubt in my mind. She is smart. Apparently, she even has test scores to prove it. After all, there’s no way in hell that fucker who is her father is doing her correspondence courses for her. The piece of shit can’t even form a complete sentence. She is hardworking and takes pride in the little she has. She is beautiful in the most natural way a woman can be. No painted face, no surgical enhancements could rival the beauty God above gave her. She wears her scars like jewelry. As sick as it sounds, to me, those are even more beautiful. They are so damn beautiful I have to remind myself over and over that she is only seventeen, not even legal. My cock obviously gives less than a fuck about that.
Tatiana has something in her, the one thing pirates, thieves, and abusive fuckers can never take away: hope. I see it in her every day. It’s an unmistakable look. You have to have been hopeless at one time or another in your life in order to recognize it. I do, and it’s fucking with me. It is fucking with me badly.
Love stories you’ll never forget
By authors you’ll always remember
eOriginal Romance from Random House
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Lust Is the Thorn Page 24