Her Wicked Heart by Ember Casey Read Free Book Online Page A

even been here a week.
    But what am I supposed to do? Sit by and let Mr. Casanova badmouth my family?
    “Wasn’t it passed down through the family?” I say casually. “Maybe it wasn’t just a simple matter of needing or even choosing to live here.”
    “Everything’s a choice.”
    “But if you were born to a place like this,” I say, “if your family history was built into these walls, would you have just been able to give it up?”
    I don’t dare look at him, but I can feel his eyes on me. I force myself to fold the shirt in front of me.
    “I’d like to think that even if I’d been born to that privilege, I’d still have had the strength of character to sell this place and actually do something meaningful with my life,” he says, not bothering to hide his resentment. “The problem with people who live in places like this is that they think money is everything. Their self-worth is tied to how many rooms they have in their houses and how many thousand-dollar suits they have hanging in their closets. This place was a status symbol, nothing more. Can you imagine what sort of difference they might have made if they’d used their money to change the world instead of building a rooftop pool or buying another Ferrari for their sixteen-car garage?”
    And there it is: the question I’ve struggled with since I was a teenager. The question that drove me to Thailand. It never seemed like enough that my family had sponsored dozens of philanthropic projects throughout the years, not when we were still drowning in luxury. Not when we barely had to lift a finger to “support” some abstract cause on the other side of the world.
    I grab another shirt and begin to fold it. I’m not allowed to be this upset about losing this house. I should be looking at this as my opportunity to become something more than a privileged, self-centered ex-heiress.
    “Did I say something wrong?” Ward asks after a minute.
    I need to be more careful. Smile. Flip my hair. There will always be people who upset you , my father used to say. Either by choice or by accident. Don’t let them see you sweat. Addison Thomas wouldn’t get upset about something like this. Neither should Lou.
    “Nothing’s wrong,” I say sweetly. I fold the next shirt.
    He’s looking at me. I can tell because the tiny hairs on the back of my neck are prickling. I grab another shirt and tell myself that I don’t care what Ward’s thinking. At least if I’m disgusted with him I’m not thinking about the way his fingers felt on the bare skin of my shoulder.
    “I’m sorry,” he says finally.
    I grab the next shirt. “Sorry for what?”
    “For making this mess. Getting you stuck with all this extra work.”
    He sounds sincere, at least. But I’m not interested in being friends with this guy. I can’t imagine a scenario where that would end well.
    So I say nothing. As the afternoon goes on, he talks to me a couple more times, but I respond to him with one-word answers. He probably thinks I’m a bitch, but that’s okay. He can’t think any worse of me than I think of myself these days.
    Finally, he sighs and says, “I don’t know what I did wrong. I wasn’t trying to piss you off, I promise.”
    “You didn’t piss me off,” I say. “I just have a lot to do.”
    “Again, sorry about that.” His voice is light. “But hey, at least I got you away from Haymore for a few hours, huh?”
    I don’t reply. He finally gets the hint, though, because a few minutes later he says, “I need to go get some supplies.”
    And I don’t see him again for the rest of the afternoon.
    * * *
    That night, I can’t sleep.
    It’s nothing new for me. This past year, I’ve been lucky to get four hours a night. In Chiang Mai, I used to lie next to Ian and listen to his slow, steady breathing. It should have been calming, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept, but instead it woke something terrible inside of me—a panic that made my heart beat so quickly