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"And it was all a lie." She shrugged. "My entire life was built on a lie."

As was becoming an increasing phenomenon around this woman, I didn't know what to say. Normally, I had something for everything.

A joke. A smart-ass comment. Something to lighten the mood. But there wasn't a damn thing funny about what she'd just told me.

"Do you know what the really pathetic part is?" she asked.

"Nothing about that sounds pathetic to me."

"I still wonder what I could've done differently. Even knowing the truth, some part of me still thinks maybe if I'd worked harder, been smarter, been better, he would've loved me."

My chest physically hurt. "Mickey."

She looked at me with a vulnerability in her stare that broke my heart. "You were a kid."

Her lips pulled in a tight grin. "I know."

"No. I don't think you do." I shifted toward her. "You were a little girl who wanted her dad to love her. There wasn't a damn thing you could've done to change the adults in that situation."

Her eyes glistened, but she held my gaze. I brushed my thumb over her knuckles.

"And for what it's worth, Abraham St. Claire was an asshole."

She laughed as she wiped a tear that had slipped down her cheek. "Is that your professional assessment?"

"Absolutely. I've got extensive experience identifying assholes. I grew up with brothers."

The truth was, my opinion of Abraham St. Claire was not great before I heard any of this. My mom moved to America when she was sixteen, not knowing anyone, without a dime to her name, and barely speaking English. She got a job working for the St. Claires, and when she gave birth to my brother, she allowed them to adopt him because they’d always wanted children but had been unable to have any of their own, and she was in no position to raise one alone. Abraham St. Claire lied to my mom, promising she could keep in touch with Deacon. But he didn’t even tell Deacon that he was adopted until he was thirteen, and he told him his mother had died.

Deacon didn’t find out the truth about my mom until after his parents died in a car accident.

She sighed. "He was lied to, so I can’t really blame him for his actions."

"Maybe you can’t, but I can. He believed you were his daughter, and he chose to keep you at arm's length. That's on him. Not you."

Another tear slipped down her cheek. This time I reached up and wiped it away.

"And your mom?" I continued. "Maybe she thought she was protecting you. Maybe she thought money would make up for everything else. But she doesn't get to decide how that made you feel."

Mikayla looked at me for a long moment. "I don't think I know how to trust people anymore."

There it was. The truth beneath the perfectionism, the expensive clothes, the contracts, the rules.

"I mean, my mother lied to me my entire life. The man I thought was my father treated me like a dirty secret. And then the man I thought I was going to marry slept with my best friend." Her laugh was bitter. "I have spectacular taste in people, don't I?"

"Present company excluded, I hope."

She gave me a watery smile. "Jury's still out."

"Fair. Although I'd like to submit my performance thus far as evidence."

She laughed but then sniffed and grew serious.

"I’m sorry, Mickey. I’m sorry people who you should have been able to trust, hurt you."

I wanted to tell her that I wouldn't. That I'd never lie to her. Never betray her. Never make her feel like something that needed to be hidden.

But promises were easy. I was sure that all those people probably made plenty of them. So instead, I said, "I know I’ll have to earn it."