She jerks back, but I hold on tighter.

“An accident.”

“Bullshit. What accident leaves identical scars like this? Try again.”

“Z,” she pleads.

“And I know damn well you didn’t have them before, so don’t even try.”

“I can’t.” She’s pleading with everything in her to let this go. Her big brown eyes brimming with tears, her beautiful face, her body that she’s desperately trying to pull out of my grip. “Z, I can’t.”

“You can and you will. I think I’ve been more than patient. I asked you to marry me before. You said yes. Then a few hours later, some clown I’ve never even heard of shows up claiming he’s your fiancé? I’m out of patience with you, woman.”

“You’re hurting me.”

The high, thin whine to her voice jars me enough to release her. She retreats but I’m not done with her. No way.

Step for step, I track her into the living room.

Lilly’s a strong woman. Almost nothing seems to make her flinch. Guilt lashes at me for the way she’s unraveling because of my questions.

“Who hurt you?” I ask.

She jerks her head up. “What?”

Gentler this time, I reach out and trace my finger over the soft inside of her arm. “Who did this?”

Tears I didn’t want to cause roll down her cheeks. She opens her mouth and slicks her tongue over her lips a few times before finally giving me the answer I never expected.

“I did.”

Chapter Two

Lilly

A cloud of pain wraps around my throat, threatening to suffocate me.

What a nightmare.

I almost wish Z hadn’t chased Ted away, because I’d like to strangle him.

My own fault. Weeks ago, I should’ve yanked up my big girl panties and told Ted our marriage–of his convenience–couldn’t happen.

That I could have handled with a simple phone call.

Z standing in front of me demanding answers, I can’t deal with that. I should have told him about Ted, even if I can’t tell him the whole story. But my lies have become a part of me to protect myself. It’s my story. The story of two Lillys. The one before. And the one after. Both of them are full of pain and regret. Regrets I can’t erase. Pain I don’t want to share with anyone. Especially Z.

There’s a reason I keep my arms covered as much as possible.

I don’t care what anyone else thinks.

It’s me. I can’t stand the reminder of my own weakness. And the events that led me to the darkest time of my life. To attempt something I never thought I was capable of.

“Tell me why,” Z persists in a much gentler tone than he used a few seconds ago. “What happened?”