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His plea has the opposite effect and more tears flow, his bare chest becoming as sodden as my face as he presses me into him, tenderly kissing the top of my head every now and then, while he hums that peaceful harmony above me. It starts to soothe me and my sobs begin to abate under the hard warmth of his body holding me and the calming hum of his voice seeping into my ears.

‘I’m not a sweet girl,’ I whisper into his chest. ‘You keep calling me sweet girl, but you shouldn’t.’

His humming fades out and the tender kissing of my head stops. He’s thinking about my declaration. ‘You are very much a sweet . . . woman, Livy.’

‘It’s not the reference to “girl” so much,’ I whisper. ‘It’s the sweet part that bothers me most.’ I feel him stiffen a little before he encourages me from his chest. We’re conversing, he wants eye contact, and when he finds it, he wipes my damp cheeks with his thumbs and gazes at me, his eyes full of pity. I don’t want pity, and I don’t deserve it.

‘You’re my sweet girl.’

‘You’re mistaken.’

‘No, you’re mine, Livy,’ he asserts, almost showing annoyance.

‘I don’t mean that,’ I sigh, dropping my eyes, but soon bringing them back up when he shifts his hands from my cheeks to my neck and tilts my head back.

‘Elaborate.’

‘I want to be yours,’ I murmur, and he smiles. He gives me that rare, beautiful smile, and my heart skips with happiness for a split second, but then I remember the conversation direction. ‘I really want to be yours,’ I affirm.

‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.’ He drops his lips to mine and kisses me delicately. ‘But you really don’t have a choice in the matter.’

‘I know,’ I agree, aware that it’s not just because Miller says that I don’t have a choice. I tried to leave, and I couldn’t. I really tried.

‘Listen to me,’ he says, sitting up and dragging me onto his lap. ‘I shouldn’t have pressed you. I said that I’d never make you do anything I know you don’t want to. That will always stand, but please know that whatever you fear will change my opinion of my sweet girl is wasted anxiety.’

‘What if it isn’t?’

‘I’m never going to know unless you choose to tell me, and if you don’t, then that’s fine, too. Yes, I would prefer it if you confide in me, but not if it’s going to make you sad, Livy. I can’t see you sad. I want you to trust me that it won’t make any difference to how I feel about you. Let me help you.’

My chin starts to tremble.

‘Your mother,’ he says quietly.

I nod.

‘Livy, you’re not like that. Don’t let someone else’s bad choices affect your life.’

‘I could have been like that,’ I whisper, shame beginning to flood me, my head dropping.

My face is grasped and pulled to him, but I keep my eyes low, not wanting to face the contempt he’ll be showing. ‘We’re talking, Livy.’

‘I’ve said enough.’

‘No, you haven’t. Look at me.’

Forcing my eyes up, I meet his, but there’s no contempt. There’s no anything. Even now, Miller Hart gives nothing away. ‘I wanted to know where she’d gone.’

He frowns. ‘You’ve lost me.’

‘I read her journal. I read about the places she went and who with. I read about a man. A man named William. Her pimp.’

He’s just staring at me. He knows where I’m heading.

‘I put myself in her world, Miller. I lived her life.’

‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘No, you didn’t.’

‘Yes, I did. What was so amazing about that life that it kept her from being a mother? That it made her abandon me?’ I fight to control the tears threatening to break free again. I refuse to shed another tear for that woman. ‘I found Nan’s gin and then I found William. I tricked him into taking me on and he set me up with clients. Her clients. I went through most of the men listed in my mother’s journal.’

‘Stop,’ he whispers. ‘Please stop.’

I harshly brush at my wet cheeks. ‘All I found was the humiliation of letting a man slam into me.’

He winces. ‘Don’t say that, Livy.’

‘There was nothing glamorous or appealing about mindless sex.’

‘Livy, please!’ he yells, pushing me from his body and standing, leaving me feeling exposed and lonely on his bed. He starts pacing around his room, clearly agitated, his head falling back on a curse. ‘I don’t understand. You’re so pure and beautiful to the core. I love that.’

‘Alcohol got me through it. I was just there in body. But I couldn’t stop. I kept thinking there had to be more, something I was missing.’

‘Stop!’ He flies around and hammers me with an enraged glare, making me jump back on the bed in shock. ‘Any man who’s done anything less than worship you should be f**king shot!’ He crouches on the floor, his hands in his hair. ‘Fuck!’

My entire being goes lax – my body, my mind and my heart. It’s all given up, my past very much in my present and forcing me to explain myself. He looks up at me. His blues are boring into me. Then they close and he pulls in a long, calming breath of air, but I don’t give him time to start firing his thoughts at me. I have a good idea what they are, anyway.

I’ve ruined his opinion of his pure, beautiful girl. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say evenly as I drag myself off the bed. ‘I’m sorry for destroying your ideal.’ I collect his shirt from the floor and calmly start to put it on. I can feel the pain turning in my gut, stirring years of anguish and misery.