Page 53 of Black Jack (Advantage Play 5)

“Even as a kid?”

“When my dad saw me for the first time, he said I was hideous. He accused my mom of cheating on him because of it. Said a bunch of other bullshit that killed my mom and threatened to throw us both out if she couldn’t figure out how to conceal it.” She peeks up at me. “So, she did.”

“But…how?” I ask. The dark purple looks like it would shine through her makeup. I just…I don’t understand how I could’ve missed it.

Her cheeks heat with shame as she digs her teeth into her lower lip, but she doesn’t answer me.

“I’m not asking because it’s hideous, Bianca. I’m asking because I’m almost impressed. I had no idea––”

“I know. That’s kind of the point.”

I chuckle softly, then brush her hair away from her cheek to study it closer. It has to be almost two inches long and an inch wide, covering just below her cheekbone and leading down to her upper lip. “Is that why you wear makeup at the gym? Why you take forever to get ready?”

A breath of laughter escapes her. “Gee. Thanks.”

“Does it hurt?”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a softness in her smile that feels contagious. “No. It doesn’t hurt. It’s a port-wine stain. I’ve had it treated multiple times, and it’s lighter than it used to be, but the only thing I’ve found to cover it up is a tattoo cover-up concealer. It’s thick enough to do the trick.”

“Were you ever going to show it to me?”

“Why would I?”

“Because I’m your future husband,” I tell her in a gentle voice. “And I want you to trust me.”

Sucking her lower lip between her teeth, she looks up at me, then admits, “The only person I ever trusted was my mother.”

Was.

“What happened to her?” I rasp.

Pulling away from my touch, Bianca reaches for a gold picture frame on the vanity, then hands it to me.

“She died when I was five.” She motions to the ornate frame again. “It was taken before my father got his hands on her. She was young. Beautiful. But it’s the kindness in her eyes that always does me in. The innocence, ya know? And the hope for a bright future.”

Bianca’s resemblance to the stranger staring back at me through the image is uncanny. Same almond eyes. Same coy smile. Same long, dark hair, although her mom’s looks a little curlier. She’s right though.

“Your mom was beautiful,” I murmur, tearing my gaze away from the picture to take in the gorgeous enigma in front of me.

Her sad eyes find mine. “She was.”

“And you’re right about her eyes.”

“I know,” she whispers. “Too bad her hope and innocence were ripped away from her just like they were ripped away from me. I don’t think I ever had that look though, ya know? I think my father got his hands on me too early for me to have ever had that spark.”

“I dunno about that. I’ve seen the spark a time or two.”

“When?” She holds my gaze like her life depends on it.

When I kissed you at Embry’s house, I think to myself. But I swallow the response and joke, “When I piss you off.”

She laughs. “You seem to do that a lot since we’ve met.”

“I do. And yet I still haven’t figured out how to make it up to you.”

With a shrug, she takes a deep breath. “It’s just…one of those mysteries, I guess. Don’t worry about it though. I learned a long time ago to have a thick skin and to not get my hopes up. So, what brings you to my room way past my bedtime?”

“Your room?” I challenge.