Page 77 of Strings

“Are your parents passionate about music?”

“Maybe. Yes. I don’t know. They used to be. I think more than anything they’re passionate about their status and mine.”

“I’m sorry. That has to be really hard for you.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” he asks. “Poor little rich boy complaining about his life?”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic at all. I can’t imagine having to live under that kind of scrutiny and pressure. Although, my parents expected me to follow in the family business, too.”

“And what was that?”

I catch myself divulging info again and mentally slap myself. “This is about you, not me.”

“You hate to talk about yourself, don’t you?”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“I disagree. I have at least a hundred questions. Like, for example, why do you only have one book and why is itPride and Prejudice?”

“Maybe I like the idea of a rich guy falling for a girl outside his social class.”

He lifts his left eyebrow. “Or?”

“If I tell you, will you drop it and never ask me another question for the rest of your life?”

He scratches his temple. “That’s kind of a big ask. If I knew I only had one question, I might have chosen another topic.”

“Do you want to know or not?”

“I want to know.”

I turn my head away from him for a second and close my eyes. In my mind I see myself removing a brick from my wall for him. It makes me feel shaky, so I take a deep breath and slowly let it out through pursed lips to calm myself. “My parents didn’t have a lot of money. School supplies weren’t high up on their list of priorities. Most of the time, I faked or cheated my way through English because I never had the money to buy the required books. But this one time, I drew a picture of my teacher during class and this boy wanted it. He said he’d give me five bucks for it. I took that money to a secondhand store and bought the book we were reading next,Pride and Prejudice. I actually got to read it with the rest of the class for once. It was an important moment for me. It’s really the only book I’ve ever owned.”

Sebastian reaches across the seat and squeezes my hand. I pull away from him.

“Oh stop. I didn’t tell you for pity. I’m fine. I turned out just fine.”

“I don’t pity you. I admire you and I appreciate that you told me something about your life. You’re such a closed book, Natalia Pearson.”

“Well, enjoy that little tidbit because it’s all you get. And you act like you’re an open book. If I hadn’t come looking for you, I would never have seen this side of you.”

“Oh yeah? And what side is that?”

“The non-fucker side.”

He snickers. “Am I really that bad?”

I turn my head to gaze out the window. I don’t want to answer that question because the more I learn about him, the more I like him and I don’t want to like him. I’d rather hate him. Hate is easier.

“I guess I deserve your silence after what happened at your apartment. Iamthat bad. I think it’s time we discuss it, don’t you?”

“Nope. Why do you want to talk about everything? Some things are better left unsaid. We’re already pretending. Why can’t we add that to the list and pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Is that what you want?”

“What I want is for you to stop all this bullshit. I want you to stop acting like the fact that we kissed is some catastrophic event. So what? We kissed. Big deal.”

“Right,” he says as he tries to study my face and drive at the same time.