He let out a breath and shrugged his shoulders. “That depends how you view your relationship with him. How hurt are you that he lied? Do you want to say something to him?”
“I’m angry and upset and a whole load of other emotions.”
“Then you need to say something or you’re not going to get the closure you need. You can’t let all this negativity fester inside you. You will end up acting out and taking it out on him in some way or another.”
I thought about his words. He had a point. If I kept it to myself, I'd chew it over, make assumptions, and end up resenting Dad from a distance.
“But why, Luke?” I said, tears swimming over my vision. “Why keep that to himself all this time? I don’t get it.”
He reached over and took one of my hands in his. “Your father is a very stubborn, headstrong man. If he’s got his head set on doing something, he’s going to do it. My guess is he wanted to keep this to himself, probably to get his own head around it before he told others. I am only guessing though. He's the only one who can give you the answers.”
I sighed and nodded. “I don’t even know how to bring it up with him.”
“Just be direct, but calm. Say when you fetched his diary, you saw a letter about his diagnosis. That should be enough, he’ll realise from that. Then just go with the flow of the conversation.”
“Conversation. It’ll end up in a row,” I said, shaking my head. “Which is why I wanted to avoid it in the first place.”
“You’re making assumptions. You have no idea at all how he’s going to react or what will happen. Not unless you have psychic abilities you have yet to tell me about.”
I managed a weak smile. “Not that I’m aware of yet.”
“I hope I’ve helped some?” he asked, squeezing my hand.
“Helped me plan for a conversation I don’t want to have?” I shrugged my shoulders. “Sure.”
He laughed. “You said conversation, not row.”
I rolled my eyes and grinned. “God damn you.”
“I’m going to go back to work, lady of leisure. Good job I can do the rooms three times quicker than you.”
I picked the pillow up and smacked him with it. “I’m following the boss’ orders. And if you can do them quicker then you don’t need my help at all do you? I obviously just slow you down.”
He chuckled. “Sometimes it’s better to be the tortoise rather than the hare remember.”
“Not sure how that applies to cleaning rooms but sure.”
He let go of my hand and stood up. “If you need me, you know where I am.”
I nodded. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”
Giving me a warm smile, he turned and walked away, his long legs swallowing the ground. Something about seeing his retreating form made me want to keep him here but I pushed the feeling away. It was nothing more than wanting comfort when I was upset.
As I settled back down onto the bed, my phone pinged with a text message.
Marcus: Call me when you’re done, and we’ll sort the details for this evening.
I groaned. How would I explain this one without going into detail? Not wanting to face it right at that moment, I pushed my phone away and rolled over to indulge in another sleep.
Chapter 11
I woke up, groggy minded, and my eyes still sore. I debated going back to sleep until I remembered Marcus. I sat up and scrabbled across the bed for my phone. It was nearly five p.m. already.
Unlocking my phone, I brought up my call list and hit his name. He must be wondering why he hadn’t heard from me by now.
“Hi there,” he said, answering on the first ring.
“Hey, I’m so sorry I haven’t called sooner. I’ve had a bit of a weird afternoon.”
“That’s ok, I don’t expect you to call me all the time. That’s why I texted. Are you still wanting dinner this evening?”
I bit my lip. My heart jumped around, banging against my rib cage. “Would you mind if we gave it a miss tonight? I just…I was sick earlier, and I don’t want to risk being sick again, especially in a restaurant.”
“You were sick?” he said, his voice full of concern. “Are you ok? Do you need anything?”
“I’m ok, thank you. Luke made me eat some ginger biscuits which seems to have helped but I’m not convinced enough to risk eating out.”
“Of course, I completely understand. I imagine you’re quite tired too so I will leave you alone for tonight. May I ask who Luke is?”
“My dad’s handyman.”
Silence.
“Marcus?”
He cleared his throat and asked, “Luke Freeman?”
I remembered Luke’s words then—We don’t get along. I think he’s a pompous, arrogant, fickle monster and he thinks I'm a worthless, rude, good for nothing.
“Yes,” I replied. “Is there a problem?”
“Not at all,” he said, his tone of voice now curt and clipped. “Are you up for visitors at all? Perhaps I could bring dinner to you this evening.”
I frowned. Thirty seconds ago, he said he would leave me alone for the evening. Now he was offering to bring dinner to me. “Yes, I’m fine for visitors but you really don’t have to. I don’t want to put you out or anything.”
“Nonsense. I offered anyway. What would you like?”
Thoughts of Sophie’s stir fry sprung to mind but I’d be upset if I threw that up so I decided to leave that until tomorrow, providing Luke didn’t pinch it. “I don’t know really. For some reason I’m thinking pizza.”
“A little heavy for a delicate stomach perhaps?”
“Yes, maybe. Just craving something like that, something greasy.”
“How about a lovely prawn linguine? It’s light and creamy and won’t be too heavy.”
I still really wanted pizza. A big fat cheesy pizza with mushrooms and onions. My stomach grumbled just at the thought of it. Remembering how tasteless and cardboard like the prawns had been earlier, I didn’t want to face any more of them today.
“It does sound good, but I’m rather sold on the pizza idea.”
“Ok, leave it with me, I’ll bring you something delicious. I’ll come by around six, is that ok?”
“Sure. I’ll see you then.”
I ended the call and put my phone down on the bed. Would he bring me pizza or not? I felt rather confused by that phone call. He clearly had an issue with Luke, changed his mind in the blink of an eye about seeing me tonight, then told me that what I fancied to eat wasn’t ideal.
Shaking my head, I wandered into the bathroom and turned the shower on. Whilst it warmed up, I scrubbed my teeth relentlessly. The one thing I hated the most about being sick was residue being left in my mouth. Just the thought of it made me want to be sick again.
I spent a long time in the shower, mostly standing under the water whilst I stared at the white tiles, thinking about the situation with Dad. No matter how I thought about bringing it up, every scenario I imagined ended in a blazing row. Mostly with him saying how I’d violated his privacy.
By the time I snapped out of it, washed myself, and got out, I had barely fifteen minutes before Marcus would be here. Swearing and cursing myself, I rushed around to find some clean clothes whilst rubbing my wet hair with a towel.
If I had no company, I’d be pulling on a pair of pyjamas, or a baggy t shirt and pair of jogging bottoms. But I had company which meant I had to look half reasonable. Urgh, I wished I’d said no now. I just wanted to collapse into bed with junk food and watch my magical TV.
As I rifled through my wardrobe, a voice called down the corridor.
“Caitlyn?”
It was Marcus. He’d arrived early. I froze. Shit. What was I supposed to do now?
“Here,” I shouted back. “But I’ve just got out of the shower.”
Nothing came back which I presumed meant he’d be waiting at the door. I threw on an oversized t-shirt, one of Dad’s old Meatloaf ones, and started to take off my towel to put on some underwear and jeans.
“I settled for—”
I screamed and jumped, whirling around to see Marcus stood in my kitchen. I hugged the towel to my body. “I thought you were waiting at the door.”
He didn’t make eye contact with me at all. He set a bag down on the dining table then went to my cupboards. “I haven’t looked. Scout’s honour.”
Very startled and rather taken aback, I grabbed a pair of knickers, my jeans, and a sports bra, and dashed into the bathroom. As I closed the door behind me, I leaned back on it and breathed out what the fuck?
This seemed rather out of character compared to the chivalry he’d shown so far. I thought back to what I'd seen on the table—I couldn’t be sure but I felt certain I’d seen no pizza box. I bit back my disappointment and tried to figure out a plan on how to deal with this. Dealing with one problem at once was enough for me, I didn’t need any more.
Quickly dressing myself and grumbling as I had to put a bra on to feel less slobbish, I re-emerged from the bathroom, all smiles.
“Sorry about that,” I said. “I spent too long in the shower.”
“That’s quite alright,” he said, looking in the white plastic bag. “Are you dressed?”
“Yes.”
He looked up at me and smiled. “I love your hair like that. It really suits you.”
I immediately clamped my hands over my head in an attempt to tame the wild frizz. I’d used my coconut shampoo instead of the anti-frizz one I usually went for. I loved the smell of coconut.
“I look like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards and then electrocuted,” I replied, giggling. “But thanks.”
“I brought you lots of goodies,” he said, unpacking silver carton after silver carton. He'd already set the table for us with plates and cutlery. “Sweet potato fries, plain pasta, plain boiled rice, and king prawns in a creamy chive sauce. Take your pick, it’s all yours.”
My stomach dropped when I realised I really didn’t have pizza. It's literally all I wanted right now. Greasy melted cheese to pick off the top and devour like I'd not eaten for a week. I started salivating just at the thought of it.
“Thank you,” I said, giving him a smile and sitting down. “What have you got?”
“I’ve got honey glazed pork in a sweet barbecue sauce.”
I kept my mouth closed in case some saliva drooled out of the corner.
He sat down opposite me and quirked an eyebrow up. “You can have some of my pork if you wish.”
I grinned. “How did you know?”
He pointed a finger at the corner of my mouth and smirked. “The trail of saliva.”
I put my hand to my mouth and wiped it, found nothing, and then threw a piece of fusilli pasta at him. “Not funny.”
“It was for me,” he replied, laughing.
“You know your punishment?” I raised my eyebrows and looked at his silver carton of honey glazed pork.
He handed it over freely and without protest. I frowned, not quite understanding the lack of resistance. I started to feel really guilty until he stood up, went over to the microwave, and opened it to reveal another silver carton.
“You have got to be kidding me?” I said.
He chuckled as he sat back down. “I had a feeling you’d want what I had so I brought back up.”
“That is so unfair.”
He emptied his pork out onto his plate, stabbed a piece with his fork and then grinned at me. “Why is it unfair? Surely if it’s fair, we both get to eat what we want.”
I smirked. “No. What's fair is when you give up your food for me.”
“Ah, so that’s what spoilt the fun. The thought of me thinking ahead.”
“It’s not thinking ahead. That was tactical planning to ruin my fun.”
He laughed. “I’m a very strategic kind of person. Perhaps you should bear that in mind for future use,” he said, winking.
I couldn’t help but laugh. I also couldn’t help but notice how he’d eased my mood and made me relax around him with little to no effort. Being around him was just like breathing, light, airy, and natural.
He asked me about my afternoon, which of course, I ended up telling him about the letter I'd found. I asked for his advice on what to do, of which he more or less in his own words, said what Luke had said.
Completely forgetting myself, I chewed away on a sweet potato chip and said, “That’s exactly what Luke said.”
As if I'd clicked my fingers, the entire atmosphere changed instantly. Tension seemed to spring between us to the extent that if I'd reached out and touched the air, I'd have felt a taut elastic band ready to break.
“You spoke to Luke about this?” he said, his eyes suddenly hard and cold.
The sudden turn in his mood took me by surprise. I sucked in a sharp breath, forgetting I had food in my mouth, and ended up coughing until my eyes watered.
“Are you ok?” he said, moving next to me and patting my back.
I nodded and reached for my water, taking a sip to help dislodge the piece of sweet potato stuck at the back of my throat. Thankfully it went down easily, but it left a tickly feeling as if it were still there. After a whole glass of water, I was ok enough to talk without coughing.
“You sure you’re good?” he asked, his eyes roving over me as if he were some sort of MRI scanner.
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you. Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for.”
I all but broke out into a cold sweat as I dared to ask, “What is the problem between you and Luke exactly?”
He drew his lips into a thin line then moved back to his seat. He sat ramrod straight in his chair, his shoulders square and rigid. His eyes were completely devoid of any emotion whatsoever. The flat glassy stare became rather unnerving, it reminded me of a lion or a tiger, just nothing but a carnal impulse waiting to be unleashed.
“It’s complicated,” he said, his voice very low and monotone. “We are just not each other’s kind of person.”
I frowned. “I get that. We can’t get on with everyone but there seems to be something more to this. From my point of view, it looks like you actually hate each other.”
“Hate is a strong word, Caitlyn. Perhaps loathe is more apt.”
“It means the same thing.”
“Yes, you have a point. Hate is a word for children though and usually only felt by one party. The situation between him and I is more of a shared abhorrence. The only thing we agree on is the fact we despise one another.”
I let out a breath. “Ok, I get the point. But why? Has he done something to you?”
Marcus chuckled, but it was a sinister insidious noise, not one of amusement. “He wishes.”
“So why do you ‘loathe’ each other so much?”
He leaned forwards and stabbed his pork, to the point the fork screeched on the plate like nails down a blackboard. I shivered. That noise always went right through me.
“As I said, it’s complicated. Could we not ruin a perfectly nice evening by talking about him?”
“Of course,” I said, picking at some pasta. “I only asked because of your reaction to me talking to Luke about this whole situation with my dad.”
He sighed and then ate his forkful of pork, never taking his eyes from mine. The entire time, I felt like I was in some kind of staring competition, but my gut told me if I looked away, that would be the end of the conversation and I hadn’t finished yet.
“It’s entirely up to you who you make friends with,” he said. “But I am going to tell you once and once only—do not trust him.”
Why did this feel like a lecture from a parent? “Ok, I think it’s time to finish this discussion. What I will say is that I judge people based on their behaviour towards me. So far, I have no reason to not trust him or like him and it will stay that way until he does something to me.”
His lips tweaked up into a smirk. “Oh, he will.”
“Enough,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “We’ve had two good nights together up to now, let�
�s not ruin the third.”
“Agreed. How is your food?”
“Good so far, thank you. Where did you get it from?”
“I cooked it.”
I looked at the silver cartons and frowned. “They look like chinese takeaway cartons.”
He laughed. “Whilst that is the most common thing they are used for, unfortunately they are not limited to just being used for chinese takeaways.”
“You cooked everything here?”
He nodded. “Didn’t take long.”
I didn’t know what to say. Taken aback barely covered how I felt. In all honesty, I'd expected him to say he’d picked it up from somewhere on his way over. Other than Dad, I'd never had a guy cook for me. It was really nice but also a little intense. We'd known each other three days.
But then given his other habits, chivalrous, well spoken, excellent manners, maybe in his world of dating this would be classed as normal. In mine, only known through the escapades of my friends, they were taken out in boy racer cars for the night and treated to a McDonald’s. This, here, jumped fifty levels on that, but then Marcus appeared to be fifty levels above guys I knew so I guess it fitted.
“I don’t know what to say,” I said, figuring honesty was the best policy. “Thank you.”
“It was no trouble at all. Home cooked food is always better than anything you can buy.”
“Unless you buy homecooked food, like in a traditional pub or something.”
He smiled. “Why do I get the feeling you always have an answer for everything?”
I grinned. “I can’t help being clever.”
He chuckled and continued eating his pork. Knowing he’d cooked the prawns in the sauce, I felt obliged to try it. As soon as I took my first mouthful, I died and went to heaven. It was so creamy but not too heavy, the perfect blend of chives, parsley, and a tinge of garlic. The prawns were huge, some of the biggest I'd ever seen.
“Oh my God,” I said, dropping some sweet potato fries in the sauce. “This is...I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it? I want to drown in it.”
Love, Lies and Immortal Ties: A young adult paranormal romance (Love, Lies and Ties Book 1) Page 9