It had taken months of sessions, but the tattoo was gone. Now there were just a few lingering lines and one tattoo left intact under his arm, but he left those. He left the lines to remind him that defiance only hurt him, and the tattoo was a reminder to keep working for what was important. Once the tattoo was gone he had asked his dad for a chance at the business. Simon had been over the moon to let him have it.
Then Derrick got his own place. He had lived at home throughout his partying days; his father had refused to grant him the income for a party house. But when he started working, started earning his own money and proving himself, he had decided he needed a place. It was a way to reward himself, to show himself and his father and anyone else watching that he was capable. So he had bought the penthouse. The huge two-story, open floor plan penthouse that was large enough for a family of eight. It was too big for one, but he had never intended to live in it alone. He knew exactly who he wanted living there with him.
And when he had bought it eight months ago, he hadn’t thought twice when they said he needed an eight-digit code to get in. His birthday and Taylor’s, that he could remember no problem. Now he was home, and Taylor was coming “home.” It was everything he had hoped for when he had bought the house.
He was getting fidgety waiting for her. It had been over four hours since they spoke, and he decided to shower for the second time today. Anything to kill more time and not pace around.
When he finished the shower and came back out of his bedroom, the smell of Italian food hit him. His stomach growled in angst. He hadn’t eaten much all day, and he was ready. He walked down the stairs and watched as Taylor pushed a large pan of lasagna back into the oven.
She looked up and smiled shyly. “Hi,” she said, then gestured to the lasagna and shrugged. “Nothing says I’m sorry like lasagna from scratch.”
“I’m impressed, Preston. It smells awesome.” Derrick looked at her and decided hangovers agreed with her. Her blond hair looked gorgeous. She wore it down, curled in soft ringlets, and she had on just a little makeup to accent her awesome cheekbones and make her beautiful eyes pop. An apron covered her, but she was wearing a belted dress underneath.
“It needs another twenty minutes, and then it needs to sit,” she said, breaking eye contact with him and then turning to put bread into the oven beside the large pan. “Hardest part was getting Nan to let me work in the kitchen.”
“Taylor,” Derrick said, “we need to talk.”
“Over dinner, Derrick.”
Derrick relented. She was just putting off the inevitable, but he could spare it for a few more minutes. He took up residence on one of the stools at the island and enjoyed the view of Taylor cleaning the counters and setting up plates for them. It looked so domestic, so normal. And it turned him on, big time. Who would have thought the man who could have everything would be turned on by a woman performing home cooking and setting the table.
Taylor looked up as she wiped the counter and took a deep breath. “Look, I guess I should apologize about last night.”
Derrick raised an eyebrow. This was certainly unexpected; he was prepared to fight and argue about the stunt she had pulled. Well, if she was going to offer it up, he was going to enjoy it. Leaning back in his chair, he pursed his lips. “What part, exactly, are you apologizing for?”
Taylor glared at Derrick, aggravation clear on her face. “All of it,” she blurted. “Look, I know it was foolish and reckless and I could have been hurt.”
Derrick was stunned, “Yes, it—”
“But …” Taylor continued, and Derrick rolled his eyes. He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy—nothing ever was with her. “My intentions were good, like you said earlier,” she said, pointing a finger at him.
“Yes, they were good. But come on, Taylor, what did you think would happen? Did you think me taking you from a club would prove to the world that I’ve grown up, taken responsibility, and left that stupid kid behind?” Derrick asked, exasperated. He shook his head, “Everybody thinks we live on easy street! We got money, we got power, life is easy, and it’s ours for the taking. That is what they see when our names and faces come on the news, and I spent years confirming that in their eyes. I will be the bad guy forever. I will always look irresponsible. I will always be the one at fault. Look at them today, they are saying I am robbing you of your well-deserved freedom, holding you back, sheltering you. Not one report came in saying I saved you from disaster. Only you and I see that.”
“So, how is marrying me going to solve that?” Taylor countered. “We could cheat on each other, get divorced—”
“Neither of those things will happen in our marriage,” Derrick cut in, his words soft in volume but almost menacing in tone. Taylor stilled at the sound; it was more a promise than a threat.
“Even if it doesn’t happen, Derrick—”
“It won’t.”
“Stop interrupting me! Even if it doesn’t, they will constantly speculate and try to make it seem like it has or will. So how does us marrying solve anything?”
“You don’t get it,” Derrick said, looking down and shaking his head.
“Enlighten me,” Taylor said, but she was interrupted by the timer, letting them know the food was ready.
“Let’s eat,” he said and went to cut into the lasagna.
“It needs to sit for ten minutes,” Taylor exclaimed, trying to stop Derrick.
“Taylor, it’s a big mash up of noodles and sauce. If it slides now or in ten minutes, it will still taste the same,” he informed her. He continued cutting off pieces for himself and Taylor, pulling her chair out, and pouring her the wine that had chilled.
They started eating, and then Derrick cleared his throat. “I’m sorry too,” he said as he stared at his lasagna.
“For which part?” she mocked, throwing his stupid remark from earlier back at him.
“I’m sorry I made you cry,” Derrick said, looking back up to Taylor as he spoke, trying to convey with his gaze how badly he felt.
“Derrick, you didn’t make me cry. Coming back here and having all this shit, that made me—”
“No, not now. Before, when I didn’t show up after my mom. You know, after she, uh, yeah, well, I’m sorry.” Even now he had trouble saying his mother had died. It hurt that she was gone, and it hurt more that he hadn’t been there. “I never, ever wanted to hurt you, Taylor.”
* * *
Taylor’s stomach dropped at Derrick’s apology. How could he have known that, and why was he bringing it up now?
“What do you mean?” she asked, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, now keenly interested in every bit of lasagna on her plate.
But Derrick reached over and pulled her chin up with one finger, shifting so he was in her line of vision despite her attempts to look away. “Last night when I brought you home, you said you had cried, and that—”
Oh crap, Taylor thought, she couldn’t remember anything coming out of her mouth. This could be bad, really bad. “Oh God, what did I say?”
Derrick looked at her, completely apologetic. “You said that you cried and cried, and that you saw me in the tabloids,” Derrick answered her.
Taylor let out a breath, “Oh good.” That wasn’t as bad as things she could have said.
“And that I broke your heart.”
“Oh fuck.”
Derrick started to blush and look away, and Taylor got a funny feeling there was more. He used to do that when he was hiding information, stuff he knew he really shouldn’t say. She had gotten so much information knowing that about him and prodding him until he gave. Maybe he is just embarrassed over this conversation, she thought, but she had to know for sure.
“What else did I say?” When Derrick didn’t respond, Taylor persisted. “You’re hiding something, I can tell. You’re blushing, and that means you know more. Spill it,” she demanded.
When Derrick tried to dart his eyes, Taylor reached over and pulled his head up by his ear, forcing him to look at he
r. “Tell me.”
Derrick still looked hesitant, “Taylor, it’s not important—”
Taylor snatched his ear and pulled it down hard.
“Ow!” he called out, but he smirked at her behavior.
“Tell me,” Taylor said.
“Fine, you said that you were mad because you were in love with me and had been since the womb.”
Taylor’s eyes widened, and she went to back off the stool and escape what was clearly a very bad dream. But Derrick saw her making a run for it and snaked an arm out, locking it down tight on Taylor’s arm. “We need to talk. We need to clear the air, and we are going to do it now,” he said calmly, softly, but Taylor couldn’t bear to look at him.
“I am in this for the long haul, Taylor,” he said, leaning into her. “When we get married, that’s going to be it. This is serious for me.”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “So what does that have to do with my drunken remarks?”
“Because I think it’s the truth. I think I really hurt you and that you can’t trust me now because I broke my promises to you. And I broke your heart,” he explained, his voice begging to be heard. “Marriage is about honesty, so we need to clear the air before we can do that.”
“Well, somebody has been all over Dr. Phil, haven’t they?” she muttered to him. “Was there a show on how to make it through your fake marriage?” she asked sickly sweet, batting her eyes at him.
“No, I got that info from a psych class in college,” he sarcastically threw back at her. “Stop trying to avoid this, Taylor. We need to be open with each other. We need to be truthful.”
“I agree,” Taylor said and felt Derrick relax, “but I don’t think the past has a place here.”
“Well, I do,” Derrick cut in. “Taylor, when I didn’t show, I panicked, I was a coward.”
“Derrick, let’s not do this,” Taylor pleaded. She really wasn’t sure why she didn’t want him to explain, but it hurt when he started to talk about anything not in the here and now.
“Stop running from the past! Damn it, Taylor. It happened, and we have to deal with it! Let me just say it, and then we can move on, please!” When Taylor didn’t speak anymore, Derrick continued.
“I just felt like I wasn’t good enough for you, that you deserved someone better, but I wasn’t even man enough to call. I just avoided it. I was the king of that, you know? If it hurt, I just avoided it. Hoping it would go away. That’s how I know it won’t work for us to just avoid all the crap that happened. We have got to talk about it, or it will taint everything. That is how I handled my mom being sick—I just avoided it, avoided her, and I wasn’t there when she died.”
Taylor shook her head, “Derrick, it doesn’t—”
“It matters, damn it!” he said, slamming a fist on the granite counter. “And then your mom died, and it just made me feel like a huge jerk because it just kicked up all these feelings and …”
“I can’t do this,” Taylor said. “I can’t rehash all this shit. I am trying to move on from it. I don’t want to relive it. I already lived it … we already lived it!” The pressure in her chest made it hard to breathe. All the heartache and sadness was still inside her, just waiting to bubble over. She had shoved it way down deep, and for a while she thought it was gone, but now here it was ready to come back out.
“But I need to tell you. Please,” Derrick pleaded. “Please let me explain myself.”
“I’ve accepted what happened, Derrick. There is nothing to explain,” Taylor whispered, desperate to hold back emotion.
“That would be okay if you really meant it, but I know you don’t,” Derrick desperately said to Taylor. “Damn it, Taylor, I couldn’t see the woman I considered a second mother in a casket, and I couldn’t see you upset because I wasn’t good enough to comfort you, so instead I got wasted in Mexico. I couldn’t comfort you. I was not what you needed. I was not good enough.”
Taylor told herself she didn’t want to know, didn’t need to ask, but her mouth always shot off of its own accord. “Why weren’t you good enough? Why do you keep saying that?” she whispered.
“Because I, I just wasn’t. I just was not a good enough man for you then.”
“So you didn’t show up and didn’t comfort me because you thought you weren’t good enough?” Taylor asked softly.
Derrick nodded slowly, looking deep into her eyes.
“I see,” Taylor answered quietly, looking down. Suddenly she looked up, eyes wild and mad, “Well, don’t you think that should have been my choice, you arrogant asshole? Shouldn’t I have gotten to decide whether or not you were good enough for me?”
Derrick pushed back and looked at Taylor in surprise. Too late now, he wanted the air clear, he was going to have to contend with all the dust he kicked up going back there first.
“I had it bad for you, and then you told me I didn’t get you when I knew everything about you including that you didn’t sleep out because you still sucked your thumb sometimes when you were fifteen, and I was beyond hurt. I had nobody, only you. I lived in this bubble, and only you were in there, not even Marty knew as much as we did about each other, and you blew me off. Then your mom died, and I was broken, but I went to comfort Marty, and you begged for me, and when I tried to not go to you it broke me, and I couldn’t let you suffer. I let you cry on me for hours, and when you asked me not to go, asked me to call, asked me to let you take me out—like, how did you say it? ‘A real date.’ I thought I would die. Then you blew me off and got photographed in a tattoo shop, and then passed out at a club. I felt so fucking special! I got blown off for ink and booze! What a great alternative! And now you drag me back from my little island of freedom and are all ready to marry me out of guilt for previous indiscretions? Wow, you are like a freaking romance god, Derrick. You know that?”
Derrick was so stunned that Taylor was able to free her arm from him, and she settled back on her chair. She wanted to keep eating, but her appetite was gone, so she just moved the lasagna around on her plate. All Taylor could see was red.
It was quiet for a long time, Derrick just staring at Taylor, and Taylor playing with her food, getting angrier by the second.
Finally, Derrick broke the silence, “You really think I only want to marry you out of guilt?” he asked softly.
Taylor rolled her eyes, mouth full of her lukewarm lasagna, and said, “Tell me, why else are you going to marry me, Derrick? Oh yeah, I forgot you need a better rep, sorry, it wasn’t about guilt. But we just both agreed that it won’t work to give you a better reputation, so I guess it’s the guilt thing.”
Derrick’s jaw tensed as he looked at Taylor. “Taylor, my father is the one who thought it would save my reputation. That was never my idea. It’s not the reason I want to marry you.”
Taylor forked another glob of lasagna into her mouth and glared at Derrick. “Oh really? So what is it Derrick, the sex?” she asked, her sweet tone laced with sarcasm.
“No, damn it, because I am in love with you!”
Taylor rolled her eyes, “Derrick, you don’t love me,” she informed him.
“Don’t tell me what I feel,” Derrick said to her, almost threatening. “You were always the one who said I should listen to myself, trust myself, that I would always know the truth if I did. So don’t tell me what I feel, because I already know. I’ve had it bad for you since we were kids. I noticed you long before you noticed me. I thought you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and you just looked at me like friend Derrick, buddy Derrick, and it made me so mad. So I sent you away, tried to get you out of my system. But it didn’t work, okay? It made it worse.
“I drank to try and forget you, and it only turned all those girls into you and made me want them so much. I can’t tell you how many times I got slapped for calling girls ‘Taylor.’ God, I wanted you so bad,” he said, shaking his head, “and you thought I was just a friend.”
There was something about the way Derrick looked at her, something about the tone of his voice
as he professed his love that made Taylor realize he was serious. She hadn’t seen it before but now here it was, right in front of her and completely obvious: Derrick Fletcher was really in love with her. She had thought it was some daffy desire, just some hope he had to make his need for a wife easier to swallow, but that wasn’t the case. And it jumped her anxiety up to the max. Maybe he is confused, she thought, maybe I can help him see that he is mistaken. “That’s not why. It’s just that I was familiar, and …”
“Stop it with the goddamn psychoanalysis, Taylor!”
“Then why not say something when you found me? Huh? You wanted me so bad, you loved me, why leave me?”
“Because you were happy,” Derrick replied desperately, “and I had made you so unhappy.” Derrick ran his hands through his hair, tugging it, obviously frustrated. Then he looked at her, his eyes pleading, and desperately he said, “I just wanted you to be happy.”
“Your father said you refused to bring me back. He said you wouldn’t tell them where I was,” Taylor said.
Derrick closed his eyes. “Great,” he muttered and then got up and started to pace.
“Look, I know that you feel bad that you found me and now I am here and unhappy. But, Derrick, please don’t mistake lust for love or guilt for love.”
Derrick made his way to Taylor in two strides and gripped her shoulders. “Taylor, I love you,” he said, pegging her with his stare. “I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you. It kills me that you are so unhappy here and that I may have caused it, but I want to marry you out of selfish need for you. It is not about my reputation, I could give a fuck about it. I want to marry you because I love you. The fact that you had to for your company was a bonus, a way to get you to agree. I want to make you happy, I want to give you what you want—that’s why I left you behind, but now I have you. Now you’re mine,” he said, his eyes glittering.
Taylor’s mind spun, could this be possible? “Derrick—”
“Tell me why you went to that club last night.”
Inevitable Inheritance: The Inevitable Series | Book One Page 24