An Unlikely Deal

by Nadia Lee

  I make a sharp one-eighty and return to my room. My left leg hurts like a bitch, but I grit my teeth and do my best to avoid limping. I need to soak it in hot water and get it massaged or it won’t be of any use at all tomorrow.

  God how I hate my fucking leg. If I were just a little bit faster, I would’ve been able to catch her back in Chiang Mai…and here. Then it would’ve been my decision whether or not I let her go, not hers.

  I wrack my brain for what could’ve triggered another of Ava’s extreme reactions. She was upset at the possibility that I might’ve been unfaithful. But I’m not a cheater. I would never hurt or demean Ava that way.

  I already told her I spoke with Blake, and he emphatically denied it. Not that he doesn’t have the capacity to say some horrible shit, but he isn’t the type to deny it afterward. He’d own it, and proudly at that.

  Is it because I told her I wasn’t letting her meet my family? She obviously doesn’t like Blake, so it’s only logical to keep them separated. Was it that terrible, enough to make her cry?

  I seriously don’t get it.

  I draw an extra-hot bath, strip and sit down gingerly in the tub. I stare broodingly at the scars along my leg. They still look like something out of an old Frankenstein movie, much worse than the one on my face. Since I threw out all the shorts I own, nobody—except the medical staff who treats me—has seen the foul, raised tissues.

  Meanwhile Ava’s legs are perfectly smooth…flawless, in fact. She often looks away when we talk. Maybe she doesn’t want me to notice something in her expression. Or maybe she just doesn’t want to look at my facial scar, even by chance.

  What would she say if she were to see my leg?

  Disgusted, I tilt my head upward. Of course she’d be grossed out. No reason not to be horrified.

  The heat gradually loosens the tight muscles in my leg—the psoas, the quadriceps, the gracilis, the sartorius… I became an expert on thigh anatomy during my time in rehab. The tension in my shoulders and neck also slowly eases. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I reach for a cold bottle of water.

  My phone rings, and I lunge for it, idiotically hoping it’s Ava. Of course it’s not.

  Elizabeth. I consider ignoring it, then change my mind. She’ll just call me again later. She can be such a pest.

  I put her on speaker. “Yeah?”

  “Hello to you too, Lucas.”

  I make a face at the gentle rebuke, even though it’s delivered in a voice sweet enough to belong to an angel. My half-sister is a stickler for etiquette, but who can fault her for being polite?

  “Hello, Elizabeth. How are you?” There.

  “I’m doing well. Thank you, Lucas,” she answers primly.

  “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

  She laughs. “You’re overdoing it. I just spoke with your assistant, and she told me you’re in Japan.” I can tell from the tone that my sister didn’t quite believe it. My fault—I’ve had Rachel make up excuses to avoid certain obligations in the past.

  “If you’re calling to see if I’ll confirm that, yes, I am.”

  “I see. Well, that explains why you missed the dinner.”

  “What dinner?”

  “You forgot?”

  “I…don’t have my calendar with me.” But I do vaguely remember hearing about it and giving her something other than a “hell no” in response. So it’s got to be about The Pryce Family Foundation, which she runs. If it were a family function or something, getting together with my relatives, I would’ve definitely scrubbed it from my memory.

  “Didn’t I already pay for a ticket?”

  She sighs. “It’s not just about giving money. You have to show up.”

  “You must be sick if you’re worried about stuff like that.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “You’re worried I’m going to miss the deadline.” I don’t clarify. I don’t need to.

  “That’s not it. You were really upset at Dad’s place.”

  “And you weren’t?”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t want to argue, Lucas. It’s just that…everyone’s counting on you, and I don’t know if that’s healthy. For anyone.”

  “Everyone’s counting on everyone. Besides, what about you? You haven’t dated in four years.”

  “No need to worry. I have a list of candidates.”

  “You’re kidding.” This is news. I thought she’d find a real husband, not some guy to stand in for a year. “Who?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Well then. You won’t be too upset if I tell you it’s none of your business how I go about meeting the deadline.”

  She lowers her voice. “Are you going to marry a Japanese woman?”

  I snort. “There are other reasons to travel.”

  She sighs. “I saw Faye at the dinner. She came alone.”

  The gentle rebuke in Elizabeth’s voice says she expected me to escort Faye. “That’s too bad, but even if she’d asked me, I would’ve bailed.”

  “At least our family was represented by Ryder and Elliot. They attended with their wives.”

  The muscles in my jaw slacken. “Really?” Ryder and Elliot are the last people to attend charity functions. They prefer to give money, but stay out of the spotlight. Actually that isn’t entirely true. Ryder enjoys the spotlight, but it has to be his spotlight. And he likes his parties wild, with lots of drunk, topless women. Unfortunately Elizabeth disapproves of such delightfully amusing spectacles.

  “They seem happier,” she says.

  “You met Elliot’s wife?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is she really a stripper?” The sordid background information about Elliot’s wife made a splash not too long ago. And my twin has been on edge, calling to warn me about a mutual acquaintance who also happens to be a royal asshole—Keith Shellington, the embezzler.

  “Yes. But before you jump to any conclusions, she’s really lovely. I couldn’t be happier for both of them.”

  It makes me think of Ava and her furious reaction to what I said about my family. Given that I have no idea what brought that on and I don’t want to discuss Ava with Faye, Elizabeth is the best source of female insight I have.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Would you be upset if a man you were dating said he didn’t plan to introduce you to his family?” I quickly add, “You really don’t like his family.”

  “Well… If I didn’t like the family, I don’t think I’d be that upset about it. Why?” She gasps. “Are you seeing somebody who hates us?”

  There is a subtle change in her voice, something I’ve never heard from her. It’s not exactly cowed, and it isn’t disbelief either. The closest thing I can think of is cautious.

  I shake my head. What is up with women and their overwrought behavior? “She’s not a psycho or anything. And it’s not you she doesn’t care for.”

  “Then who?”

  “Blake.”

  “Oh.” She stays quiet, but that’s my sister. Say nothing if you can’t say anything nice.

  “Maybe he was having a bad day,” she finally offers.

  “Doubtful.” I snort. “Anyway, don’t strain yourself trying to come up with reasons justifying why Blake isn’t a saint. I don’t want to give you an aneurysm.” I sink deeper into the hot water.

  “I promise not to have an aneurysm if you’ll tell me about her.”

  “Elizabeth.” My voice is low but firm.

  She sighs loudly. “Fine, I won’t pry. Still, it’d be nice if you told me what’s going on after I gave you my thoughts.”

  I can hear the pout in her words. I allow myself a small smile.

  “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

  “You’re welcome.” She hesitates. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’m always here for you.”

  I rest the back of my head against the rim of the tub. “I know. Thanks.” Closing my eyes, I disconnect the line.r />
  What Is Wrong With Him?

  The second the boy sees his twin walk into the giant mansion they call home, he launches himself, his small fists tight and shaking with rage.

  “You butthole!” the boy yells, spittle flying from his cherubic mouth. He’s bitter, and “butthole” is the worst word he knows.

  The twin raises his arms to block the blow. “I’m sorry!” he shouts. “I thought you were gonna be there.”

  “You lie!”

  “Mom said you were waiting for us.”

  “Liar!”

  The boy keeps repeating it. He can’t believe his mother left him home and took his twin to Disneyland. She knows how much he loves the amusement park…how much he adores her.

  “Stop that, both of you!” comes a sharp rebuke. “Goodness, what’s wrong with the two of you?”

  “I told you he was going to be upset!” the twin says to their mother, gesturing wildly.

  She is not having any of it. Hands on her hips, she turns to the boy.

  “What did I say about acting out, Lucas?”

  “You told me if I was good—”

  “Were you good?”

  “Yes!”

  “No,” she corrects him coldly. “Remember last week when you made a mess of my dress?”

  The boy remembers, and it’s unfair that she’s upset about that. It was just mud, and it came out. He saw the housekeeper clean it.

  “I wanted to hug you, Mommy.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have done that. I’ve told you a thousand times to stay away when you’re dirty.”

  Suddenly this is too much for him to handle. The boy bursts out crying, tears pouring down his cheeks.

  “Other moms don’t mind when their sons hug them!”

  “You are not like other boys,” she snaps. “You cling. You demand. You don’t care about anyone but yourself. Actions have consequences. It’s time you learn that.”

  “Mom,” the twin says. “Stop.”

  “I hate you! I hate both of you,” the boy screams.

  “What is wrong with you?” the mother says. “This behavior is appalling.”

  He wipes the tears and smears snot on his cheeks. “I hate you,” he sobs.

  His mother wrinkles her nose. “You’re a sight. Go to your room and wash your face. Now.”

  She turns away and disappears down the hall.

  The twin approaches the boy and starts to put an arm around him. The boy shrugs it off.

  “I hate you, too, Elliot,” he whispers before running out into the garden in the dusk.

  But he can’t help but wonder…

  What is wrong with him?

  Chapter Twelve

  Ava

  The second I unlock the door and step inside my apartment, Bennie jumps off the couch and runs toward me, his bare feet slapping the floor. He’s in a loose charcoal T-shirt that says I like mayo sand across the chest in bright hot pink and a pair of black lounging pants he ordered online last month. In his hand is a phone, clutched tightly.

  “Thank god, you’re home!” he breathes out. “I was debating whether or not to call the police.”

  I tilt my head. “Why?” I slip off my shoes and go toward the living room. The NHK news is on TV, the sound muted.

  His face goes cold as I pass. He grabs my upper arm. “What the hell did he do to you?”

  “What?”

  “You’ve been crying!”

  I thought I’d wiped my face pretty well in the taxi. I guess not. “It’s nothing.”

  “How can you say that when Lucas dragged you away? If I’d known he was going to show up, I would’ve never left your side. You have no idea how much I yelled at Drew about that.”

  I collapse onto the couch, suddenly tired. “Please. It wasn’t his fault.”

  “Like I’m supposed to believe that?” Bennie sits down next to me. “It totally is his fault for not stopping your ex.”

  “Bennie…” I don’t have the energy to fight him. “He couldn’t have known. And I told him it was okay.”

  He is still looking mutinous. “I’m trying to be fair, Ava. I just… I just feel like Drew should’ve known.” Bennie takes a few deep breaths. “So what did the asshole want?”

  “He…” I stop, not wanting to talk about the kiss and the shameless way I responded to him. “Apparently, he wants me back.”

  Bennie’s jaw drops. “Is he on crack?”

  “Didn’t look like it.”

  “Did you tell him pigs would be singing ‘Hallelujah’ before you’d let him touch you again?”

  “Not exactly. But he knows…now.”

  “He’s such an asshole. And just so…wrong for you. The stalking, the harassment. And why show up now? He didn’t do a thing to get in touch for two years!”

  I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I don’t know. But he said he couldn’t stay in Japan for long, so he’s going to leave.”

  Then remembering what he asked me to give up, I laugh dryly.

  “What?”

  “He asked me to quit my job. No, he actually told me to quit my job and move back to the States with him.”

  Bennie’s eyes bug out. “Is he out of his freakin’ mind?”

  “Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction too.”

  “Wait.” He puts his head closer to mine conspiratorially. “Do you think he knows? About”—he lowers his voice—“you know.”

  My heart seems to skip a beat, but I shake my head firmly. “No. No way. He didn’t say anything about it. Besides, how could he know? He probably left Charlottesville after his surgery, and even if he didn’t, he doesn’t know Darcy and Ray. I doubt he made the connection.”

  Bennie thinks it over. “You’re right. It’s not like anyone looks that closely at random people’s kids.” He puts an elbow on the back of the sofa. “So did you confront him about what his brother said?”

  Bennie’s fists are tight. He’s still angry about the way I was treated by Lucas’s family, especially his oldest brother. Elliot wasn’t so bad. He merely stood there while Blake ripped into me.

  “I did, but apparently Blake has denied everything, and Lucas believes his brother.”

  “What a lying piece of shit. So he is close enough to believe his brother after all.”

  When I asked Lucas about his family when we were dating, he told me they weren’t that close and that he avoided talking to them. Now I know the truth. And it hurts like hell. “Well, it doesn’t matter.” Maybe if I fake nonchalance long enough it’ll become real. “I always suspected he wasn’t being honest about everything. Now I know, so I can move on.”

  “Girl, you’ve already moved on. You’re here, away from him, and you’re figuring out your life.”

  “Right.” I flash a quick smile for Bennie’s benefit. But if I have indeed moved on, why did I hesitate when Darcy asked me to come to the States for the holidays…and why am I considering moving farther and farther from home?

  Since I don’t have an answer to either question, I go wipe the makeup off my face, change into pajamas and rejoin Bennie in the living room to watch some silly TV personalities making fools of themselves. I’m tired, but I can’t seem to shut off my brain. When I finally go lie down on my futon, I toss and turn, obsessing about Lucas’s wicked mouth and his outlandish demand that I move back home with him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ava

  “Ohayo gozaimasu!” I say, as I walk into the teachers’ office the next morning.

  Sato-sensei repeats my greeting with a small incline of her head from her desk. She’s a petite Japanese language teacher. Though she’s in her mid-thirties and has two children, you’d never know it from her smooth golden skin and the twinkle in her dark eyes. She’s in a conservative black dress and a white sweater. Once every few months she’ll get a wild hair and wear something dark blue.

  “You’re a little early,” she says.

  I’m twenty-five minutes early. I didn’t sleep much last night, but I couldn’t brin
g myself to linger in bed once the raucous neighborhood crows woke me up before six. “I wanted to review a few things before class.”

  “Ah. As it happens, Kouchou-sensei mentioned that she would like to see you…”

  I smile, despite a bit of apprehension slithering up my spine. Kouchou literally means “school principal,” and everyone calls the old bat by her title rather than her name, Yukiko Tanaka. Older than a T-rex’s femur, she’s as cold as her namesake—snow—and doesn’t like foreigners that much, although she recognizes the necessity of having them in her school to teach English.

  Sato-sensei would never presume to give me a direct order, but the implication is clear: I need to go and see the dragon-lady before doing anything else.

  A young secretary guarding the Kouchou’s inner sanctum smiles nervously when I walk in. This is not a good omen. Yamamoto-san’s expression determines what’s waiting for you in Kouchou-sensei’s office, and that smile means, “I’m so glad it’s you, not me.”

  “Good morning, Ava-sensei. Please go in. Kouchou-sensei wanted to see you.”

  “Yes, I heard. Thank you.”

  I wipe my damp hands on my pants surreptitiously and step past the threshold to the dragon’s lair.

  Kouchou-sensei is seated at her desk, her black glasses almost too overpowering on her narrow, powdered face. Her hair is steel-gray and pulled back into a tight bun, and she’s wearing her usual white button-down blouse. Under the desk will be a black pleated skirt that stops at mid-shin and white pantyhose. I’ve never seen her wear anything else.

  “Please sit down,” she says in accented English, gesturing at the empty seat across from her. It’s a well-upholstered chair meant for making important visitors feel at ease, but it doesn’t have that effect on me.

  “You wanted to see me…?”

  “Yes.” She folds her brittle hands on the desk and takes her time. She isn’t doing this to figure out how to say what she needs to say in English. Her command of the language is excellent. She spent years studying, not because she wanted to communicate with foreigners, but she saw it as an intellectual challenge.