“Perfect. I better get back with Danny and decide what to do next.” He pauses, and when he speaks again his voice is lower, warmer. “I’m really glad you called, Kendra. Seriously. I feel a lot better than I did a few minutes ago.”
A smile comes unbidden to my face. That’s what happens every time we talk lately. “Happy to help. Talk to you later.”
“Thank you, Marta,” I say as the woman who’s worked for my parents since I was five fills my tea cup from the matching delicate china teapot my mother pulls out every time she has me over for tea.
It started when I was little. She likes to have tea at three o’clock every day. She likes the tradition of it. As all children do, I wanted to spend time with my mother. So her three o’clock tea turned into tea parties with me. As I got older, the drink and food selections matured, and as I got busier with school and friends, they happened less often, weekly at the most. But it’s always been time for just Mom and me. And Marta. She’s been around almost since the tradition began.
Mom only makes this kind of production of it at home when she has me over. And we don’t dress up particularly fancy like we did when I was a preschooler.
Marta smiles at me and nudges a plate of blueberry scones in my direction. “Your favorite.”
With a grin, I pick one up and take a bite, letting out a moan of pleasure as I chew the fluffy pastry still warm from the oven. “Delicious as always.”
Mom sips her tea and waits for Marta to leave before asking the question that I know is the reason I’m here. She’s never been one to beat around the bush. At least not with me. “And how are things with you and Marcus?”
Once again, that silly grin comes to my face.
“That good?” Mom says before I have the chance to answer. “Mitchell mentioned that he saw you two last week.”
That effectively wipes the silly smile off my face, and I blink a few times over the rim of my tea cup. “Oh? He did?”
Mom gives me an indulgent look like she’s onto me. “Yes. He said the three of you chatted for a few minutes over coffee.”
I sip my tea and hum instead of answering. Chatted over coffee. I guess you could call it that.
Mom sighs. “You know, he’s awfully disappointed that you seem to have moved on so quickly.” Her blue eyes examine my face, looking for signs of … what? Unhappiness? Subterfuge?
I keep my expression carefully neutral. “I’ve already told you that Mitchell and I aren’t a good fit. Even if I weren’t with Marcus, that would still be true.” I feel a tiny stab of guilt saying that, because before last week, there really wasn’t a Marcus. I hate lying to my parents. But this conversation is the reason why I did. Even with an apparently serious boyfriend, my mom is still pushing me toward Mitchell.
Now Mom hums noncommittally. There’s no question where I learned that gambit. She takes a dainty bite of her own scone, brushing the crumbs off her lips and onto her plate.
I don’t say anything, though. In addition to being a time to reconnect, our tea tradition is also used to pass on important information about upcoming events and twist my arm to caving to my parents’ desires. I was hoping for the first option, but with the way this is going, it looks like she’s going for number three.
Good thing there is something with Marcus. And without the original lie, there wouldn’t have been the chance for it to become true. If it is becoming true.
As if my mom picks up on my thoughts, she sets her cup down and studies me. “I find it interesting that you didn’t have him join us for Christmas.”
“Oh. Yeah. He had family obligations.” Shit. I didn’t see that coming at all. I stuff my scone in my mouth to cover my craptastic answer.
Mom’s not really buying it, though. “Yes. I see. But his family lives in the area. Weren’t you two together by then? You went to that wedding with him in December. And I imagine you’ll be going to the Grammys with him again, since you did last year and that was before you two were even an item. Right?”
“Right,” I mumble around the crumbs in my mouth.
“Kendra,” my mom scolds. “You know better than to talk with your mouth full.”
I swallow hard, the delicious scone now a lump of sawdust in my throat. A sip of lukewarm tea does nothing to dislodge it. “Sorry,” I choke out. “Sorry. Yes. I’m sure I’ll be attending the Grammys.” Even if Marcus hasn’t brought it up yet. He usually doesn’t until the last minute anyway. I think he forgets about these things. Even when they’re scheduled to perform like last year. It sneaks up on him. Which is why they have assistants and managers and people to keep them organized and on track.
Mom looks concerned. “You haven’t talked about it?”
“Well … no. Not exactly. Marcus is a little scatterbrained about that kind of thing, and we’ve … well, I mean—”
Mom cuts off my stumbling over my words. “Say no more. You haven’t been doing much talking. I completely understand.”
Oh my God. “Mother! I can’t believe you just said that!” I’m sure my face is as red as a tomato right now, the curse of being fair skinned.
She just gives me a smirk and a shrug. “Your father and I were young once too, you know. And very much in love.
Ewwww. Not a mental image I want of my parents, even if it is good that they still love each other. I clear my throat pointedly. “Anyway. Speaking of Dad, how is he? He seemed a little, I don’t know, off at your anniversary party. And I haven’t been able to find time to meet him at the office lately.” Not that I’ve been trying very hard. Since I told them that I’m dating Marcus, I’ve been kind of avoiding doing more than quick phone calls to check in.
I feel like a bad daughter. Both for lying to them and for not wanting to date Mitchell, even though they obviously like him and want us to be together.
But even my guilt isn’t enough to make me get back together with him. No way in hell.
Mom’s face turns serious, and she fiddles with the silverware next to her plate. “Oh, he’s fine.” She gives me an overly bright smile. “Everything’s fine. Great. Now, back to you and Marcus.”
After that quick change of subject, I’m left reeling. And I don’t have time to process until after I leave, because I have to stay on top of my lies and cover stories so Mom doesn’t catch on that Marcus and I haven’t been a couple for long. Or aren’t really a couple at all. Or we’re in this weird in-between phase where we make out but don’t do anything else.
I go over and over Mom’s answer about Dad, trying to read more into what she’s saying. But “he’s fine, everything’s fine,” doesn’t tell me anything.
Except that I wasn’t the only one lying through my teeth.
Chapter Eleven
Marcus
The concierge calls one of the security guys to take me up to Kendra’s condo. “She’s had quite a few male visitors lately,” the middle-aged man comments as we ride the elevator to her floor.
I give him a hard stare. “The only male visitor she ought to be having is me. If Mitchell Harrison shows up again, don’t let him up.”
He returns my stare without flinching. “Only Ms. Strickland can request someone be removed from her list of approved visitors.”
“Right. I’ll see she removes him as soon as she returns.”
“You do that.”
The rest of our time together passes in stony silence. What’s this guy’s deal, anyway? Is he trying to imply something about Kendra’s character with that comment about her male visitors? Make me jealous? Or warn me off?
I’d like to think that me being here would make Mitchell unlikely to turn up again, but I know better. Assholes like that aren’t easily deterred. And after our little chat at the coffee shop, it’s more than clear that he thinks he and Kendra are going to end up together one way or another.
The only question is what asshole move he’s going to pull next and when.
After the security guy lets me into Kendra’s condo, I give him a tight nod and shut the door in his
face. It’s weird being in Kendra’s space without her. It’s tidy, like she is, buttoned up and put together. Dust free, since I know she has someone come in weekly to dust, vacuum, mop, and clean the bathrooms. All the stuff I had to help with as a kid, she grew up having hired help do for her. So as an adult living on her own, she continues with that trend.
Truth be told, I do too now. I can afford it, and I hate cleaning toilets, so I hire it out. When I’m even home, anyway. I’m not sure what happens to my apartment when I’m gone for months, actually. For all I know, the band’s assistant lists all of our places on Airbnb while we’re on tour and pockets the money.
Ha. Like Blaire would ever do that. She has enough to worry about keeping our asses in line and on time, especially when we’re touring. She’s up before we are and on the go till after she sends us all to bed.
Which is why if she did pull something like renting my place out on Airbnb, I wouldn’t even care that she kept all the money as long as it was clean and ready for me when I needed it.
I settle in on Kendra’s couch, kicking off my shoes and putting my feet on the coffee table while I turn on the TV and browse through what’s on. Not much in the late afternoon on a weekday, but I’m not looking to get involved in anything anyway. I settle on a rerun of a sitcom I watched growing up, but the front door opens before the first commercial break.
A glance at my phone shows that Kendra didn’t call me, which is weird, since she said she would when she left her parents’. But the teasing question I’m about to ask is replaced by concern when I see her face. “Babe, what’s the matter?”
Her agitated blue eyes find mine, hitting me like a punch to the gut. Without thinking, I fold her into my arms. She lets me, wrapping her arms around me, her wool coat itchy under my palms. “What happened? Is everything okay?”
First she nods, then she shakes her head, then she steps back and looks up at me. “I don’t know. Something’s wrong with my dad.”
“What? Is he going to be okay?”
She shrugs, holding her hands up, fingers spread before letting them fall again. Turning away from me, she takes off her coat, her hair swishing around her shoulders as she shakes her head. “I don’t even know what’s wrong. But when I asked Mom how he was doing, she said, ‘He’s fine. Everything’s fine.’”
Rocking back on my heels, I stick my hands in my pockets, trying to figure out where the emergency is in that. I actually scratch my head, trying to figure it out. “Um, okay … and that’s bad because …?”
She gives me an exasperated look. “She was lying.”
“How do you know?”
When she shakes her head and crosses her arms, I’m momentarily distracted by the way the deep V of her shirt frames her cleavage, but her words pull me back to her face. “I just know. If everything were actually fine, Mom would tell me random details like he’s researching a new startup or making an investment in some company or other. Or maybe something personal, like he beat Fred Jones at tennis three times last month.” She throws her hands in the air. “I don’t know. Something. She never just gives me a fake smile and tells me he’s fine. That’s a dead giveaway that something’s wrong.”
I lean back against the wall in her entryway, arms crossed. “What do you think it is?”
She doesn’t answer me right away, instead mimicking my posture opposite me, biting her lip and shaking her head. “I don’t know. I don’t want to think anything’s wrong with his health. I’d hope they’d tell me if that were the case. So I guess that leaves something with business …” She’s staring at the floor between us, her gaze abstract as she thinks about her parents.
Then she straightens from the wall and waves her hands in front of her. “Never mind. I’m sorry to be such a downer. Especially after you’ve had a frustrating day.” She heads for the living room. “How long have you been here? Do you want to grab dinner somewhere or order in?”
I follow her, letting her change the subject without a fuss. When she wants to talk more, or when she finds out more, I’m sure she’ll let me know. “Let’s order in. And I haven’t been here long. The concierge had one of the security guys walk me up. Which reminds me, you should take Mitchell off your list of approved visitors. That way he won’t be able to ambush you at your apartment again.”
She spins around, her hair flying, her mouth open. “You’re right. Good point. And since you’re supposed to be my boyfriend, it really doesn’t look good to have my ex dropping by, does it?”
“Right.” She’s already turned away, looking at her phone, I assume to figure out where to get dinner from, so she doesn’t notice the clench in my jaw or the way my hands curl into fists at my side at her choice of words. It’s stupid. I’m stupid. It shouldn’t bother me, but the fact that she said I’m supposed to be her boyfriend grates, like sandpaper on an open wound.
Supposed to be. Not that I am her boyfriend.
Because I guess spending every evening together and kissing doesn’t make us a couple. It makes us … I’m not sure what. Not even friends with benefits, because if we were, I’d want a hell of a lot more benefits.
But I’d never settle for just that. Not with Kendra.
I want it all.
“Maybe we should go out somewhere,” I blurt out, and she raises her eyes from her screen, surprised.
“Are you sure?”
I shrug. “Like you said, we’re supposed to be dating. Doesn’t that mean I should take you on dates? So far we’ve just been hanging out here.” Which I don’t mind in the least. I like having her all to myself. But … “If we really want to sell it that we’re together, we need to be seen together in public. Let the paparazzi have a chance to take pictures of us together.”
I’m a little surprised at the conflict I see in her face. “Yeah, I guess so. That’s a good point. Especially since Mitchell didn’t really believe we were together, at least not before that kiss, and now my mom’s asking questions I don’t have good answers for.” Her mouth turns up in a lopsided smile. “And you know I’m crap at lying when I don’t have prepared answers.”
Reaching for her hand, I thread our fingers together and pull her closer to me. “We’ll just have to prepare some answers for you, then. The whole point is for everyone to believe we’re together so Mitchell will leave you alone. If he’s already doubtful, we need to do whatever it takes to make him believe he doesn’t have a chance in hell.”
She steps in closer to me, her body almost touching mine, staring up into my face with bottomless trust in her eyes. “Whatever it takes,” she echoes on a whisper.
Everything in me tightens, my blood rushing south, and whatever it takes somehow morphs into images of her naked in my bed, spread and writhing as I make her come.
I take a step back, dropping her hand and clearing my throat. She blinks at me like she’s waking up from a spell. Which is exactly how I feel. “Pick a restaurant. Wherever you want. I’ve gotta go to the bathroom. I’ll have Blaire get us into wherever you pick.”
And with that, I flee the room.
Chapter Twelve
Kendra
“Will you still come back to my place?” I ask Marcus as we leave the restaurant at the end of our date. “I was looking forward to just relaxing with you at home.”
Marcus smiles down at me, his thumb sweeping over the knuckles of my hand as we walk slowly down the street to where a car waits at the end of the block. This is part of the staging so that anyone who wants can take pictures of us together.
I picked a small Italian restaurant in the North End that has a six month waiting list for a reservation. If I’m fake dating a rockstar who can get us in anywhere at a moment’s notice, I might as well take advantage, right?
While he’s been attentive, all his focus tonight was on coming up with a plausible history for our romantic relationship so that gaffes like what happened at tea this afternoon don’t happen again. Which is good, because I do want to have answers to questions like why didn’t we spend
Christmas together (we were keeping our relationship quiet to avoid intrusive questions from the press over the holidays) and how we moved from a platonic relationship to a romantic one.
But I wanted Marcus my friend to come hang out with me. If we ended up making out like teenagers again, then I wouldn’t object …
As though he can read my mind, Marcus stops and turns me to face him with our connected hands. He cups my cheek with his free hand, smiling down at me, bringing his face closer to mine. “There’s a photographer that’s been following us since we left the restaurant. He probably got some photos of us through the window, but we should give him what he really wants.”
My brows draw together. “What he really wants?”
“A kiss.” And then his mouth is on mine. But it’s nothing like the kisses we’ve shared before, and I don’t mean that in a good way.
His body is tense, despite his easy smile before he kissed me, his lips are firmly closed, and everything about it just feels … wrong.
I don’t like this. At all.
Conscious of the photographer and the fact that we’re trying to sell us as a happy couple, I don’t jerk my head back like I want to. But I do disengage from the kiss.
Marcus lets me, and we resume the walk to our waiting car. He tells the driver to head for my building and gets out to walk me to my door when we arrive, even though I haven’t said anything the whole way home.
I feel … disappointed. I thought that the last week meant more than this, and then to have him kiss me as a show for a photographer … I feel dirty. And used. Which is extra ridiculous since this whole thing was my idea in the first place. What did I expect?
The truth is, I didn’t think any of this through. I wanted to escape Mitchell trying to corner me and convince me to give him another chance and my parents pushing me at him just as hard. Now my feelings are all tangled, and even though we haven’t done more than kiss a few times, I’m worried about what this stunt will do to our relationship in the long run.
Anything You Need (Cataclysm Book 1) Page 6