Mr. Wrong

by Rebecca Royce

  She had to admit, talking to Cristian about her troubles felt right, easy, natural. She’d done so for almost a decade before their whole relationship had been ripped away.

  “If we dismiss the idea of a crazy arsonist, and I don’t know if we should, we should be thinking about what’s happening from a logical perceptive. Who has the most to gain from the fires?”

  His statement made no sense to her. “Who gains anything from fire? The whole thing’s a disaster. I mean, usually fire is. Our kitchens have been pretty spared actually. The fires are staying very contained.”

  “Show me.”

  She should say no, end their conversation, and move their separate ways. Only, she didn’t. Instead she agreed. “Okay.”

  Chapter Four

  “What is he doing here?”

  Cristian ignored Duke’s complaint and surveyed the scene around him. Dahlia had been completely right. The rest of the kitchen had been spared the usual destruction even a little bit of smoke damage would cause. He’d been in a fire once. Not pretty.

  “Remember the time I almost got killed working the drive-thru line in high school?” He spoke to Dahlia as he maneuvered both the cane and himself farther into the kitchen.

  She stopped answering Duke and answered. “You know what? I haven’t thought about the incident in years. Yeah. What a horrible night. I heard about the fire before I heard from you. I was stuck at home with my nephew. Terrified.”

  “The days before I owned a cell phone.” He learned the pain of having been on fire when he woke up from the accident. Not the time nor the place to remember with Duke in the room. “The reason I brought it up was the night in question turned out to be a really small blaze. The awning outside the store caught aflame from a spark from a faulty surge protector. They got away out fast. My God, the damage. You have so little here. Whoever did harm to you has a real expertise with accelerants and controlled burns.”

  Duke snorted. “Don’t act as though you’re some kind of expert. What are you? Some kind of executive? You sit behind a desk and let other people do stuff for you.”

  Duke-boy’s nonsense didn’t require an answer. The chef was akin to a fly—a nuisance. Dahlia’s restaurants were catching fire. She hadn’t wanted their baby. He gritted his teeth. How was it possible he could be paying attention to Dahlia’s fire problem and obsessing over the hell their coffee shop conversation pushed onto him?

  Cristian had always been a single problem at a time kind of a guy. Only he had so many to contemplate, micromanaging them into an organized internal list wasn’t happening. She had been relieved to lose the baby and hadn’t said a word? Why the fuck not? He would have understood. She’d gotten scared or discovered she wasn’t ready. If she’d had the baby, he had no doubt she would have loved their child. Why the hell hadn’t she thought she could tell him?

  “Um.” Dahlia cleared her throat. “Cristian is actually somewhat of an expert. He got a BS and MS in chemical engineering and got both those degrees in five years. He might have even more degrees by now. He knows a lot about fire. Yes, he’s an executive, but he knows what he’s talking about. Don’t discount his expertise on our fire issue, Duke.”

  His heart swelled at her words. They’d always had each other’s back. Obviously, things weren’t the same yet she still raddled off his credentials as though his success was something she could be proud of. “I did get the MBA, baby.” Whoops, the baby came out without his being able to control the reflex. “Yeah, whoever messed with your fire knows exactly what they’re doing. The question, for me, isn’t really why they’re setting your kitchen on fire, the real interesting factor here is who is specifically targeting you. Hold on.”

  He limped out into the main dining room. The restaurant was about the same size as Daisy—relatively small kitchens and tiny dining rooms, which didn’t seat too many patrons. Violet was decorated similarly, except, presumably because they cooked French food there were scenes of Paris on the wall to go with the purple violets placed in small touches everywhere. He’d wanted to take her to France. They hadn’t made the trip before she left.

  Maybe her lack of world travel had been a reason losing the baby had been such a relief. If Duke hadn’t been looming as a giant wart on the day, Cristian would ask her what other things she’d worried about. Since apparently he’d been too dense to know how the love of his life felt about anything at all.

  “I don’t smell the smoke out here.”

  Duke shrugged. “Yeah, so I guess whoever’s doing shit is pretty impressive. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Warning bells flooded Cristian’s head. What was the deal with Duke? “I don’t think I used the word impressive. You didn’t have to close last night.” He addressed Dahlia, not the maggot she chose to spend time with. “Lose any business over your fire at all? Other than having to replace the ovens and some smoke damage to the wall behind?”

  Dahlia sighed, tiredness evident in the sound. He still knew her noises. “Weird, huh?” Her voice sounded small, and he hated the pain under the words. These places were her dream and someone was fucking with Dahlia’s creations.

  “Yes. Dahlia, I need you to take me to my car. I’ve got to go.” Coming in one vehicle had seemed to make sense only it left him stranded when he had work to do.

  Duke spread his arms out in front of him. “Well, look, Mr. Wrong is done with us. Had your little walk through our troubles and you’re returning to your life?”

  “Duke.” Dahlia huffed. “Knock it off.”

  Anger tickled his spine. He wasn’t certain where to direct his rage. Dahlia? Duke? Himself? All the above? He had to walk out of there and find some space to think, to digest the day.

  He’d told himself if their conversation would be goodbye to Dahlia, he would never darken her doorstep again, he’d leave her to her happiness. Only she clearly wasn’t having a very good time. Did her current situation negate his promise to leave her be? Why were there never any answers?

  “Let’s go, Cristian. We should have taken two cars. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Neither did he.

  The drive to his car was as silent as the drive to the restaurant. Did they have nothing left to say to one another? As she parked next to his car, he grabbed his wallet. His body was as numb as his mind. Dahlia was in big trouble. Would his interference make her situation better or worse for her?

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his card. “When the company started paying for my cellphone, after my last promotion, I got a new number. If you need anything, in the future, please call.”

  “So, this is it?” She furrowed her eyebrows, and the way her left eye twitched made him wonder if she was about to come down with a headache.

  “Today is me leaving you to be happy.” He tried to smile, except couldn’t quite bring himself to go so far into the lie. Driving away might very well kill him. “Although if I have any thoughts about your fire situation, I’d enjoy being able to share them. Is your cell the same?”

  She drummed on her steering wheel. “So you prance into my life, make my head spin, and then walk out the next day?”

  “I can hardly prance anywhere, baby.” He lifted his leg. When she didn’t laugh, he set the wounded body part back on the floor.

  “Not funny.” Her voice shook. “Giving up doesn’t seem you. You wanted me, and you’re giving up?”

  He didn’t know what the fuck to do. What did she want from him? “You want me to stay? Fight for you? Get in your life? I can make a full court press if you want me to. I don’t think you do.”

  She looked away. “No, I don’t want you to push. I don’t know why I’m behaving the way I am.”

  Neither did he. He’d learned he had never known her, never understood what she thought or felt. Maybe she had always been different than he believed, not at all the person he created in his mind. Or she’d changed. Alterations happened, he supposed.

  “The things I said to you in the coffee shop. I hurt you.�
� Her voice wavered, and he had to look away to stop himself from pulling her into his arms. His Dahlia would have loved the embrace, except the woman before him seemed so distant. She’d been relieved when they’d lost the baby and he’d had no earthly idea.

  Fuck, he must have been a lousy husband. No wonder she left him. He’d walk out on himself too. Yeah, he needed out of the car.

  “Don’t worry.”

  “No.” She grabbed his arm. “I mean, I laid something on you I never meant to say. I never wanted to cause you pain and…”

  She had to stop. “I’d rather have the truth. God help me, Dahlia, I’m actually a relatively simple man. It’s why my game playing with you by bringing Aaron went so badly. I’m a Texas guy. I had dreams and I made them happen. I thought we were on the same page, turned out I really didn’t know you at all.”

  “Not true.” She squeezed tighter, her fingernails digging into his arm. Her grip hurt only he didn’t pull away. “You were my everything for almost a decade. You did know me.”

  “Well, then not at the end. Not very well, did I?” The pain in his soul hurt so much more than the ache she placed on his arm with her fingers. Still, he could only make a single of those stop so he finally wrenched away. “Anyway, I’ll let you return to Duke and your life.”

  Dahlia turned away. “What a crazy day. I’m actually glad you came by.”

  “Closure.” He hated the word.

  “No.” She laughed, her gaze meeting his once again, akin to a sharp knife slicing his heart into a million pieces. “Because as weird a reintroduction as our meeting turned out to be, I’m glad we did see each other.”

  Her statement seemed as good as any to exit out of the car and he did so without another word. His head pounded. When he returned home, he was foregoing his pain meds and spend the night drowning the whole escapade into a bottle of whiskey. Until I don’t know my fucking name.

  He was all but a zombie while he packed his things and then checked out of the hotel. Hell, he didn’t remember getting to the place in the first place. He must have driven. Cristian stopped to clear his head. He wasn’t letting himself be so distracted he killed someone on his way from Austin to Houston. He’d been the victim of a person too fucked to be driving.

  Cristian sat still. He forced himself to breathe until he found his center again. Work expected him back in a week. The trip to Austin had been helpful. At the very least, he knew things about both himself and his marriage, which he would have never understood if he hadn’t taken the time. At least he knew he’d never make the same mistakes again. He couldn’t take care of her arson problem. She didn’t want him so deep in her life. And he couldn’t think around her. Not with all the news about the baby. He had to digest that.

  If he hadn’t been able to understand Dahlia—the love he still ached for so completely—he was never travelling down the ridiculous road again. Marriage worked for others, not him. He was too…fucked or something. He’d concentrate on work where everything made sense.

  With his emotions in check, he got into the car. No radio would sing him home, nothing except the silence of the car and his own thoughts for company.

  He pulled into his driveway, knowing the whiskey waited. The bottle and his empty house.

  In the middle of the night, he sat straight in the bed, covered in sweat. Cristian threw the covers off him. A solo night off the pain killers and he dripped as though he’d gone for a swim. Or maybe the whiskey had been a really bad idea. His leg ached, and he pulled himself out of bed. The house was empty, and the sound of the clock ticking downstairs was the only noise besides his own breathing.

  He hated his house. First chance he got he was selling the place to a family who would appreciate the space. Cristian had bought the home for them, thinking they’d fill the rooms with babies. He groaned.

  Dahlia said he hadn’t supported her dreams and she hadn’t wanted the baby. He stormed downstairs to find some water, his leg dragging since he didn’t have the cane handy. In the comfort of his own house he shouldn’t have to use the damn thing. Who cared if he was slightly off balance?

  He hadn’t forced her to have children. The decision to go off the pill had been entirely hers. He’d happily gone along. He was supposed to grasp from the air that she’d gotten freaked? He’d take the not supporting her bit, he could have been better about her dreams, paid closer attention, except the part about the baby wasn’t fucking fair.

  He gulped his water and walked over to the computer. Maybe there would be some inane emails he could pay attention to.

  The fire…

  Cristian put his head in his hands. His mind wanted to work on the problem. There would be a solution to the fires if nothing else.

  First, he needed some information. With his hands still shaky from the pain radiating through his body, he started a Google search. He’d start with Duke. The bastard. And he’d go from there.

  ****

  Dahlia stared at Duke. They were supposed to be sharing a meal. He was trying some new recipes and wanted her opinion. She could barely taste the food. In her pocket, burning a hole through her soul, was Cristian’s credit card. He’d dropped the plastic, or at least she assumed he had, when he’d pulled out his card.

  She should have called him and told him to cancel the numbers. Or stuck the thing in the mail. Only she didn’t want to. What she really wished was to put herself in the car and drive to Houston and deliver the card herself.

  The look on his face when she’d spoken in the coffee house and again in the car…ate away at her. All she’d wanted for so long was to make Cristian happy. He always stared at her with so much love in his eyes.

  Getting married had been a whim. They’d both been barely twenty years old. She’d suggested they wed on night when they did their typical imaginings of what life would be when some day they were legally bound.

  “Why wait?” she asked, running her hands along his strong legs. He’d started to become so buff. She needed to start working out if she wanted to look good standing next to him. She needed a cold shower whenever she thought about being naked with him. The sex had started to be really, really good… “Why not marry immediately? Where is it written our union has to be after college? We could go off tonight and return after as husband and wife. The university has housing for married couples.”

  The idea had been so out there. She’d expected him to laugh. Cristian planned everything to the smallest details. When he tried to do something spontaneous or out of character, he screwed the whole thing to pieces.

  He’d stood, put on his pants, and they’d gone off and married. Driven all the way to Vegas and been married within moments of arriving. She rubbed her finger where her wedding ring had once sat, showing her commitment to Cristian to the entire world. Their families had been utterly shocked. For their fifth anniversary, he’d given her a 2.7 carat princess-cut diamond. Big enough people notice, small enough no one will think to follow you home and rob us.

  She smiled at the memory. The way Cristian spoke…

  “Hello.” Duke waved in front of her eyes. “Do you enjoy the cutlet or don’t you? Where is your head?” His usually chipper face scrunched in a scowl. “As if I need to ask.”

  “Our livelihoods keep catching on fire and I saw my ex-husband. I think I’m allowed to be distracted.” And why did he have to make her pain about him? She understood Duke wanted to change things with their relationship. Only she really wasn’t in the mood for another round. “The cutlet was delicious. Everything you make is. Are you being really artsy about the cutlet and need reassurance?”

  He took a sip of his wine, a challenge in the glint in his gaze. “I’m not the only needy person in the room. I’ve seen you designing.”

  Duke always told her what a good job she did, how impressed he was with her work. “Thanks for always being there.”

  He seemed to take her response well and some of the tension in his shoulders eased. “You’re welcome. I mean, really, what were you ever
doing with the guy?” He rolled his eyes. “He’s a gas guy. The guy defines the term The Man. You can’t be with someone who doesn’t support you. You’re totally counter culture.”

  “Um.” She wasn’t sure exactly what to say. “I don’t think of myself as you’re describing me. And before you become all worked up about oil and gas, keep in mind you don’t enjoy to be cold and you appreciate when your ovens light.”

  “Alternative energy? Hello.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I want to see all the new options take off as much as the next person.” Cristian had written a whole paper in college on the subject. He’d had a plan for making some things marketable. “I’m not discussing politics with you.”

  “Fine.” He pointed to her wrist. “Are you getting another tattoo when we do number six next year? An orchid maybe?”

  She rubbed her wrist. “Can we really do a sixth? You’re not feeling slightly overwhelmed by the whole thing? Six is a lot. In six years? Too much financially?”

  “Why are you worried? I’ve got the books under control.” He shrugged. “And I’m excited about the cutlets.”

  Cristian’s words on the night they’d discussed—and he’d dismissed—her restaurant dreams flooded through her mind.

  Are you going to answer me or are you still checking work emails? I told you I needed to talk. Hello? Cristian? Anything to say? He’d barely looked up.

  Are you bored with work or something? Restaurants? Baby, you don’t even like to go out to eat. Maybe when the baby comes it’ll help. But seriously, if you want to do something so completely insane—do you know the percentages of restaurants that fail?—I’ll pay for you to go get a business degree. You can’t possibly do it without one.

  God, she wanted to kill him for the condescension in the way he’d spoken to her. His dismissiveness hadn’t stopped there. He could barely be called upon to look up to speak to her. His work mattered. It took all his time. Hers? What a cute second job. However, as she sat across from Duke, Cristian’s words resonated in the moment.