Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5)

by Krista Ritchie

  So maybe “condiment banisher” isn’t in my future.

  Ryke loves mustard, but he knows it’s not my favorite. “I didn’t scrape it off?” I whisper and peek beneath the bun. Damn.

  “It’s not up to par with Superheroes & Scones,” Willow says, “but it’s nice to have something like it nearby.” She hugs a blue pillow on her lap and picks at the fringe.

  Ryke and Lo watch her for a second and then exchange this concerned look. I pass them menus, trying to distract them while Willow makes up her mind on whether or not to include them in our Garrison discussion.

  “They have a special burrito today,” I tell Lo. “Maybe it’ll make you feel special afterwards, if you know what I mean.” I elbow his side lightly.

  An ill-humored Loren Hale flips through the menu. “Ryke, tell your wife she’s confusing special burritos with special brownies.”

  I gasp. “There’s a difference?”

  Ryke taps his plastic menu to my head. Lily would call that a love-tap.

  “I need advice,” Willow suddenly says, instantly capturing Ryke and Lo’s attention. “Maybe advice isn’t the right word…maybe like a guy’s perspective?”

  “What happened?” Lo asks sharply, ready to protect and defend his little sister.

  “Nothing bad. Well, it’s confusing…Daisy?” She has these pleading eyes like please help me explain this. I suck with words.

  I have you covered, Willow Hale.

  “Garrison filled out a questionnaire on his own accord, which was a rare event, and we’re both kind of questioning what his answers actually mean.” I pop up the questionnaire in a new window for them. “So as guys, what do you think?”

  Ryke leans closer and points at the screen. “What the fuck is that supposed to be?” Oh Ryke. He doesn’t know that the less-than sign plus the number three is the heart symbol.

  “A broken heart,” I explain.

  “But you’re both still fucking together, right?” Ryke asks.

  Willow nods. “Yeah.”

  “Then why the fuck…” he trails off at my wide-eyes. Stand down, Ryke. He’s not very informed on Tumblr wit. I doubt he’s even gone on Tumblr more than a few times. He would’ve filled this questionnaire out plainly. Relationship Status: Married.

  The end.

  Lo is really the one who’d be able to understand Garrison. His harsh glare remains strong while he reads. He finishes and says, “He’s just upset that you’re not around. Seems like a natural reaction if he loves you.”

  Willow says hurriedly, “I had sex with him the day before I left.” She buries her face in her pillow and mumbles out something else.

  Ryke whispers to me, “Her first time?”

  I nod, and Ryke rubs his temple and jaw before turning to Lo.

  Lo is frozen with his hand partially covering his mouth. They both lean against the booth and whisper, literally, behind my back.

  I ask Willow, “What was that last part?”

  She moves the pillow off her mouth, but not her eyes. “I think he’s upset about that.”

  “Hey,” I tell both guys, “stop, you two. She’s right here, and she didn’t have to tell you that, but she did and would like your advice.”

  They return to the screen, but Willow, no longer in frame, angled her computer camera to her X-Men poster.

  “Were you fucking safe?” Ryke asks. His words sound coarse but his voice isn’t.

  “Yes.” A voice comes out in the distance.

  “It was consensual?” Lo asks. It looks like he’s talking to the young, bald Professor Xavier.

  “Yes.”

  I cut in to alleviate some tension, “So what do you guys think? Would this be enough to make him upset?”

  “I wouldn’t put a fucking broken heart thing in my relationship status.” Ryke is blunt, which isn’t always a good thing. “If you both knew you wouldn’t see each other for a while and slept together, I would’ve been like, look, this fucking girl is obviously showing me that I mean a lot to her.”

  “I would’ve been upset,” Lo counters, “but not at the girl, just at the goddamn situation.”

  “What can I do to make him feel better?” Willow asks off-screen.

  “I know this sucks but…you can’t do anything, Willow. You just have to let him get used to the long-distance thing. He will after a while.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Willow wonders.

  Lo snaps, “Then maybe he didn’t love you like you thought.”

  “Fuck him,” Ryke adds.

  I interject, “Let’s all remember that we like Garrison.” Ryke and Lo look murderous at these plausible scenarios where Garrison breaks their sister’s heart.

  Willow pops her head back into the camera view. “Thanks, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up anything that’d make you guys uncomfortable.”

  Lo and Ryke start laughing, and Lo is the first to say, “Like that’s possible.”

  I’ve heard many, many stories before I entered the picture. Back when we weren’t famous. Like the time where Ryke just stood there while Lo had his hand halfway down Lily’s pants. He tried to run Ryke off, but Ryke isn’t easy to scare or make uncomfortable.

  Before Willow and I sign off, she says to me, “Tomorrow, same time?”

  “Yep. I’ll be at my house with the special guest star Sullivan Minnie Meadows.”

  Willow smiles. “See ya.”

  I shut my computer while Lo orders the “special burrito” and Ryke runs his hand through my hair. I set my chin on his arm with a growing smile.

  [ 7 ]

  October 2018

  The Cobalt Estate

  Philadelphia

  ROSE COBALT

  This is a battle I plan to lose.

  I take a hearty swig of sparkling water from my wine glass. Then I eye the chessboard, set on our king-sized bed, the pale blue, satin comforter beneath.

  Move your rook in his line of fire, Rose. Abandon your cavalry.

  Losing on purpose is fucking painful. I finish off my sparkling water with another angered gulp and avoid my husband’s sagacious blue gaze. While bathing Charlie and Beckett this morning, he used that adjective on himself. I could fault Connor for his ego, but his self-description isn’t entirely inaccurate.

  He’s frighteningly perceptive of his surroundings and me without seeming overly watchful.

  Take this moment for instance. Instead of wearing my usual black negligee or chemise to bed, I chose one of his button-downs. The hem stops at my thighs, and my breasts push against the white fabric, two buttons popped. Connor has yet to mention my choice of nightwear, and I never catch him ogling me from head-to-toe. But I’m certain he’s mentally jotted this down: What is Rose up to?

  I’m not about to simply tell him. I’ll only be spoon-feeding my infant children, thank you.

  I try to take another sip of water, but my glass is empty.

  My husband reaches over and drains a quarter of his sparkling water into my glass. Since I’ve been trying to get pregnant, Connor has kindly joined me on my “no wine” voyage. It’s hell, but a hell I’d endure again and again to bring a little gremlin into the world.

  Avoid his eyes.

  I do.

  And then he says, “You’re nervous.”

  I glare right at his stature and composure, at his unwavering confidence. “I’m thinking about how to defeat you.” I am thinking, but more so about how to hand him a win.

  Without breaking eye contact, he takes a sip from his wine glass.

  He knows.

  No he doesn’t. He can’t know that I broke an enormous promise out of impulse. All day, I’ve been trying to figure out how to subtly explain what I’ve done, but I keep choking on my own betrayal. I’d slam a door in his face if he did what I did.

  I inhale a tightened breath and finish off the sparkling water again, even the little drop that rolls slowly into my mouth. He doesn’t know.

  Both of us in the middle of the bed, my legs are splayed to
the side. His elbow is propped casually on his bent knee, just dressed in gray drawstring pants. While his abs aren’t horrible to look at, I actually lose focus by the two baby monitors next to him. On the screens, I can see Jane in her toddler bed and Beckett and Charlie in their cribs, our children sound asleep by 8:00 p.m. in their rooms.

  “Do we need to put a time limit on moves?” Connor asks me. “Thinking shouldn’t take you this long. For other people, yes, but for you and me?” He arches a brow like I’ve lost a handful of brain cells in a short period of time.

  I haven’t. “I don’t need a time stipulation, Richard.”

  I collect my glossy hair onto one shoulder and shift my rook. I’m sorry for sacrificing you, but it’s for the best. After finishing, I look up, and Connor is fixated on the chessboard. His bishop can now capture my queen.

  I think he’s confused, but I can’t be certain.

  We always play with stakes, and we left this game open-ended. Winner can do anything they please, which is a higher stake than a narrowed goal. Connor could choose anything, and I’m prepared for it.

  The quieter he is, the stiffer I become. I sit so straight, my neck and shoulders ache. I clutch my knees that are glued together, and my heart bangs violently.

  Do what you must, Husband.

  Connor slowly raises his gaze to mine. “Why would you put your queen in jeopardy?”

  She deserves to be punished. I swallow that truth and just say, “That move fits my overall plan.”

  Connor stretches to set his wine glass on an end table behind him. “What’s the capital of Norway?”

  I thought he’d mentally chase me to find my true motives, but I forgot to include his dominance into the equation. His need to be in front and on top—or at the very least, right by my side. He’ll make me chase him around like we’re two lions wrestling in the fucking Sahara.

  I have no idea why he’s suddenly brought an impromptu quiz to the table, but now I’m as mentally on my toes as him. “Oslo,” I reply. He knows I’d never get this fact wrong, so I can’t fail on purpose here.

  Try again, Richard.

  “And the capital of Estonia?” he quizzes.

  “Tallinn.” I narrow my eyes. “C'est tout?” Is that all?

  He knocks my queen over with his bishop. “Check.”

  My king is unprotected. I graze over the board quickly. “I see no way to win. Congratulations.” My voice is so tight that I can hardly swallow.

  “There are two moves you could make, and you’re saying that you can’t see either?”

  “That’s exactly what I just said,” I snap and push the chessboard at him, pieces tipping over and scattering our bed. “You can gloat about it and take your win.” I try to seem upset about the loss, but I’ve never claimed to be good at acting.

  “What’s the capital of the Philippines?”

  Manila. “I don’t know,” I say hastily and then climb off the bed. “It should be enough that you’ve won this game. You don’t have to keep testing me.” As I turn and face him, I go very still.

  He knows.

  “You let me win. There’s no satisfaction in that.” He rights the chess pieces on the board. “The fact that you’d even think I’d believe you’d relinquish your queen is not only insulting to my intelligence but to your own. And you know every capital in less than a second.”

  “You can’t know my knowledge of capitals.” I can’t believe I’m downplaying my intelligence to make a point.

  I’ve never done this before.

  Connor keeps his emotions padlocked, and I wonder if he’s as dismayed as I am. I’m trying to convince him that I’m a playful house cat when I’ve positioned myself as a fierce lioness. I near my end table and listen to his calm response.

  “At Faust, Matthew Wellington said he challenged you in capitals for a kiss.”

  I gag at the memory. “He told you that?”

  “He told all of Whitman Hall that.” Whitman Hall. The name of Connor’s boarding school dormitory. There were four Halls, all titled after poets. I find myself entranced with the facts, all void of emotion so I don’t crumble at my husband’s feet.

  You broke a promise, Rose.

  I’ve never had to apologize for something like this, and I thought I’d begin my penance by padding his ego with a win or two. I don’t intend for him to go easy on me because I wouldn’t want him to. I deserve to be swept in the natural disasters I produce.

  It’s only fair.

  I carefully sift through the drawer of my end table. “Matthew Wellington was a little weasel.” I was fifteen and would never give my first kiss to him. I was certain I’d win that bet because, as Connor noted, I knew every capital in under a second.

  If I won, I was allowed to take his Gucci sunglasses. That weekend at the Model UN conference, I wore his sunglasses every time I saw his face. Just to rub it in.

  “I still have Matthew’s sunglasses,” I note with pride.

  “You mean the sunglasses that he told everyone he lent you, and you were so ‘infatuated’ with him, you wore them all around the conference? Those sunglasses?”

  I gape, my eyes scorching hot. “What?” Matthew wasn’t just a little weasel apparently. He was also a little prick. “Did you dispel that lie?”

  Connor keeps my queen between his fingers. “I called him out for twisting facts, but I still couldn’t believe you’d play games with Matthew Wellington for a kiss.”

  “Because you hoped I’d play those games with you?” I question.

  Connor doesn’t deny this. “You hated Faust boys, and I wanted to be the one you hated most.”

  Translation: I wanted to be the one always on your mind.

  I fight a mounting smile. “You succeeded.”

  Connor grins. “I know.”

  I roll my eyes dramatically and continue my search through the drawer. Now that he knows I’ve let him win, I can’t hide my treachery any longer. I find my self-defense knife, the hilt blood-red. I quickly set it beside the chessboard, nearest Connor, and then reclaim my spot on the bed.

  He hardly looks surprised or like someone who was just handed a weapon.

  He picks up the knife. “Explain.”

  “You can stab me in the back like I’ve stabbed you.” My nose flares, restraining an onslaught of guilt and regret.

  Connor rubs his lips, but I can’t tell if he’s pieced anything together yet.

  “I deserve punishment.” There I said it. I tie my hair into a pony, ready for whatever he wants to dole out.

  “We’ve been through this, Rose,” he says so calmly. “I’d never hurt you, not even hypothetically.”

  “Not even if I cheated on you?” I test.

  “You didn’t.” His tone is matter-of-fact. Like in no realm of possibility does that scenario exist. I can’t even imagine putting a pinky toe in that direction either. I’m so tragically in love with him. To the point where breaking a simple promise has my stomach twisted. It’s not nearly as catastrophic as infidelity.

  Connor stands off the bed, knife in hand.

  “Not even if I cheated on an exam?” I try again, watching him and his supreme poise.

  “I’d think less of you because I know you’re better than that.”

  “Then you must think less of me now.” I cast a glare at the ceiling. Just say it, Rose. Let your impulsive misstep out into the world.

  Connor speaks before I do. “Because you went to the doctor without me?”

  He definitely knows.

  Connor clasps my ankle, sliding me to the edge of the bed until my legs fall off. He stands tall above me. “Because we made a promise that we’d go together?” He kicks my ankles apart, spreading my legs wide.

  I eye the knife in his hand.

  Not even a second later, he places my knife back in the drawer, as though to say, never will I harm you. And then he returns to me.

  “I wouldn’t think less of you because of this.” He steps nearer. “Because I know who you are. Because
I know exactly why you would’ve broken our promise today and why you couldn’t wait longer than a night to confess.”

  I breathe shallowly.

  Connor presses his hand to my breastbone, and I follow the force of his palm. Until my back meets the soft comforter. “Because you’re impetuous.” He stretches my arms above my head, crossing my wrists. “Because you see our promises like vows of love and death.” I do. “Because you feel like you broke something that’s unbreakable.”

  I shiver, cold sweeping my arms and legs.

  He fits something in my hands and closes my fingers over it. A chess piece.

  My queen.

  Connor hovers above my frame, his hands on either side of me, his lips only inches away from mine. My legs curve around his waist, my bare skin beginning to heat.

  Very deeply and very hushed, he says, “If you were anything other than a torrid fire, you wouldn’t be the woman I’ve admired and loved. I understand your reasons. I respect them and adore them because they belong to you.”

  I inhale sharply, my back arching and body rising against his. He lets out a deeper breath, skimming me for a moment, before meeting my eyes.

  I clutch my queen tightly. I’d give her to him again, but not in the same way. I’d love her more beforehand.

  “It drove me insane not knowing if I was pregnant,” I explain. “I thought I’d just be in and out and nothing would be changed.” Before going, I took two tests. One said a faint yes and the other said fuck off no way. I convinced myself that the doctor would say you’re not pregnant.

  Connor isn’t surprised. Though he never really is. “I’d rather have this moment with you than have an ordinary day with anyone else, Rose.”

  “I won’t break another promise, so don’t get used to this,” I say in a softer tone, much softer than my usual voice. I’m melting beneath my husband and his words and reassurance of his love for me. The me that can be unpredictable and fiery and full of contradictions and all the other personality traits I spent the day loathing.

  As I attempt to bring my arms down, he grips my wrists together, cementing my hands where he first placed them. Heat stirs between my legs, and his dominance pours over me.

  “Do you remember when you hid your pregnancy with Jane from me?”