Her face screws up in disappointment. Clearly, it’s not an acceptable answer.
“I can read to you, Rory,” I offer.
The two-year-old sizes me up with her father’s analytic eyes. I almost want to assure her that I can read, very well in fact, but she eases up and starts toward the couch.
Declan tries to offer up excuses for me, but I ignore him and pull her up on the cushion next to me. Rory puts a little distance between us and lets me have the book. It’s not long, not much of a plot in my opinion, mostly a collection of pictures with their labels written below them. After twenty seconds the book is over, but Rory closes it and hands it to me again.
“More?” she asks, and I oblige.
The second time through I add some voices, and it thrills her. The third time through we play ‘what’s that?’, and I ask her the question for each picture. I barely understand her, but her smile is absolute perfection. She sinks into me on the fourth run, her warm body nestles into me like a squirrel in a nest. This is what I’ve wanted my whole life.
Belonging.
Acceptance.
Warmth.
“Again,” she says as we finish the fourth time.
“Hey baby,” Declan says from the edge of the couch, “it’s dinner time.”
For a second, I think he’s talking to me, but he’s staring at her and my nerves relax a bit. I’m not sure when the sounds in the kitchen stopped exactly, but he’s been watching for a while now, I think.
“Come on, lady,” Rory tugs on my arm, “come a dinner.”
“Her name is Max, Rory,” Declan says, but he’s beaming because she likes me. Has anyone ever been allowed this kind of passage into his life?
“You sitta me, Max,” Rory says as she drags me to the table.
“Looks like you made a friend,” Declan says. He takes the seat at the head of the table, and Rory insists that my setting be moved next to her, not her father.
“Couldn’t be happier,” I admit. “She’s a great little friend.”
It’s fun to watch Declan be a father. He cuts her noodles. Insists that she eat at least one broccoli, though he calls it a tree instead and it’s adorable. Every now and then, he brushes the hair out of her face and out of the way of her spaghetti. Sauce covers every square inch of her, not just her face, but her hair, her arms, her little hands, and then my hands because she has to hold Max’s hand while she’s eating because, “we friends”. She keeps telling me as if I might not remember. She makes me giggle and forget that there are posters with my face on them on the street below us. She makes me feel loved, like I finally belong somewhere and someone needs me, and accepts me as I am.
Everyone should have a two-year-old friend who splatters spaghetti.
It’s good for the soul.
It’s not until dinner is over that Declan sees the red sauce running up my arm and coating my hand. His eyes go wide with embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry.” Declan fumbles for a napkin. “I didn’t know she’d painted you in it.”
He’s about to lay into Rory for it, so I stop him before he can.
“It’s fine. It’ll wash.”
“This is why we have baths on spaghetti nights, huh Rory?” Declan says as he pulls her free of her high chair. “I’m gonna go wash her up and get her ready for bed. You can use the sink there.”
He scoops his daughter into his arms. She plants a sauce covered kiss on his cheek. My father would have lost it, but Declan laughs because he adores her. Sounds of running water from the bath catch my ears. I use the sink to clean the red sauce off my arm. Once I’m clean, I start on the dishes because it’s the least I can do after he’s worked so hard for me.
Guilt seeps in at all my seams. I try to distract myself with service because I know I’m lying. I should tell him. Tell him that I am that spoiled princess on the reward signs. Tell him that I never expected to find this, and I never meant to lead him on. I should tell him that I want to confess because this all becoming too real to ignore anymore.
But when it comes down to it, I’m a coward. That’s why I climbed out that window in the first place, too afraid to take control of my life. Now I’m too afraid he’ll never forgive me, too afraid he won’t want me once he knows where I come from.
I sink onto the couch and listen to the happy sounds of Rory as her dad gets her ready for bed. She sings little songs she makes up, and though I can’t understand them, they’re beautiful just the same. Apollo slinks in from the back room and tucks his head under my palm for more scratches.
It’s warm here, even if the apartment itself is chilly. My mother hired six interior decorators to make our house feel welcoming and lived in, and thousands of dollars later it’s still as cold as the air chilling Declan’s floor to ceiling windows. It saddens me to know what I’ve been missing all these years. Apollo’s wet nose bumps my palm and I apologize for my lapse in attention.
“Okay,” Declan emerges from the hall, “she’s asleep. It went fast tonight. You wore her out.”
“She’s a lot of fun,” I say and catch the frown Declan sends his disobedient dog. “Oh, leave him alone. He’s lonely.”
I didn’t mean anything by it, but Declan’s mouth pulls tight as his face turns away from me. “Yeah, happens a lot around here.”
He’s gone to do the dishes, but he’s stopped because I’ve done them all, so he’s standing there staring at them while the air hangs heavy between us. The couch groans as I push myself to my feet. Apollo’s collar jangles as he follows my movement from the living room area to the kitchen.
“Declan?” In the stillness, my voice carries even though it’s barely a whisper. “Are you lonely?”
The right side of his mouth curves up as if he might smile, but it’s weighed down and falls in sarcasm.
“How can I be lonely? I’m never alone.” He picks up a hand towel and rubs it over the counter. “It’s these moments of quiet, after she’s asleep. Apollo is usually sacked out on the couch, and it’s just me and the silence. Yeah, I get a little lonely, I guess.”
I want to say something to make it better. I never meant to make it all so serious, but what I want to tell him is we don’t have to be alone to be lonely. I’ve never been on my own until now, and loneliness is all I’ve ever known. But that wouldn’t make sense as Indigo, because it’s Harper’s story.
“You know for the past year, I’ve been living for her,” Declan says. “Figured that’s my role now, life revolves around Rory and if she’s happy, then I’m happy.” He drops the towel on the counter and wraps his grip around the bull nose edge of granite. “And then I met you. I know we’ve worked together for a while now, but it wasn’t until last week that I actually began to think about what would make me happy, and what I might want to do with my life.”
“And what’s that?” I ask as Apollo digs his head into my palm.
The shake to Declan’s head is nearly imperceptible, but it’s there. “It’s not important. Let’s drop it.”
The abrupt change in his voice jars me. I feel the need to set the room right again.
“Well, I know I like to mediate at the end of a long day when it’s quiet like this. Puts my worries at ease so I can sleep.”
He twists enough to glance back at me. “You meditate?”
“You don’t?” I ask. “It would be good for you to find center after a long day.”
“No.” He’s trying to keep his laughter to himself, but it’s not working. “And I’ve never met anyone who does.”
“Aren't you a yoga guru or whatever?”
He laughs and follows me as I leave the kitchen.
“I'm sorry, didn't you fail miserably at yoga, and yet you meditate, Maxwell?”
I roll my eyes even if he can’t see.
“It's not like they're mutually exclusive...” My voice trails off as I realize he’s gotten his way and made his point. “Shut up and try it with me.”
I cross my ankles and sink to the hardwood floors. H
e doesn’t follow so I point to the ground and raise my eyebrows. He follows, but uncomfortably in a heap. I pat my hands against his knees until he copies my position.
“Rory is going to wake up with all this noise,” Declan says.
“Good I can teach her too. It'll be great for both of you. It's good to know how to get centered. It'll make you a better dad and employee and—”
“Oh my gosh, can we get this over with, Maxwell?”
I’m still laughing as I lift my palms to face him. “Put your hands against mine and we can share life force.”
“Are you making stuff up now?”
“No,” I resist the urge to kick him, “just do it. You're going to love this.”
His palms are warm and smooth against mine. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The glowing bulb at the center of my soul begins to warm and flicker. I've done this so many times that it doesn't take long before I'm nearly humming with energy.
“Can you feel it? That inner glow?”
I don’t know what I’m expecting, but it isn’t sarcasm.
“I'm a single dad working fifty hours a week. If I close my eyes and hold still for more than three minutes, all you'll feel is me snoring.”
My palms twist and I intertwine our fingers to get a better hold on him.
“Come on, try it.” I close my eyes again and search for center. “Count six seconds in, eight seconds out.”
I breathe through my nose and feel the heady high of oxygen then release it all the way from the depths of my being.
“Do it again, six in, eight out.”
He's following now, six in, eight out. His breath is deeper than mine because it flashes against my face. The scent from the peppermint candies Rory fed him after dinner brush over my skin. His grip tightens, but only slightly, and I know he’s right there with me, feeling the rush that accompanies letting it all go.
“Six in, eight out,” I whisper even though he’s got the rhythm.
His mouth bumps against mine and I'm startled, at least for a moment because I can't tell if he's fallen forward, but it's too soft, far too gentle for a simple loss of balance.
He's kissing me.
He breaks our hands apart, but only so he can capture me before I'll flee. But I'm not going anywhere, not with my hands on his chest and his hands in my hair. The tentative kiss deepens as he feels me melt into him. His other hand catches my waist and rubs against the curve there. We tip back, but not so far that he lays me down, just enough of an angle that I feel his weight against me. Pressure pushes hard on my forehead as he leans there to pause and catch his breath.
“I thought we were taking it slow,” I say.
“I got impatient,” he whispers.
“I thought we were meditating,” I try again.
“I got bored,” he admits before he falls under the spell of my lips again. My hips shift and he catches my knee to the outside of his leg. I don’t know what I’m doing, but he does and I’m a fast learner. His kiss deepens again. That spark from before ignites, but brighter this time, stronger.
This is all too real. I have to tell him. He can keep my secret. I know he can. Maybe he’ll be relieved to finally know why Indigo never caught his eye before.
“I thought we were going to talk,” I say against his lips.
“Do you really want to talk right now?” Declan asks between hurried kisses. “It doesn’t feel like you want to talk.”
He’s right. I don’t want to talk. I’ve never tasted this type of adrenaline before. I competed in cross country sports in high school, ran long distances, saw the finish line in the distance and felt the rush of victory, but none of that compares to the way he lights me up inside. I’m clinging to him and it’s urging him on. I’m barely touching the floor with my lower back, but he’s caught my back with his hand to keep me against him. He’s starving for me. The dam is breaking around his self-control.
I’ve kept him at a distance for nearly two weeks, and right now every part of me is telling him to punch the gas like we’re on hometown back roads I’ve driven a thousand times.
But we’re not and I might as well be driving drunk.
“I want to be with you,” Declan whispers against my cheek before he kisses his way back to my earlobe. My fingers dig into his shoulders because I’ve never felt that before. My toes actually curl. I might as well be seventeen again, or for the first time because it’s not like I got to experience a rebellious childhood, or even a childhood at all.
“What are you saying?” I ask as his lips brush against the crook of my neck.
“We need to make it official,” he says. My head falls to the side to give open reign to his affection. It’s instinctual, like a ritual sacrifice my body wants to offer up, even if it’s not conscious. “Tomorrow we’ll go to HR, tell them we’re together.”
Business has no place here, not while he’s starting flames on my skin, and it jars me.
“HR?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, pulling away, “we have to register, sign away liability from the company.” He’s reading something in my expression. I wish he couldn’t. “Is that a problem? You don’t want to be together?”
“No, I do,” I say and it’s true. But I can’t sign her name, can I? How many felonies can I rack up in one month?
“But you’re nervous?” Declan backs up and pulls me with him.
“We’re moving kind of fast,” I tell him as I straighten my sweater.
Declan laughs once. “This is coming from the girl who—”
“Yeah, I know what I did,” I interrupt him so I don’t have to hear her sins one more time. “But none of that was serious. This is real between us, Dec. I don’t want to screw it up.”
His grin goes crooked as I use the shortened version of his name again. “I like it when you do that, call me Dec. It makes this real, like I’m not imagining it.”
“You’re not,” I say. “But you don’t know me that well. I’m not sure you’re going to like what you find.”
It’s all on the tip of my tongue, every last bit of the lies I’ve fed him, but he’s not interested. I don’t have the willpower to refuse his affection.
It’s all I can do to whisper the words, “I’m not Indigo,” as he kisses me again.
But he doesn’t understand, not really, and whispers back. “I know. You’re Max, my Max.”
And it’s true, so who am I to correct him?
∞ ∞ ∞
We kiss there on the floor for another half-hour before I have to go home. Reg used to have a friend in high school who boasted of his marathon make out sessions. At least now I have the same experience as a high school sophomore.
Declan calls me a cab since he can’t leave Rory, and we agree that we’ll deal with HR in the morning. I’m nervous about what this means for work. Is it a problem? Will Garnet shift Declan to another team? He kisses me once before I leave the apartment and it’s enough to cement my choice in my mind.
No matter what, Indigo, the lies, HR and work, despite all that, whatever it takes, I have to keep Declan.
That’s all that matters.
Chapter 23
“Hey Max,” Greg calls to me as I walk into the office the next morning. “I have a favor to ask you.”
I set my purse down by my desk and kick it under just like I have every morning.
“What do you need?” I ask, obviously wary of what someone like Greg might want.
“I met this reporter at the bar last night, and we started talking. I told her about you, and how you look like this missing chick. She wants to do a story on you, so what do ya say? Wanna be on the news?”
He’s got to be kidding. Of course I don’t want to be on the news.
“Not interested.” I pull my chair out from under my desk. “Besides, I’m not that girl, so what’s the point?”
“The point is that you look just like her. People eat that stuff up.” Greg laughs nervously. “Come on, she said she’d pay us.”
&nbs
p; My head hasn’t stopped shaking since the moment he asked me.
“No, Greg. No.”
“You’re being unreasonable, Max. It’s eight hundred dollars each. You may not need that money, but I do.”
I need the money, or at least Indigo does. I paid everything before I left for work this morning. There is $23 in my, well her, account, and more bills will come.
“No,” I insist because I can’t give my father a second look at what he saw. My mother will see through it, I know she will. I’ll be forced out in the wind again. I’ll have to leave Declan, and I can’t do that.
Greg sighs and drops a folder on my desk. “Fine. If you come to your senses, let me know.”
The folder contains the preliminary work he’s done for the bridal consignment shop. I’ve nearly forgotten I ever dropped my gown there. Will my parents think to search for it? It’s one more marker set over the top of the city, and my mind races to unwind the possible outcomes.
“You ready?” I hear Declan behind me and nearly jump out of my skin.
HR.
My little felony I need to commit before lunch.
It’s one thing to assume her identity, but it’s quite another to actually sign her name and commit fraud. It’s only a relationship release. It’s not like I’m buying a car or charging anything to her credit cards. No, I was the one who paid her credit cards for heaven’s sake.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I say.
He’s probably seeing my hesitation, and that’s why worry is sketched across his face. But I follow him, and maybe that’s what matters. I hold his hand as we tell Rick from HR that we’re in a relationship, that it won’t affect our work, and that we need to sign a liability release.
When did falling in love become a business transaction?
I catch myself. Did I actually think that? Falling in love? I glance at Declan and I know it’s true. I am. I never meant to, but I’m falling in love with him.
“Sign here.” Rick extends the clipboard and form to Declan.
He drops my hand so that he can sign it, then passes it to me. I stare at the line where I’m supposed to sign Indigo Maxwell. I’ve never broken the law in my entire life. I can’t start now, but he’s watching me and he thinks I’m hesitating because I don’t want him.
Pre-Approved Identity Theft Page 16