by S. M. Shade
“Do you?” she asks, leaning up as she takes another sip of her champagne. “What do you remember? Think hard about it, Kasha. Do you remember your father sitting down for the dinner I prepared? No. He was busy with a new project or a new art piece in the basement. Do you remember him holding my hand or kissing me goodnight? No. Because I went to bed alone every night, and the only times he touched me… They were all more of a conditioned reaction than affectionate ones. Do you remember him kissing me? Ever? Because I remember trying to rekindle the romance, and him always telling me he had a new project or piece he was busy with. That was our marriage, and it was killing me.”
My mind goes back in time, trying to recall anything to counter what she’s saying, but a pang hits my chest when the memories all seem to support her confession. But that can’t be right. Dad fell apart when he lost her. Only love could do that to a person.
“And you’re saying this now instead of then? Why?” I ask defensively.
“I never said a word then, because you loved your father. You were a child. A child’s mind is easily manipulated, and despite what you think of me, I’d never want to turn you against your father. It wasn’t his fault that I cheated. I own that. It was my decision—wrong as it may have been. But I love Heath, and he’s always loved me.”
I lean back in my seat, my heart hurting even more than it did a few seconds ago.
“And you let me hate you,” I whisper.
“In a way, I felt like I deserved it,” she says in a pained tone, then clears her throat. “I always had a lot of ambition, but no talents at all. Your father had all the talent in the world but no ambition. I tried to get his work the attention it deserved, and he’d pat my arm, dismissing me, as he told me he just enjoyed his work and didn’t want more than he had. More than we had. I felt like if he made something of himself, it wouldn’t be so hurtful for him to choose his work over me. I thought it’d be more like he was choosing to give his family the best of the best, instead of selfishly tucking himself away to chase his vision for no other reason. So I pressed him to be more. And he talked down to me. As you know, I’m not one for being talked down to.”
No. She’s definitely not. And I remember all those arm pats. I never thought anything about them. To me, it seemed like she was being greedy and petty, while Dad was just being true to himself.
I guess there really are two sides to every story.
And it sucks. It sucks balls.
“Heath hears me. Actually hears me. He argues with me when he disagrees. But it’s respect he’s showing by arguing instead of simply dismissing me. He loves me and values my opinion. In fact, my opinion means more to him than anyone else’s. Never once has he ever talked down to me. And numerous times he’s taken a business venture in the direction I suggested, because he appreciates what I have to say, and he listens with true interest. It’s all I ever wanted from your father. I fell out of love with him after years of being patted on my damn arm.”
Monica just cursed. She also just unloaded a bomb on me.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask her as she drinks down the rest of her glass.
“Because I’m tired of being the villain. I respect your father because of the true dedication he’s shown to you and your arm.” She blows out a harsh breath. “I… I was lost when your accident... I had no idea what to do with… I just didn’t know what to do. But he did. For the first time ever, he had a reason to be an inventor. And I’m proud of him for that. But I’m tired of him playing the victim when we were both in the wrong. And I think it’s time you knew the truth. You’re old enough now.”
“There’s a reason,” I tell her, glaring at her. “There’s always a reason.”
She continues to stare at me. “Roman Hunt is a good man. He works a lot. I don’t think he’d be like your father, but his career is very demanding.”
“So you’re trying to steer me away from Roman?”
“He can’t relocate. If he did, he might resent you for it eventually.”
“Um… we barely know each other, and certainly aren’t talking about relocating.”
“You design jewelry,” she goes on. She tucks her hair behind her ear, and I suck in a breath. How did I not notice sooner? “Very nice jewelry,” she goes on, gesturing to the cheap earrings Monica normally wouldn’t be seen dead wearing. “But you can do that from anywhere.”
“But Dad—” My words die in my throat as my eyes narrow. “That’s why you’re telling me. You want me to feel like it’s okay to leave Dad all alone because he never loved you?”
“I want you to know your father will survive, and if you leave him, it won’t be the end of the world. I want you to know that your father tends to forget that sometimes other people have needs as well. He’ll let you stay there, because he’ll be oblivious to the fact you want to be elsewhere unless you tell him. He truly is oblivious, Kasha.”
Rolling my eyes, I snatch the bottle of champagne back, chugging a bigger gulp down this time.
“I can’t believe you told me all that to convince me to move hundreds of miles away to be with a guy I just met.”
“He makes you smile, and he’s already falling,” she says quietly. “He sees you. Most people fail to see the amazing person you really are. But not Roman. He truly sees you, and I don’t want you to miss out on something because you’re worried about a full grown man, who, by the way, is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.”
The man can’t even remember to eat most days. Has she seriously forgotten?
I don’t point it out. Instead, I drink my champagne, pretending as though nothing has changed. Even talking about relocating is ridiculous. I barely know Roman. Sure, it’s been an amazing week, but… Yeah. Totally crazy.
“When did you start wearing a size six?” she asks randomly.
“Few years ago,” I say, trying not to laugh at the ludicrous shift in conversation.
“I could have sworn you were still a four.”
I’m not even sure what to do with this kind of weirdness, but now I’m starting to wonder if random is a hereditary trait.
“Do I want to know why you’re wearing a llama shirt?” she asks, to which I snort.
I guess Anderson never filled her in. Then again, telling your stepmom that you were spanked by a dominatrix and almost fucked by a dildo probably doesn’t rank high on share-time conversations.
“Probably not.”
We sit in silence for a few more minutes, when there’s suddenly someone walking by us like he’s in a hurry or searching for something.
“Roman!” Monica calls, and he stops, turning and facing us with a quizzical brow until he sees me and his look softens.
“Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat while running a hand through his hair. “Lydia said you took off this way, and I… got worried something was wrong. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Good man,” Mom says, smirking over at me. “Really good man.”
“Did you order the pizza?” I ask, ignoring my meddling mother who actually feels more like a mother than ever before.
“Yeah. It’ll be here in a few minutes, but you don’t have to hurry. Like I said, I was just worried. I really didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” Mom interrupts. “We were just chatting about life and love. We’re done now.”
I cast a sidelong glance at her to see her smiling happily. Weirdest night ever—and that’s saying a lot, coming from me.
Roman takes my hand as I step down, and he eyes my shirt before laughing, shaking his head. “Anderson is going to kill you.”
“So I don’t want to know?” Mom muses from behind me.
“Definitely not,” Roman says, still chuckling as I grin.
“I think it’s epic. Yama!”
He doubles over, and I hear Mom sigh wistfully. My eyes move up as Heath approaches us, his eyes looking over us with curiosity. I never gave him a chance. I was never mean to him, just indifferent. When all along he loved m
y mother for real, and she loved him.
I only wish she’d bothered to tell me sooner. Maybe… I don’t know. I feel like life has somehow cheated everyone right now.
Roman’s fingers lace with mine—no, not with Jill’s. He avoids Jill. I’m not sure why he’s so distrusting when it comes to her. After all, she did save my mouth from unjust trauma.
He tugs me away, and I look back over my shoulder to see Heath bending over and kissing my mom like he’s been away too long and can’t help himself. My heart does a little melting thing, and I wonder what else I’ve been too blind to see before now.
“You okay?” Roman asks as I turn around.
I lean into him, and he kisses the top of my head. I definitely don’t want to give him up, but long distance relationships have an expiration date. Regardless of all I’ve learned, I’ll have to be the junkyard queen until Dad has someone he can rely on. He’s… I love him. He loves me. He needs me to be there.
“Ever had your mind blown?”
“Yeah,” he says, smirking. “The day you stumbled into my room wearing only a towel and talked about vortexes was pretty mind-blowing.”
“I mean, have you ever had the rug jerked out from under you because everything you thought you knew was utter bullshit and only half the story?”
He nods slowly. “Yeah.”
“Want to know something else mind blowing?” I ask, deciding to shift the conversation to something lighter.
No way am I telling him all that shit that was just unloaded on me. Nor am I telling him that my mother pretty much suggested I leave everything I know in order to give this thing between us a real shot.
“Sure. What?”
“My name in the urban dictionary is defined as a blowjob.”
He trips, curses, and almost falls as he loses his grip on my hand, and I skip happily along, snickering as he catches back up.
“You’re making that up.”
“Look it up. I’ll show you why later if you’re interested.”
This time, he does fall.
***
“I find it amazing that you’ve never had one embarrassing moment in your life. And completely impossible,” I tell Roman around a mouthful of pizza. Yeah, I’m totally a hottie right now in my llama shirt and packing in the pizza.
“I find it amazing that you’ve had so many,” he tells me, grinning as he picks up another slice.
Clearing my throat, I decide to ask the tough question. “What’s your work schedule like?”
I try to make it sound casual, but we both know why I’m asking. “Hectic. Busy. Demanding. Very—”
“You’re a busy guy. Got it.”
He looks down, and I decide to go with a different approach.
“You love your job, don’t you?”
A smile graces his lips as he looks back up. “Most days. I like being challenged, and in marketing, you’re kept on your toes.”
He loves his job and he stays busy. Too busy to drive hundreds of miles to come see a girl he fooled around with at a wedding. Too busy to see a girl if she drove hundreds of miles to see him.
I suddenly feel stupid for trying to pretend like there’s more. He hasn’t once mentioned anything beyond tomorrow. Has he? Nope. Not one tiny little mention or hint of wanting to see me again.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, reaching up to tuck my hair behind my ear as he studies my eyes.
“I’m thinking we should have gotten extra pepperoni,” I say, forcing a smile I don’t feel.
“Liar.”
“I’m thinking the camel toe is coming back in style, and I’m not sure how I feel about it,” I say with a straight face.
He looks so confused right now. I’m good at this deflecting thing.
“What’s your house like?” I ask, testing the waters.
He could always say I’d see it for myself if he wanted to see me again—
“It’s nothing special, really. And it’s an apartment, not a house. I live in the city so I can be close to work. My sister decorated it for me.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, and I smile like I’m not devastated. No invite. No future reference.
“What about your friends? Have many?”
Yes, and I can’t wait for you to meet them, would be a great answer for him to give.
“Not too many outside of work. What about you?”
Great. He thinks this is casual conversation instead of a fishing expedition.
“Lydia and Henley are about it,” I say tightly as I tug on the jacket I brought over from my room. “We should get to the bonfire.”
He grabs some liquor, and I sigh at it wistfully. At least there’s that. I’ll need a lot of it.
I’m trying to make a relationship out of a fling. In my head, there was something past tomorrow. I was battling what to do all week, only to find out it was a waste of time. And I can’t even be mad about it, because what person would expect anything any different? Well, what sane, rational person would think otherwise, I should say.
“You sure you’re okay?” Roman asks, lacing his fingers with mine.
“Just perfect,” I tell him, pushing all thoughts out of my head.
I won’t pout or sulk. I won’t ruin this last day by being the crazy girl who wants more. I’m going to enjoy every last second.
Then I’m going to eat ice cream, watch sappy love movies, and bitch to Henley and Lydia about how stupid I am for thinking I’m fling material.
Then I’m going to ask my family to never mention Roman Hunt ever again while processing the fact my monster mother may not be much of a monster. Tonight was the first time I’ve seen her as human.
And she kind of broke my damn heart.
“You seem a little distant. Did I say something wrong?” Roman asks, sounding genuinely concerned, which really kind of sucks. It’s that concern and sweetness that reminds me why I’m struggling with this fling thing of ours.
“Nope. I’m really stressed out about this camel toe fashion epidemic,” I tell him as we walk down the stairs.
He starts to speak as we pass the ballroom, but his words are halted by the fact Baldy is still yelling at Ms. Hottie, and now he’s calling her nipples cracked and warped.
“Let’s go before she flashes the room,” I tell Roman, laughing.
He doesn’t laugh, though. He’s still studying me. I don’t like feeling transparent, so I ignore his stare, fix my smile, and walk with purpose in my strides all the way out to the bonfire.
From now on, he won’t know anything at all is wrong. Tomorrow, I’ll kiss him goodbye and tell him it was fun. And then I’ll move on.
“Why are you flipping yourself off?” Roman asks me as I glare at my robo hand.
“Bitch,” I mutter to Jill as she lowers her bird finger. “Apparently Dad needs to fix her again.” My smile brightens, and I cock my head. “Come on. It’s Yama Time.”
Chapter Fifteen
Henley
The wedding is a few hours away and Lydia, Kasha, and I take the opportunity for one last stroll on the beach. None of us is in the greatest mood. I know Kasha hates the thought of saying goodbye to Roman as much as I dread leaving Davis behind… again. Lydia actually seems to be in a better frame of mind than either of us, and she’s the one who should be losing it today. It’s her ex who’s getting married.
We take the servant’s entrance out of the mansion to avoid running into Kasha’s mother, who would certainly find some task for us to do. She’s bouncing around like a sugared up toddler, trying to make sure the wedding goes off without a hitch.
A group is busy outside erecting a massive tent for the reception, but it’s the white crate sitting just behind the pool house that draws my attention. “What’s that sound?” Lydia asks as we approach it.
“Cooing,” Kasha replies, rolling her eyes. “They’re doves. They’re going to release them after the ceremony to celebrate their lurve.”
We haven’t planned anything to interfere with t
he actual wedding. That’s just too cruel, and really, what’s the point? Lydia seems to be working through her issues and moving on, and Kasha and I really couldn’t give two shits what Anderson and Jane do. If anything, they’re meant for each other. Better for two horrible people to end up together, than for one of them to ruin a decent person’s life.
But the evil plan forming in my head won’t be ignored, and it won’t ruin the ceremony. “Help me grab it,” I demand, lifting one side of the crate.
“What? Why?” Lydia replies, looking at me like I’m one twist short of a Slinky.
“So we can take it to the beach and replace them with seagulls.”
A grin spreads across Kasha’s face. “People will throw rice when the bride and groom leave the ballroom. I helped Mom tie up the little bags of rice this morning to hand out.”
“Exactly, have you ever seen what happens when seagulls spot food? They’ll dive bomb the crowd.”
“I’m in,” Kasha chirps.
“Doesn’t eating rice make birds explode?” Lydia worries.
“Nah, that’s a myth,” I scoff as Kasha helps me lift the crate. It’s surprisingly light. “Hurry, before someone sees us.”
“How do you expect to catch seagulls?” Lydia chuckles as we make our way down to the beach, toting the crate.
“Easy, they’re lured by food.” We stop by a trash can that’s stuffed full, two bags of old popcorn lying right on top.
“Ew! Henley! I can’t believe you’re digging in garbage.”
“I didn’t dig through it. It was right on top! Kasha, let the doves go.”
Kasha backs up, shaking her head. “No way. I’ve already been attacked by ducks. Birds are evil.”
“Fine, nervous Nelly,” I laugh, unlatching the lid and flinging it open. White wings beat the air as the doves realize they’re no longer confined. Despite Kasha’s fear—she’s ducked down and covering her head—they don’t pay us any attention, instead choosing to escape into the sky.
“That was pretty,” Lydia remarks.
I tilt the crate onto its side and grab the popcorn, heading toward a flock of seagulls. “This won’t be.”