She shakes her head. “No, that’s fine, really. I’ll grab a cab.”
My teeth grind, wanting to argue, but knowing I may scare her away if I come across too strong. “At least let me walk you out.”
She bites on her bottom lip and nods, turning toward the door.
My palm goes to her lower back, my eyes narrowing at Ru when I see the giant grin on his face. “You.” I point. “Stay there.”
He raises his hands in the air, chuckling. “Go handle your business, kid. We’ve got all night.”
I walk Wendy out front, ignoring the few patrons left in the bar—Moira and Curly in the corner cleaning up for the night. When we make it to the street, a cab is already there and waiting.
She moves to open the door, but I stop her, my arms caging her in, the metal of the car’s roof cool under my fingers. “You’re sure you won’t allow me to drive you?”
She spins, smiling up at me. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”
I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing across her bottom lip. Her pupils dilate under the yellow glare of the streetlights. “When will I get my date, darling?”
“When do you want it?”
“Yesterday.” I press into her. “Now.” She stumbles into the cab’s door. “Tomorrow.”
Her hands push against my chest. “Tomorrow works.”
I lean down, my lips brushing against her ear. “And how will I find you?”
“You can pick me up from the coffee shop at seven.” She rises on her tiptoes to brush her lips across my cheek. “Good night, James.”
And then she slips into the cab, closing the door behind her.
I move to the front, knocking on the passenger window until it’s rolled down, taking in the nameplate of the driver, and lowering my voice so Wendy doesn’t hear. “Anything happens to her and there will be no corner of the earth that can hide you from me. Understand?”
The cabbie’s eyes widen as he takes the fold of bills from my hand and nods.
“Good man.” I tap the top of the cab and stand at the curb until they turn the corner, wondering what the warm sensation is in my chest, and why I feel as though tomorrow can’t come soon enough.
12
Wendy
My closet is destroyed, mounds of outfits covering the floor. I groan, glaring at the piles. How is it possible to own a million pieces of clothing but not have a single solitary thing to wear?
Nerves race down my spine as I look at the clock and realize I have half an hour before I’m supposed to meet James at The Vanilla Bean.
Crap.
I could have had him pick me up here, but the thought of him seeing where I live has my stomach churning. If he sees the mansion, he’ll wonder how I’m living in it, and considering he’s the first person in my life who seems to like me for me—instead of who my father is—I’m hoping to avoid that as long as possible.
Plenty of men have tried to swoon their way into my heart, all of them with an agenda in their smile. Their gazes were sweet, but it was only a matter of time before their eyes lit up for my father in a way they never did for me. Not that I fell for them in the first place. I learned at a young age—six, to be exact—that people were more interested in how I could serve their well-being instead of them caring about mine. Even children understand the sting of loneliness, and when my mother died, everyone I had grown to depend on slipped away. As if I were the problem. As if my grief was too much of a burden for them to bear.
And maybe that’s why I feel such a pull to James. Because for the first time in my life there’s someone who wants me for me, not all the other bullshit that comes along with it.
Sighing, I settle on a black dress, tight enough to show off my curves but simple enough where it doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard, and I finish getting ready before heading down the stairs.
Jon is sitting in the family room, a hundred pieces of a model airplane deconstructed and taking up the entire coffee table. I plop down in the chair across from him.
He glances up, eyes widening as he takes me in. “You look nice. Big date?”
I smile, my chest warming at his compliment. “Thanks, yeah, actually… I do have a date.”
“Cool.” He smiles. “I’m gonna get a head start on the homeschooling stuff.”
His words smack my insides, making my chest heavy with indecision. I haven’t told him about the boarding school. It doesn’t feel right to know and not tell him, but Dad said he would come home. He should be the one to see the look on Jon’s face when he realizes he’s being sent away.
I glance around, noting the finished model airplanes set up in various spots. It’s something Jon’s always been into, but since we moved, he could fill up the whole house with them. “How you doing with everything?” I ask.
He tilts his head, eyes narrowed on the pieces he’s gluing together. “Vague question, Wendy.”
“I mean… everything. Like, the move and stuff? You okay?”
He shrugs. “I’m fine. Prefer it this way, actually. If I could stay here in this house forever and never leave again, it would be too soon.”
Guilt weaves its way through me, wrapping tightly until it bursts. Maybe there’s still time to talk Dad out of this stupid boarding school idea. But then again, how healthy can it really be for a kid his age to stay holed up in a house all day with only his big sister for company?
He rubs his nose. “Seriously, Wendy. I’m fine. You worry too much.”
I grin. “Someone’s got to.”
“Go enjoy your date.” He waves me off.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, my fingers twisting in my lap. “Maybe I could cancel and we could hang out instead?”
Jon’s gaze finally leaves his airplane, his eyes wide as he stares at me.
I huff out a breath. “Fine, you don’t have to look so mortified by the thought.”
He smiles at that, the dimples in his cheeks making my heart ache from how identical they are to our mother’s.
“Alright then. I’ll see you later, I guess.” I stand up to leave.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
My eyes narrow. “You don’t do anything.”
He chuckles. “Exactly.”
For half a second, I think about canceling with James anyway. He’s intimidating—all-consuming in the type of way that makes your insides quake and your mind go muddy. But even as the thought crosses my mind, I toss it to the side, knowing I won’t.
James’s attention is an ember, flickering through my middle and lighting up everything in its path. And in the darkest parts of my mind, I hope that if my dad hears I’m gallivanting around with a man like James—one who’s a little bit older and a lot of bit powerful—if he’ll finally come home.
My anxiety rises like a storm surge on the way to the coffee shop. I walk toward the front door, my clammy hands skimming down the front of my dress, breathing deep to calm my nerves.
What was I thinking saying yes to this?
I got here a little early specifically, so I’d have some time, but when I walk inside he’s already here, chatting with Angie like they’re old friends, his suit cut perfectly to his frame. Idly, I wonder what he’d look like in jeans or an old, stained shirt. It seems like he’s never anything less than perfectly put together.