When she finishes, the air feels thicker. Heavier, now that it’s laced with the burden of truth.
I’m not sure what to do with the information or the fact that it hasn’t shifted anything for me. I still don’t know how to forgive her.
“I didn’t know because you didn’t tell me.” My words are quiet, competing with the ocean waves to be heard.
She chews on a fingernail. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice just as soft, yet so bloody loud I can barely think straight. “I only did what I believed was best. And I failed you still.”
We stare at each other for a few moments, and I can tell she wants me to accept it. To say I’m over it, and that we can move on and start anew.
But the truth is, I hold grudges. Let them fester like infected wounds in the chambers of my heart, diseasing my soul because it’s better that way. Keeps me from continuing to get hurt.
As I turn back toward the door and head inside without saying anything else, a little thought peeps up, knocking the breath from my lungs as it slams into me.
Better, or easier?
Easing the door shut behind me, I find Lenny standing in the kitchen with a blueberry scone hanging from her mouth, eating over the sink. Pausing to admire the outline of her curves in the sleeveless, skintight navy gown she has on, I walk up behind her and press my lips against her ear.
“You look divine, love,” I murmur, and she almost drops the pastry. “Though I quite prefer your mouth stuffed with something else, this is good too.”
She jolts forward, swallowing. “Yeah, well, scones are good for that, as we both know.” Tossing the pastry onto a paper plate, she spins around in my arms, reaching up to adjust my tie. “Everything okay? I heard yelling out there.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I consider lying again. But when I look into those green eyes, I can’t bring myself to do it. “Not really, but… I don’t know. Maybe one day it will be.”
Even if I don’t know what exactly that means, it feels more truthful than anything else I’ve ever said.
39
For some reason, I’m not expecting the whole of Aplana Island to turn up at this gala.
When Jonas and I arrive, there’s a faux red carpet set up outside the gallery, a white brick building with massive windows and skylights. It sits across from the courthouse and newspaper offices, though it’s one of many places I’ve not even ventured inside of before because of the strict rules Mama and Daddy always enforced.
Funny how Daddy seems keen to support my art now that he thinks he can use it as leverage against me.
What’s not funny is the fact that as we leave the Range Rover with the valet, my parents are the very first people I spot. Fear and anxiety collide in my throat as we approach, making it difficult to breathe.
“Relax,” Jonas whispers into my ear, slipping his arm around my waist. He pulls me flush with his side, smoothing circles over my hip with his thumb. “They can’t touch you, remember? You left them and are better off for it.”
That doesn’t really help. It feels like I grow smaller the more we walk, and suddenly my heart is far too large for my chest. “What happens when this is all over, Jonas?”
Coming to a halt at the curb, he turns me to face him. “What are you on about?”
I gesture wildly between us, not sure what he isn’t comprehending. It’s obvious to me, so why is he pretending? “We’re on borrowed time here, you know?”
“Our contract doesn’t have an expiration.”
“So, what? You just want to be fake engaged forever?” I laugh, but my face heats with shame, and it feels like I’ve been dipped in the thick of it. “Kind of unrealistic for a guy who doesn’t date, don’t you think?”
Asking that question feels like I’m cutting myself wide open and begging him to stop the bleeding.
But I still want to know the answer, either way. Even if it hurts me.
He opens his mouth to respond, a strange, unreadable look passing over his face like a dark storm cloud, but someone cuts him off before he has a chance. Pulling me back against his side, he grips my hip so tight that I can feel bruises forming, but I don’t ask him to let up.
I like the reassurance, even if it is a little hollow.
Mama and Daddy make their way over to us. Behind them, people line the red runway, posing for pictures and stopping to speak to photographers and reporters. As if any one of them are important enough to warrant such attention.
“My goodness, Helene,” Mama coos as she approaches, grabbing my cheeks and leaning in for air kisses. Jonas doesn’t let me budge, though, and after a moment, she releases me and pulls back to peruse my outfit. “What an… interesting fashion choice. A little warm, isn’t it?”
The thrifted faux-mink coat I grabbed right before we left the house felt like a good idea at the time. Something to hide my insecurities in, since I’ve fallen out of the habit of these publicity events.
Running a hand over the soft white material, I shrug, giving a pointed look at the alligator boots she’s paired with a bright-pink pantsuit. “It may be warm, but it’s not more interesting than yours.”
Daddy clears his throat, grinning down at me in his gray three-piece suit. It’s a fake gesture, one I could spot a million miles away, but he leans into it regardless. As if the majority of my life wasn’t spent cataloging those gestures, taking mental notes so I’d know what to do in the spotlight myself, and so I’d know when he needed reigning in.
Now, the only person around to keep him on his leash is Mama, and she was never any good at that in the first place.
Malice lines the dark rings around his irises, and my limbs tense up. Being in public and not being clued into Daddy’s emotions or thoughts beforehand is more unsettling than I thought it would be.
Not to mention, he looks like the cat that caught the canary. Eerily similar to the way he’d seemed after I told him about Preston and his friends, as if the wheels were turning, figuring out how to spin things to fit his narrative before I’d even finished talking.
“Wasn’t sure if you’d show tonight or not,” Daddy says.
I frown. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Events like this used to be our thing. Wasn’t sure if you were feeling up to it or not, given the sudden shift in company.” His eyes flicker to Jonas, but they don’t remain. “I remember what happened last time I let you attend a function without me.”
My spine stiffens, and Jonas grips me harder. Since I didn’t tell him about Daddy’s involvement, I doubt my fake fiancé’s aware of the reference, but still.
Other people could be.
Still, Jonas doesn’t seem satisfied being left in the dark. “What happened last time?”
Daddy’s boisterous laugh fills the air, and he claps Jonas on the shoulder, drawing the attention of several different reporters. Their cameras turn our way, flashing over and over until I start to feel sick.
Or maybe it’s the situation in general making me nauseous.
Either way, bile teases the back of my throat, and I’m about three seconds from puking everywhere.
“You know how girls get sometimes when they’ve had too much to drink.” Daddy shakes his head, like this is some big inside joke we’re all a part of. “Can’t blame her for stepping out on the poor kid, though. Not everyone can be tied down to one person, like her mother and I.”