Chapter 40
O ther than our normal exchanges during meals, I haven’t addressed the chef all week. It’s tough because every time I look at Ryan, I want to saw his hands off using a serrated knife. But I don’t want him to suspect anything. So, knowing that Ever’s safe in my bed each night that goes by with him under the same roof as her, I bide my time, waiting until some of the awkwardness from Monday night has passed. He hasn’t brought up the fancy tart thing to Ever, and to push the incident further from our minds, I haven’t either.
If he doesn’t think there’s anything unusual about the lady of the manor getting offered custom handmade dessert from a top-rated chef in the middle of the night, then neither do I.
No harm, right?
Friday morning, I’m chomping at the fucking bit to put my plan into action and get him out of the manor, so I let us sit for breakfast for once, and strike up a conversation with Arthur, asking if he ever takes out his yacht for fishing.
Ever’s the first to answer me, saying, “No, only for murder.”
“Never,” her dad scolds sharply, making me clench my fork until my knuckles turn white. “Not around mixed company, please. They don’t understand your dark humor.”
When he glances up from his food, he frowns at finding his daughter on my left instead of his right. He didn’t even notice before now. Luckily, he doesn’t question the new seating arrangement.
“I’m not joking. My mother—”
“Suffered a terrible accident while at sea. Yes, we know. Everybody in the Northeast knows. The fact she isn’t sitting at this table right now is, admittedly, a tragedy. One we don’t want people to get the wrong idea about by spreading false, damning narratives, do we?” Arthur gives her a pointed look that she just scoffs at.
To me, he says, “To answer your question, no. Burning Rudder isn’t meant for that type of recreation. Should I get the itch to throw a pole up, I charter a fishing boat.”
“I bet you get luckier out on a boat than from shore,” I say even though I have no fucking clue what I’m talking about.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never fished from shore.”
Ever’s father moves the stack of papers next to his plate around, signaling his disinterest in continuing this discussion.
“I’m the opposite.” I don’t miss the tightening of Arthur’s lips. I just ignore it. “I’ve only fished from the shore.”
“Father says that’s a poor man’s hobby.”
I twist to look at Ever. I can see the apology in her eyes, but she doesn’t voice it.
Arthur doesn’t bother denying it.
“Yeah, the craziest thing I caught was a barracuda,” I say, then turn my attention back to Arthur. “Ever try it?”
“Barracuda? No. I can’t say I have.”
“It’s been years since I’ve had it, but we threw it in a batch of ceviche.” I smack my lips that makes everybody wince. Poor man behavior.
“Sounds interesting.”
“It’s delicious.”
“Tell the chef to make you some.”
Without anyone even addressing him, the nosey chef shuffles closer to the table, asking, “Mr. Brantley, is that something you’d like me to add to tonight’s menu?”
“Hm.” I pretend to think about it before asking Arthur, “Wouldn’t you like to try some, too?”
Arthur frowns like he can’t believe I’m still talking to him, then waves me off with an unenthusiastic, “Sure.”
“Edwin?” I call, and not a moment later, the valet appears.
“Yes, sir?”
“Chef Ryan’s gonna make some ceviche tonight. Want in on it?”
Edwin looks at Arthur, who gives a single nod without even glancing up from his report.
“I look forward to it.”
“Awesome.” I clap my hands once before turning to Ever.
I’m opening my mouth to ask her when Ryan beats me to it.
“Miss Munreaux, how about you? Will you finally allow me the honor of delighting your taste buds with something new and unexpected?”
To keep from telling him to never, ever speak to her again, especially like that , I ask Ryan, “What about your taste buds? Are you gonna try it, too?”
“I always test my dishes before service to ensure they exceed expectations.”
“What’s ceviche?” Ever questions.
“You’ve never had it before?” I ask like I don’t already know she despises anything with citrus. I had to get creative in my research.
“I don’t know. You’re not saying what it is.”
Just as Ryan jumps into what I’m sure will be a long-winded, overly complicated description, I tell her, “It’s got citrus in it. A lot. That’s what ‘cooks’ the fish.”
“Then no. Obviously not.”
Obviously. That’s exactly why I chose it.
Breakfast returns to the mostly silent affair it normally is. It’s not until we’re on our way to Littoral that Ever says, “Sorry about that in there. I didn’t mean to offend you. It was supposed to be aimed toward my father.”
“It’s okay.” I am a poor man. So what? I didn’t grow up on a yacht but I can still make the future owner of one come eight times in one night. And hopefully, when she’s older and richer and on that yacht, she’ll remember those nights with the kind of smile on her face that whatever dickwad she’s with will have to ask her about, but she won’t answer because it’d make him jealous as fuck knowing he’s never been able to get her to come that many times.
Instead of feeling smug about that, a wave of melancholy washes over me, threatening to drag me to the deepest pit of hell. Ever won’t be with me. We know that. But who will she end up with? Definitely someone rich. Richer than me. Hopefully someone that treats her better than…
Nah. No one will ever treat her better than me. I don’t give a fuck how much money he has. Dude isn’t cherishing her like I do.
I reach over to grab a handful of her thigh and squeeze, almost to the point of pain. Fuck. I don’t want to let her go.
Thankfully, I don’t have to for a few more years.
When that time comes, if I have to break my own hands just to let her go, I will.
I will.
I probably, hopefully will.
I’ll have to.
Won’t I?
“I didn’t know you fish.”
“I don’t.”
“But then why did you—”
“Do me a favor,” I cut Ever off before I have to lie to her. I’d hate to do that at this point, after all we’ve been through. “Don’t eat the ceviche tonight.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Even if your father or Ryan insists you try it, don’t. Throw a fit, do whatever you have to do, but don’t touch the ceviche.”
Ever doesn’t speak for a minute, watching me closely while I keep my eyes trained on the road.
“Crue?”
I shake my head. “Don’t. Don’t ask me.”
If I tell her the truth, she’ll try to talk me out of it. I’m not backing out. I’ve waited multiple days for this. It’s finally happening. That motherfucker is getting the ax.
“I don’t want you to do anything that puts you in danger.”
“I’m Ever Munreaux’s bodyguard. I’m always in danger.” I beam at her but she doesn’t reciprocate the gesture.
With a sniffle, she corrects, “Personal protection agent,” for the first time, nearly making me give in, too.
I can’t though. Ryan needs to go.
I walk Ever to her first class, right by her clones with Ever ignoring them entirely, just like she’s done every other day since we started fucking. As soon as the door closes, I run to the fish market and pick out the three biggest barracudas they have, all over seven pounds each, and from the Caribbean. Barracudas, especially the bigger ones, are more likely to carry the ciguatera toxin, which is poisonous to humans, even if it’s cooked. Since there’s no way to tell if a fish is infected with the toxin, I leave them sitting in the car during the rest of Ever’s classes…just to be sure there’s something wrong with them.
I can’t give the spoiled, and hopefully poisonous, fish to Ryan straight out, or else I could just as easily be blamed, so I wait until about twenty minutes before dinnertime to awkwardly ask Ryan for that coconut oil I had him buy me. Then, while he’s in the pantry, looking for that, I sneak a bag of my own cubed barracuda in with the prepared ceviche.
I study the bowl. I can smell it, the bad fish. The lime juice is strong enough to cover it, but I’m looking for it. I know that shit’s turned. I also know it might kill me. It might kill all of us.
I shouldn’t have asked Edwin to try it. He’s the only innocent one. Ryan, I hope suffers. Arthur, too. Me? If dying’s what it takes to free Ever from these demented fucks, I’ll do it. I’ll do it happily.
With a red face, Ryan returns with the coconut oil, his reluctance to hand it over obvious.
I take it from him with a mumbled, “Thanks,” playing up the embarrassed act. Was he this embarrassed when he stood over my girl, yanking on his cock where she could see? Probably fucking not because he has his own act, too.
“Look familiar?” He gestures to the ceviche.
“Looks fancier. Yours has way more fish than ours did.”
Ryan smiles proudly, happy to take full credit for the fishier-than-it-was-a-second-ago fish salsa.
He’s such a douche, and not the kind that goes in pussies. Those actually serve a purpose sometimes.
“The Munreauxs wouldn’t have it any other way,” is all he says.
I think Ever would have it literally any other way. She doesn’t act half as spoiled around me as she used to. She’s pretty unpretentious when it’s just us. She’ll have the occasional slipup of not understanding how the real world works, but even then, she lets me educate her without getting all high and mighty.
She’s like two different people—the one she is with me and the one she is with everybody else.
Maybe that’s how everyone in love is though.
Not that Ever’s in love with me. More so that’s how I see her.
Except I don’t love her…
Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t because…
Love isn’t…
And I’m only…
So I can’t actually…
But somehow…
I do.
Fuck. I do. I love her. I fell for that five-foot-nothing, peppy-as-shit, pain-in-my-ass, creepy little cheerleader, and damn, was that a bad idea. I knew that. I know that. And yet, I still did it. I can’t even pinpoint when. It just happened . One moment I hated her. I tried to fucking hate her. The next minute, it’s like I couldn’t function without her in my sight, knowing with absolute certainty that she was okay. Not even just okay. That she was taken care of. Happy. Spoiled. Because she’s not as spoiled as everyone thinks, not with the stuff that matters anyway. Ever’s drowning in designer clothing, but what puts a real smile on her face? Wearing my clothes that are so old they don’t even have tags anymore. No clue what brand they are, how much they cost, or where I bought them from, but they make Ever happy, truly happy.
I make Ever happy, truly happy.
Once we enter my room, it’s like stepping into another world, one where we both get to be who we really are. An abditory. Ever taught me what that is, as well as what the Louvre is—an art museum in Paris—because I sure as shit didn’t know the first time she said it. An abditory is a place to hide or keep valuable goods, like art. That’s where I fell in love with her—our own abditory—and that’s where I’ll stay in love with her…until I’m forced out of it.
Away from that room, and this manor, back in the regular world, it’ll be easier to remember why I didn’t like her to begin with. When she was the elaborately feral Ever Munreaux who threatened to put my dick in a chastity belt and had my Bronco painted with pink flames, it was almost easy to dislike her.
Almost.
I was still intrigued. I was attracted. I was spellbound. I never stood a chance against that nicely dressed weirdo with her fortune-telling cards, and her magical rocks, and her altars, and her…spirit. That’s what it comes down to. Otherworldly or not, with or without enchantments, Ever’s spirit is unmatched. She captivated me from the first second I came face to face with her.
I may not have liked her right off the bat, but I wanted her in my life. A life I didn’t even want to be in but knew she needed to be in. And she did. She’s been essential. A spark.
She helped me see what I’d been blinding myself to. She’s shown me I’m capable of more than just dark and destruction.
If I die tonight, it’ll be for her and it’ll be worth it.
I’m ready.
“See you at dinner,” I promise Ryan.