The Art of Marrying Your Enemy (The Richmond Brothers #2)

44. Daisy

44

DAISY

“ R ed flag, red flag, red flag! It’s a whole-ass parade of red flags,” Reese chanted Monday when we met after the lecture on women writers in early America.

“Emily is crazy. Aaron is crazy. That whole family is crazy. Leave his ass.”

“I can’t just abandon him. He loves me. We were going to have a baby.” I was miserable.

Reese put her hand over her mouth and stared at me for a minute.

Then another.

My best friend sighed heavily.

“Daisy… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Yes.” I was fervent. “He apologized for that summer. He didn’t know what was going on. We were both horrible to each other in high school. Now we’re moving past that. We’re starting our real-life love story.”

Reese snorted. “You, him, and his mom, who he will never choose over you.”

I squirmed in my seat.

“She is a victim. Maybe I was a little harsh to her.”

“She threw stuff at Aaron and you,” Reese said flatly. “You said he was bleeding.”

“Emily was caught by surprise,” I said firmly. “I just have to go apologize to her and explain that Aaron and I really care about each other. I’ll host a nice dinner.”

“What does Aaron think about you going to see his mom?” Reese asked diplomatically.

Yeah, she wasn’t convinced, but I was going to show her that I could get this relationship back on track.

“He doesn’t. Look, he’s been a little touchy, just locks himself in his study.”

“In his sex dungeon?” Reese’s eyebrows rose to her bangs.

“No, the study leads to the sex dungeon, but I don’t think he’s down there.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to just take this… whatever the hell this shit show with Aaron is… as a lesson learned and go find a nice guy who doesn’t have a just-no mother-in-law?”

“He’s the love of my life.”

Another heavy sigh from Reese.

“Why don’t you make her your mom’s focaccia bread recipe with a pretty veggie flower design? Everyone likes that.”

The house smelled like freshly baked bread, olive oil, and salty parmesan cheese.

“Should I bring wine?” I asked Dorian, who was eating his freshly prepared lunch. “I really want to make my mom’s roasted tomato and garlic feta dip. I could prep it with instructions for the oven. It goes so good with a nice chilled red. Is that too much, do you think?”

The cat meowed at my feet.

“Or just good olives.” I looked in the enormous double-sided fridge for inspiration.

A man cleared his throat, knocking on the doorframe to the kitchen.

“Ma’am,” Jared announced, sounding a little apprehensive, “Emily Ragnor is here.”

Dusting the flour off my shirt and retying my ponytail, I tried not to be anxious.

Emily was here?

Maybe she’s here to make amends.

I left the kitchen in time to see Emily in a black dress. Like a Victorian ghost, she drifted down the halls.

“Emily!” I greeted her warmly, air-kissing both cheeks. “You must have known I was thinking about you. I’m making you some focaccia.”

She turned up her nose.

“My chef tried to make that for me once. I found it dry, almost stale.”

“Oh. Well, this is my mom’s recipe. It’s actually very moist. Lots of olive oil and fresh tomatoes. Have a seat.”

“In the kitchen?” Emily said slowly, looking around the floury kitchen.

“I have tea in the drawing room, ma’am,” Jared offered tactfully from the doorway.

“Bring a towel for her. I don’t want her to ruin my family’s heirloom furniture.” Emily sniffed.

I perched on a tea towel and watched Emily sip tea.

“I was making focaccia as a peace offering of sorts, but now that I know you aren’t a fan, I can make you something else,” I offered. “Are you a dessert person? Aaron’s not, so I didn’t know if he got it from you.”

Emily set down her teacup.

“It’s funny,” I said, trying to keep the conversation light. “You and Aaron are so similar.”

“I’m nothing like him,” Emily replied darkly. “He is exactly like his father, make no mistake.”

“I think you’re not giving him enough credit.”

Emily’s arm darted out like a snake and grabbed my wrist.

“You,” she said in a voice lowered to a whisper, “should be careful.”

“Of?”

“Aaron is his father’s son. A liar. All of this?” She released me and waved her hands around. “The marriage, the happy home, how much he cares about animals? It is a lie. Stuart used the same shtick to convince me it was safe to get in the car with him. He had a dog.”

I felt sick.

“Aaron and I are in love,” I said in a small voice.

Emily smiled coldly. “That’s what he told you.”

“Why would he lie to me?”

“Because he likes to fuck with people. He’s just like Stuart. They’re fucking monsters,” Emily said, her face twisting into an ugly expression. “The cruelty is the point. Aaron is not a good man.”

“He is,” I whispered, but the doubt was creeping in.

“You’re so na?ve. Poor sheltered little flower.” Emily leaned forward and stroked my face. “You should have heard Aaron when he was younger. He and his friends would talk shit about you when they were teenagers, calling you disgusting, pathetic, worthless. You’re from this world, just like I am. You know how these people are—smiling in your face, pretending to be your friend then saying the vilest things about you behind your back.”

“People can change.”

“Don’t stick your head in the sand, Daisy.” Emily stood up, holding her purse in the crook of her arms. “The parasite doesn’t fall far from the rotting apple.”

Aaron didn’t come greet me when he came home from work that evening.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. Maybe that he would have blown off steam at the office between yelling at interns and destroying people’s bank accounts?

“I’m busy.” Aaron didn’t look up from his paperwork when I opened the door to his study.

“Tomorrow is the handover of Coleman Mining. I can’t have anything go poorly. Richmond Electric will not accept any excuse I can give. And I don’t care how close you think your family is. If you fuck with their money, they’ll turn on you. So let me finish this.”

“I just brought you some freshly baked focaccia,” I said, turning up the dial on all my customer service training.

“I don’t like bread.”

“You and your mom,” I joked.

“When—” His head snapped up.

“She popped in today for a cup of tea.”

“She was here?” His face froze.

“She says hello,” I said weakly as he clocked the lie. “Maybe I could make you, er, something else to eat?”

Last week, I’d felt like my inner sex goddess had blossomed. Now I just felt like that same awkward, inexperienced girl, hoping the popular guy would notice me.

Aaron made a sound of annoyance.

“If you want to stay married to me, Coleman, you have to understand that when I have important deadlines, I have to work. I cannot be your entertainment.”

It was condescending and patronizing.

If I still hated him, I’d clap back, but instead, I just said, “Sure, yeah. Okay. Sorry,” and closed the door softly behind me.

I wondered if maybe Emily was right.

Was I being stupid to think Aaron had changed?