Chapter 14 #2
“Maybe if we saw each other more, you’d know I hate surprises,” I tell my dad pointedly. “Just like Mom.”
It’s one of the few things we have in common. We like to be in control and to manage expectations. The last thing I expected tonight was having to explain this to the man who was married to her for twenty years.
Dad rears back a little. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other—”
My chair wobbles in the grass as I scoot toward the table with a little more force than necessary.
“You’re the one who chose to study abroad, Cielito,” he gently reminds me in the lightly accented, patient tone I remember from my childhood. Hearing my childhood nickname makes my eyes sting.
“Of all people, you’re the last one who should be trying to make me feel guilty for thinking of my career first.”
Hurt crosses his face before it shutters. He quickly manufactures a generic smile. “Lark, I was so happy to hear about your engagement, and even happier to receive an invitation to the big day.”
Get it together, girl. I mess with the array of silverware in front of me, adjusting the salad fork so that it’s aligned with the bread knife just so. My dad starts making small talk with another guest.
Aidan leans close. “You good?” he whispers under his breath.
“Not really,” I admit.
His hand finds mine under the table. Countless hours picking and strumming have calloused his fingertips. I’d asked Aidan to be discreet about our history, but honestly, I need this small gesture of comfort. Their familiarity is exactly what I need.
The third course comes and everything is delicious. It’s a shame I can’t fully appreciate it since my attention is pulled between my parents and Aidan’s grounding touch.
My mom picks at her food with disinterest. I remember the headache medicine I’d left to retrieve and pass her the bottle.
“That should help,” I say. She nods mechanically.
“Tracy,” my dad says. “Everything okay?”
“She’s fine,” I answer curtly. He wasn’t concerned with her well-being when he decided to show up without notice. “Mom, let’s call it an early night.”
After we each give Lark a hug, I escort my mom to her room in silence. We both pretend like I can’t see her chin waver as she slips off her shoes.
“Try to get some rest,” I tell her in my best “caring physician” tone. My bedside manner still might need some work, though, because she responds with a faraway, “Yeah, good night.”
I slip into the hallway and her door clicks shut behind me. Going back to the garden and facing my dad again sounds awful. Is it too rude to simply grab my dessert and hide in my room?
On my way back, I dig my phone out of my clutch and notice the screen is covered in notifications.
Aidan had tried to warn me before I stepped into the garden.
So had Lark. The realization makes my heart lurch in my chest. Footsteps thump down the hallway.
I jerk my head up, anticipating another conversation with my dad that I simply don’t have the bandwidth for right now.
But it’s Aidan. A tiny sigh of relief passes my lips.
“I just saw your texts,” I say softly.
“The second you stepped into that garden, I could tell you hadn’t read them yet.”
“You tried. And I appreciate it.”
Aidan leans down and examines my face. I self-consciously swipe at the moisture collecting in the corner of my eye.
He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “That was quite the ambush for you and your mam.”
“Yeah, I just walked her to her room. She doesn’t feel well.”
“And you? Are you okay? Hell of a move from him, showing up like this.”
“I’m okay. I’m upset for my mom,” I answer automatically, despite the long-suppressed emotions roaring back to life since dinner began. Protective. Jagged. Hurt. Abandoned. “He tried to talk to her during dinner and I had to run interference—”
Aidan’s brow furrows. “Why not let them sort it? Protect yourself.”
The question catches me off guard.
“I just don’t want her to feel trapped into talking with her ex when she doesn’t want to.” I look at him pointedly, though I know the comparison isn’t really fair.
“You’ve managed it,” he says.
“I didn’t want it to ruin her weekend. Seeing your ex can bring up lots of feelings. I’m sure it’s worse to do it at a wedding when you have memories of marrying them.”
“I’d imagine so,” Aidan agrees. “But I know he didn’t just hurt your mam.”
My teeth grind.
“Put out your hand.” Aidan pulls something from his pocket and holds out his fist.
My only movement is a lifted brow.
“I’m not an eight-year-old trying to surprise you with a frog.”
“I dunno. You were fully dressed in a creek earlier today. A frog in your pocket wouldn’t be completely out of left field.”
“Give me your hand, Lo.”
I hold a palm out, and he fills it with…a crumpled, already opened Skittles bag. My mouth twists in confusion as I stare at it. “Uh…Thanks?”
“You left before pudding, and I know you inhale those things when you’re stressed.”
Suddenly, the piece of trash in my hand becomes almost precious. I had been craving something sugary and planned on scrounging around the caterer’s table after getting my mom settled, so she couldn’t judge me for it. I smile up at him. If only they’d been sealed.
“Thanks,” I repeat. I dump a few into my palm and examine the colorful candies. Something is missing. I peer into the bag and don’t find them there, either. “Did they discontinue those nasty purple ones?”
Aidan looks away. “I picked them all out. After I washed my hands, of course.”
If anyone else’s grubby paws had been all over my candy, I’d throw the whole bag away. But Aidan remembered my fondness for Skittles, all except those disgusting purple ones—and also how neurotic I am about food contamination.
“But why?”
“Because you hate the European ones that taste like black currant,” he says, as if this is totally normal. “You don’t mind the American ones that taste like grape. Although I don’t see how you can taste the difference.”
I stuff a handful in my mouth and watch a smug little smile bloom under his auburn beard while I chew. They’re sticky and artificial and perfect.
“That was very sweet of you,” I say around another mouthful. “To anticipate my family-based neurosis. Or should I be offended?”
“I remember your coping mechanisms and my family drives me mad sometimes, too.” He tucks his hands into his pockets, flirty as he adds, “No need to read more into it than that, unless you want to have another row tonight?”
I sweep a playful gaze up and down his body. “Why do I have a feeling you’d kinda like that?”
His focus sharpens, hot like a magnifying glass concentrating light. “Because you remember me, too.”
The air between us is suddenly electric. I think about the way he studied me practicing knots. The sweet insistence of his mouth when we kissed at the creek. The memory of his melodic voice begging for mercy the last time we made love. Some people are just compatible.
Aidan was the first guy I felt comfortable enough with to experiment in new ways.
He’d let me explore my desire for control and I discovered that sex could be more than physical release.
It was empowering and exhilarating to be in charge of his pleasure, to tease him until his desire built so intensely.
To be trusted. I allowed Aidan into my deepest fantasies, and he met them with open enthusiasm.
Allowing someone else to see that side of me helped me experience my body as a vessel of sensuality, rather than something that caused me pain.
I’ll always be thankful to Aidan for that bit of self-discovery.
He scratches at his neck. “So, I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
“Bad. Always give me the bad first.”
“While you were walking your mom to her room, Lark told your dad he could take one of the rooms in the castle. He was yawning and looked so tired—”
“I figured he’d stay here.” I scrape together the last of my emotional fortitude, then train my eyes on Aidan again. “She was just trying to be a polite hostess. I’m not mad at her.”
“How about some good news?” he asks. I nod and offer him the homely bag of sweets.
He puts up a hand in refusal. “No, thanks. I ate all the purple ones and now I’m ready to be sick.
” I start to frown, wondering if he really is nauseated, before he dips a hand into the bag with a small smile.
He tosses a few candies into his mouth and sucks for a moment.
“Well, the good news is your dad opened a trapdoor looking for his room and promptly fell into the moat.”
Despite myself, I snort. There is no moat here.
“An alligator got him. My condolences.” Aidan smiles. “He’s still in the garden. But I thought that mental image would make you laugh.”
I pop a few more Skittles into my mouth. “So there is no good news?”
“Nope. Unless you count more opportunity for reconciliation and bonding with your old man.”
I pull a face. “What if I’d asked you to lead with the good news?”
“You wouldn’t,” he says confidently.
I open my mouth to object, but he is right. Loath as I am to admit it, Aidan is not only thoughtful, he’s observant. And he remembers. Two years later, it seems he still knows me. Maybe he’s not so fake, after all.
“Hey,” Aidan says, “would you like to go for a swim with me? Right now, in the creek?”