Chapter 5 #2
Truly. What the ever-loving fuck?
“You’re right. There are things we should know about each other. Important things. Things I can’t justify not telling you any longer.”
That makes me nervous, and the taunting voice in the back of my head has a great time snarking me off.
Here we go. This is the part where she tells you this was all some master plan, and there’s no way she would ever actually find you attractive with a face that looks like a grilled cheese sandwich.
Grilled cheese is delicious.
Fine. The pickles that are served on the side then. Old. Wrinkly. Ballsack-looking pickles.
If that’s the worst that is going to come into my head, then I’m all good. I’ve been through dark times and lots of pain and anxiety. The ballsack intrusive comment just makes me want to laugh.
Which I would do.
If Callie wasn’t climbing off of me, biting her lip, twisting her hands, and trembling.
She passes me my shirt and walks a few paces.
Then, she turns around, her mouth doing a guppy fish impression that looks far more adorable than it sounds.
She pivots again, her combat boot squeaking against the floor because the bottoms are non-slip.
Before she can rotate again, I slip my suspenders down and get my shirt back on.
I have it half buttoned before she paces back.
Fuck, I thought my anxiety was bad, but it’s nothing compared to the wild, cornered, trapped animal expression she’s sporting.
“I… I’m going to say something that’s going to make you angry. It’s probably going to hurt you too, and honestly, I didn’t give a shit about that before we met, but now that we have, I… I’m so sorry.”
My heart is currently doing a great were-bunny impression, bouncing all over my chest, racing up a hill, and getting ready to sprout slobbery fangs and howl at the moon.
Her eyes fill with tears, not because she’s playing this up, looking for sympathy, or trying to soften me. Her face twists with regret and shame, and I can tell she truly feels awful. Even if it’s not her intent, I do soften.
But if she waits another second longer to tell me whatever the heck it is that is so bad, I’m going to have a panic attack just watching her suffer.
“You have to promise me that you’ll hear me out. Please. It’s… it’s important.”
I used to say that to my parents whenever I’d done something really bad.
She hops up on the counter beside me and takes my hand. It’s an odd thing to do, to grasp onto me like I’m a lifeline. I don’t jerk my hand away. I close my fingers around hers, clasping them tightly together. She’s so close, and every time I breathe in, all her summery sweetness overwhelms me.
Kind of like her huge, sparkling eyes, veiled by a sheen of tears.
My throat goes dry, and my pulse kicks up. I don’t know what’s wrong with my libido, but just being near her throws me out of control. I refuse to let my dick rule me. I rule my dick.
Nice, pickle balls. Just great. You’re doing a great job of that so far. She’s about to give you some terrible news, and all you can think about is how beautiful she is.
“I… okay, this is so crazy. You’re going to lose your shit, so please…
just… just let me finish. Let me start at the beginning.
” Her eyes flick over to the window before she tilts her face up to the antique copper tiles on the ceiling.
“Umm, what is the beginning? I guess… uh, twenty-five years ago, when you went to Ohio to work in a little pie shop.”
I know my life is all over the internet, and the information, including dates, is readily available, but this sounds too personal for her to have just looked it up.
“I’m Dulcie Piecroft. My dad is Archie Piecroft,” she continues.
What. The. Fuck. Fuck. What the actual fucking fuck? I nearly fall off the counter.
I jerk my hand away from hers like she’s a red-hot stove intent on burning me down to cinders.
No. No, no, no. I did not just get a boner for Archie Piecroft’s daughter, who is at least two and a half decades younger than me. She’s not thirty. Counting back, she can’t be older than twenty-four.
Thank fuck.
But also… Jesus freaking fuck.
“Was this some master plan to get me thrown in jail?” I rasp. “You had an ID. It was checked!”
“It was fake. When I told you about me hiring a hacker to find out the details of your life and coming across this, and erm, maybe taking Callie’s place? I was kind of being serious. Well, not kind of. I was. I totally was.”
My pulse ratchets up to dangerous levels, my head spins, and my lungs close up. I’m going to stroke out. This is not happening. This is not real.
“Why?” I gasp, clutching the edge of the countertop to keep myself standing. “Was this some revenge plan?”
She signed those forms with a fake ID and a fake name. The real her isn’t accountable. I’m sure she could legally get in plenty of trouble for what she just confessed to, but I doubt that would matter if she were recording everything the whole time, and if she releases it to the world…
“No!” She throws her hands up, her face crumpling.
“No, I swear. My dad wants… he’s going to lose the bakery.
It’s the longest story, but he thinks if you come back to Ohio, if I could somehow convince you to do that, then everything would be made right.
The curse would be broken, and the pie magic would come back. ”
“This isn’t… this isn’t some fairytale!” It makes painful sense now what she said last night. She didn’t just walk in here and magically get me.
She knew me.
She’d studied me.
She’d prepared for this.
The connection I felt? It wasn’t real.
It was all a big ruse. She made me believe in her. She made me feel seen and understood. She looked past my face and saw the real me. Except, she didn’t. That was all just a big bunch of bollocks too.
Anger curdles in my gut like sour milk, and not the kind of sour milk you can do anything creative with.
Just disgusting, nasty old milk that not even flies would drink if you threw it outside when there’s a spontaneous lack of fly food in the world, and they were all starving hard for something to avoid extinction.
But the sadness creeping through me like poison ivy, shivering across my skin, breaking over me, and itching fiercely, is worse. Worse than extinction. It’s so cheesy to say I got my hopes up, but I did.
It’s not all you got up.
Holy farging fuck. This would be a great time for my stupid head to shut up and give me a break. For once.
Callie… no, Dulcie, keeps doing the imploring thing with her hands, crushed at seeing me crushed because all my filters are non-existent.
How can I believe that her sorrow is real? It could just be part of her act. She did a grand job of making me believe her so far. Making me trust her. This is why it’s inadvisable to do that. Because generally, it goes to shit.
I learned that early on, when I was still a kid.
There was shit at school, friends who betrayed me.
And then, the shit that got me sent to Ohio.
There was the pain of leaving, of knowing I wrecked a friendship and hurt a good man, but if he’d just understood, then I would never have had to do that.
There was plenty more bullshit over the years.
I made a name for myself, and I had a rich family.
I made my own wealth and started a small empire in New York.
There were always people who wanted to get close for purely selfish reasons.
Then there was Nicole. We met through mutual friends at a time when, despite all the success, I was lonely.
More so than normal. I let my guard down.
I fell in love. When my face was ruined, and she decided she didn’t want to come and live out here or have anything to do with me at all, I wasn’t mad.
Anger didn’t begin to cover the devastation I felt at that rejection.
I haven’t had a single weak moment since then.
Until this mouthy, intelligent, gorgeous goth woman stepped into my life.
And fed me lines.
And lies.
And had more serotonin in just one single smile than my entire brain has packed in an entire lifetime.
She made me feel again.
So, no doubt, my face is doing all sorts of horrible things I can’t control. Do I even want to? Part of me wants Dulcie freaking Piecroft to see how deep her crazy scheme has cut me.
When she squirms, and her eyes glaze over with tears that probably aren’t fake, that part of me feels like a straight-up asshole.
“I’m so sorry, Luca. I know that doesn’t make anything better, but I am. The way my dad described you… it made me not like you. I could see how much he was hurting and has been hurting all these years. I thought you didn’t care. I pictured you as quite heartless. But I was wrong.”
“You went to such great lengths to lie. For what reason?”
“I needed you to hear me out. I needed to get in here and let you get to know me. There’s no way you would have just let me in, met with me, and agreed to go halfway across the country to see my dad just out of the blue. You would never have even listened to me or let me past the front gates.”
I cross my arms. “You don’t know that.”
She mirrors my pose, but with her arms wrapped tight around herself.
“I couldn’t take the chance. This is my dad’s last hope.
I would never have done anything like this, but I was desperate.
By last hope, I mean truly last hope.” She swallows thickly, which does not make my throat get tight too.
“If he loses the bakery, it’s going to crush him. ”
“Explain to me why he thinks I can help with any of that.” It’s money. It’s always, always money. “If he needs financing—”
“It’s not money.” Her eyes practically cross. “I… well, it is, but we don’t need that from you. It’s exactly what I said.” She slashes her hand through the air dramatically. “He believes the pie magic died when you left.”
“What?”