29. Daisy
Chapter 29
Daisy
Peter is Penn.
And I'm a fool.
When he told me, I felt devastation, anger, turmoil. Relief. But more than that, I wanted to throw myself in his arms. Hug him fiercely. Ask him how he truly is, what he's been doing for the past fifteen years. Does he still love heirloom tomatoes, thickly cut and sprinkled with flaky sea salt? What did he think of the new Top Gun movie? Was it as good as the original? He'd loved the first so much. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him I was sorry, so sorry, to hear about his mother. He'd loved her the way a boy loves his mama, with utter devotion. Even through her dark times, he'd protected her with ferocity.
I lie here in this soft bed, staring up at the ceiling, letting the events of last night roll through my mind. The whole night was convoluted. Confusing. Fun, embarrassing, then shocking.
Anything for you .
I roll to my side, my eyes finding the picture of Penn I keep on my shelf. That day he was here helping me, he saw that photo. Picked it up. I told him about my old friend.
The whole time...
He doesn't look like the man I'd envisioned him growing into. My imagination did a poor job, taking thirteen-year-old Penn and making him taller and a little more filled out. The broad shoulders, the height, the strong jaw, my imagination provided none of that. The Penn of my memory had been scrawny, a late bloomer.
I feel like an idiot for not knowing, but maybe on some level I did. Because wasn't he so familiar to me from the very first moment? That was my soul recognizing his.
And Hugo knew.
I reach for my phone, bringing up my last conversation with Hugo, and fire off a text.
You are a dirty liar.
Considering I'm working in the olive grove today, then yes, I will be filthy before the day is out. But how exactly am I a liar?
Here, meet my friend Penn. I mean, uhhh, Peter.
Lie. What a great big pile of LIE.
You would have done the same for my sister.
But I am sorry for lying.
I feel like an idiot.
I know. If it helps, he didn't do it to hurt you.
Right. He was trying not to interrupt my life.
Does it interrupt your life?
Of course not.
Now who's lying?
I'm getting married, HUGO. I don't have time for it to interrupt my life.
I don't think that's how interruptions work, DAISY.
I toss my phone face down on the empty space in my bed. I don't want to talk to Hugo anymore, or think about the truth in his words. Penn is a massive interruption in my life. An interruption I am very angry with, while remaining very much attracted to. The emotions are opposing, and confusing, and I cannot wrap my mind around them.
There's a knock at my front door.
Penn.
I throw off the comforter and pop up from bed. Not a single care about my bedhead or the mismatched pajamas I threw on when I got home so very early this morning, when the sky was at its darkest and the birds were silent.
Emotions tumble through me, but the greatest is relief. My Penn is home.
I throw open the door, not bothering to check to see who it is first.
The man standing on my welcome mat brings me up short.
Duke.
"Hi," I greet, stepping back so he can come in. My neighbors from down the street are on their morning pilgrimage, and now they're peering at us with well-meaning nosiness. When Duke steps inside, I wrap my arms around him. He hugs me back, shutting the door with his foot.
"What's up?" I ask, letting him go.
He shrugs, looking around. "I had some time in my schedule this morning. I thought I would come over and see how much damage you've inflicted on this place without anybody knowing." He throws me a wink.
Spying all my kitchenware stacked up in one corner of my living room, he says, "I take it you don't have cabinets yet? Bathroom or kitchen?"
"That would be correct," I answer, walking with him to the kitchen. Internally, I'm cringing because I know what he's going to see.
"Dai-sy," he admonishes, whistling in surprise when we walk in.
"I know it looks bad," I say, taking in the scene. My kitchen is practically a skeleton except for the large appliances.
He turns to me. His eyes are soft, but worried. "Why don't you get dressed, and we'll go get some breakfast."
At his mention of food, my stomach growls. He grins at my hunger, telling me he'll wait for me in the living room.
I dress quickly in boyfriend jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. I don't have the energy for one of my cute dresses today, and I'm feeling raw. I want the softness of these worn fabrics, a plate of comfort food, and the biggest coffee they can pour.
Duke's standing in my living room like he said he'd be, back to me and on the phone. "I'll leave her front door unlocked. Thanks again, Scott."
"Who was that?" I ask, rolling up the sleeves on my sweatshirt.
"A contractor friend. He's coming over now to measure for new cabinets."
I snap my fingers. "Just like that, huh?"
He frowns at me. "Tell me it's wrong for me to use my connections. Tell me it's wrong to want you to have a functioning home."
"It's not wrong." I bite the inside of my lower lip as I try to parse through my feelings. "I feel stupid. It was dumb of me to rush forward with a remodel without doing any planning."
Duke wraps an arm around my shoulders, giving me a friendly squeeze. "I'd say it's true you've made better decisions on other occasions."
We exit the house, leaving the front door unlocked, and Duke drives to Good Thyme Café. The hostess seats us at our normal table, and the server grins as she approaches, taking our order and asking how much longer until our wedding.
"Three and a half weeks," Duke says, hand snaking across the table to affectionately squeeze mine. "Can't wait to watch my bride walk down the aisle."
I smile my Daisy St. James smile, the one that is expected of me. "I'm the luckiest girl in the world," I tell our server, handing her my menu.
When she's gone, Duke leans forward, gaze earnest and intent. "Things have seemed off with you lately, and I want to check on you. Despite the deal we've structured, you're one of my closest friends, and I want to make sure you're ok."
My hand is still in his, our heads bent toward each other. To an observer, we look like we're having an intimate conversation. And I suppose we are, but it's more secretive than intimate.
"I actually learned something shocking, and I'm still reeling from it." I drop my volume even lower, and Duke leans in further to hear me. "Peter Bravo is Penn Bellamy."
Duke is well trained in how to school his reactions, a talent needed when he is in meetings and boardrooms. But his total nonchalance, the flicker of nothing in his eyes, tells me something I wouldn't have guessed.
He already knows.
"I figured it out after the night at King's Ransom," he says, his volume matching mine now. "I'm wary of anybody new showing up. Due diligence is important in my work, and it bleeds into my life."
"So you looked into him?"
He nods. "It was incredibly easy, which tells me he didn't go to many lengths to truly hide his identity." Duke sits back, giving our server space to deliver our coffees.
"With a side of real whipped cream for the bride," she says, smiling jauntily at me. I thank her and spoon a dollop on my creamy coffee.
"You're injured," Duke says, bringing his black coffee to his lips.
"Healthy as a horse," I respond.
"Emotionally," he amends, placing his cup on the table. "You're most indulgent when you feel injured. You ordered your normal egg and bacon breakfast, but you added a side of cinnamon swirl pancakes. That's a dead giveaway."
"I guess I am injured," I say, stirring my spoon in my coffee, watching the whipped cream melt into the hot liquid. "Not only was Peter, er, Penn lying to me, but so were you." I sip the sweetened caffeine, nearly groaning as it hits my tongue. I needed this, and Duke knew it. "Why didn't you tell me as soon as you knew?"
His fingers, still wrapped around his mug, tighten. He hesitates, and now I'm seeing Penn in the middle of the night, refusing to tell me why he left. There's something here, a piece integral to forming the puzzle so it makes sense to me, but neither Penn nor Duke will speak it. And it means they share the same secret, or at least facets of it.
"I wasn't sure what him being back would mean for you. For us."
"Duke, that's not right. I deserve to know."
"Of course you do." Duke slides out from his side of the booth, and I scoot over to make room for him beside me.
He loops an arm over my shoulder, and I lean into him. He smells the same as he has for years, something clean and citrusy with a hint of pine. He smells like my friend. Into my hair, he murmurs, "I need to know, Daisy, if him being back changes things."
I think of Penn, of what he said in the middle of the night. I don't know how much longer I'll be in Olive Township, but it won't be forever.
Then I think of my mother, of the last time I saw her, the way she gasped at the sight of me in her dress at my fitting.
"No, Duke. Nothing has changed."
My head dips with his strong exhale, as if he'd been holding his breath while he waited for my answer.
Duke has skin in the game, too. It's not only my mom we're supplying with a manufactured happily ever after for her daughter. It's Duke's parents, too.
Our server delivers our food, placing both plates on one side of the table. "Look at you two," she coos. "Can't bear to be apart, even when it's only a table's distance."
"Very true," Duke says, pressing a kiss to my hair.
There's a twinge of something in my chest, something not good .
Until now I've been apathetic towards Duke's kiss. It was a non-event. It went part and parcel with what we're doing. But the feeling inside me now? It's a real problem.
At the press of Duke's lips was the inclination to recoil.
Because it's Penn I want, even if I am furious and hurt.
My heart refuses to line up with my mind.
Stubborn bitch.