Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lemon
“Quatsch! This has no explanation, Zitrone!” My father, with power, wealth, and privilege, silences me, lip curling in outrage as he notes our clothes.
Or lack thereof.
I bite back the joke on the tip of my tongue, because I wasn’t kidding when I warned Oliver.
Father is outraged.
“Sir, if I may—”
“You may not!”
It pains me to watch him crumble under my father’s boots. It’s not his fault he’s in this, very under clothed, situation. It’s mine.
I’ll accept that.
But Papa doesn’t know the whole story.
And he doesn’t know about us.
“Please, Papa. Don’t be angry with him for what I’ve gotten us into.” I stand taller, pushing off the car and using nothing but my own legs to support myself when I face him.
He’ll settle for nothing less.
“It’s not Oliver’s fault we’re in this predicament.” I toy with my bangles, noting his familiar scowl of annoyance flick there, so I drop my arm to my side and clear my throat. “If you’ll give me a chance to explain—”
He cuts me off.
My shoulders drop with his eyes. I know from experience that was my one shot. He will hear nothing more, Emil Perkins, the all-powerful Alpha and Omega of opinions.
And my life.
“Oliver, is it?” His eyes shoot to the man in question. The one standing beside me, shaking in his goddamned half-a-suit. His pants aren’t buttoned, and he hasn’t got a shirt, since it’s the only thing that covers me.
Papa’s eyes gloss.
And that cuts Oliver Nashville deeper than any words ever could.
My father’s disappointment wounds him.
“I trusted you, Oliver. You keep my daughter safe. Is this safe to you?” He gestures down my body at the Risky Business cosplay and shame heats me all over.
I cross my arms over my chest. I want to run.
Find a new adventure.
“I needed both of you tonight. My right-hand man and my daughter. Not because you are my right-hand man or my daughter, but because you are the future of this company. The two of you.”
“What?” I flick my eyes to Oliver, who seems as stumped as me.
“I want to be free, Zitrone. Sylvie and me. He holds up his hand and a golden band wraps around his left finger. “We are to make it official soon. I…” His eyes drop.
He can’t even look at me.
I disgust him.
“I wanted to share this moment with you tonight. With Sylvie.”
The woman of the hour emerges from the car. I wish I could say I hate her and don’t trust her, but I know Papa. She’ll have signed a prenup.
Plus, I read that note about her ‘inbox.’
Her eyes seem kinder than I remember as a teen, and people change, like Oliver and I.
“I’m happy for you, Papa…Sylvie.”
But he cuts me off again. Sylvie holds a hand up, urging him to let me speak, but he’ll have none of it.
“If you were happy for us, Zitrone, you would end the charades like this one. I track your stolen car here, thinking you are dead or worse. And you are off skinny dipping in the woods like your mother!”
His words sting, but I won’t let them needle deeper than the surface. I reserve the right to be proud of this side of me. Flaws and all. So, I let his hurtful words roll into the dirt where they belong, back to earth from whence they motherfucking came.
My silence breaks him, and he fills it with more words aimed at cutting.
I can take them, though.
I will take them.
I will hold them in my pocket and collect them like a bunch of fucking charms, and when there are enough of them, I will dump them out and wear them on my arms, too.
Reminders of what I never want to become.
“There was a lot of talent at the banquet tonight, and you were there to scout none of it. You say you want me to take you seriously in this company? Well, this was your test, and you blew it, Tochter. And what’s worse is you’ve corrupted my friend.
” He whips his heated eyes to Oliver and lets those words burn in the air.
“You roped him into your childish schemes. He has a family, Zitrone! He cannot be careless like you.”
I wait for Oliver to speak.
Blinking into the air.
Begging.
“Do you have no opinion, then?”
My heart drops to the pit of my stomach when it seems he doesn’t. I’d suppose not, now that he’s just learned he’s the face of the fucking future.
I sniffle, tears on the brink of escape, but not in front of these two. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I’m sorry I’ve roped you into my wanton ways, lured you into my debaucherous lair with my sexual schemes and ideas of grandeur.”
“Lem, stop. That’s not…” He turns to my father, and I hold my breath. “Sir, I—”
“Save it. I know what’s happened here. I’ll make arrangements for her to stay elsewhere, starting next week. Better for the both of you.”
“Sir, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Yes, Oliver!” he snaps. “Das ist es.”
“Lem,” Oliver pleads before I walk away. “My job…and the girls. This isn’t what I wanted.”
“You don’t know what you want, Nash.” The pesky tear finally rolls down my cheek.
I don’t wipe it.
I need him to see that I’m real.
“This is how you let yourself feel. Out loud, and in person, and for the whole fucking world to see, Nash. And you.” I shake my head at my father. “You are so quick to judge that you don’t even take the time to trust.”
“I’ve trusted. Trust is what got me into this, Zitrone. Trust in you, and trust in him.”
“Oliver is not the problem, Papa! Look at yourself. Du bist das Problem! People come to you with innovative ideas, and you chase them off, like the only way things can get done is if a bunch of old men in stuffy suits throw their dicks around about it! Feigling!” I seethe. “You are terrified of change.”
“Watch your language, Tochter!”
“Nein! I will watch nothing. You will watch. You think you know everything, but you only know what you see with your own two eyes. You never feel with your heart, because you’re scared it’ll break all over again.
This thing with her…” I point to Sylvie, who stands by his side.
I can see from the outside she cares for him. Because she fucking feels something.
Not like these two. And I’m done being their handy dandy guide to trauma.
“This is your chance to feel something again, Papa. Because for the last few decades, you’ve boxed it up, only saw the good and fought for the best. But look at the other stuff, the raw parts of life, too.” I gesture to my clothes. “Sometimes life doesn’t let you stay in the goddamned box.”
I storm to my car and whip out the napkin, chucking it forward, and letting it sail down to my father’s feet in the dirt.
All eyes fall there immediately.
“My box was meant to be bigger than you planned today. Das ist Schicksal!” I spit. “Fate.”
“Miss Tryst’s signature?”
“I know my worth, Vater.” I turn to Oliver.
“I thought you knew it, too.” I straighten my shirt and lift my chin.
“I don’t need to stick around while the two of you learn that those things you shove into boxes, power the same parts of you that could achieve your wildest dreams, as terrifying or painful as they may be.
Feelings can change the world for you. What a privilege to be a man.
” I let out a confident exhale and look my father in the eye, once and for all.
“You can leave your company to some other rich suit, if that’s the future of Perkins Global, because I will never sit still, nor will I follow the rules. I’m done trying to reshape your molds.”