“Do not test me,” she seethed.
“I’m not doing this with you.” Again, I turned.
But she laughed. “I’m almost proud, seeing you pretend your power. Just a little taste, and look at you.”
A shock of dissent wheeled me around. I opened my mouth to tell her the many ways she could go to hell, but she headed me off with a triumphant look on her face.
“I shouldn’t worry. Whatever your little fling is, it won’t last. How could it? Oh, don’t look at me like that, Margaret—you have no ambition, no backbone, and … well, take a look at yourself. You don’t even try, not for anything worth something in the world. It’s why you’ve never had a boyfriend worth a damn. So have your fun while you can. And if it makes you feel better to pretend I won’t find out, go right ahead.”
The bald cruelty stung, the slap painful. “Thank you for the permission,” I snapped, doing my best to steady my voice. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
Her flippancy twisted into something tighter, darker at her realization that I wasn’t going to fold. “Don’t be stupid, darling. If you think you can keep this from me, you’re mistaken.”
“And if you think I give a shit, so are you.” I spun around, desperate to leave.
Something close to disdain struck her face. “You have always been weak, but at least you used to be respectful.”
“You’ve always been a miserable bitch, so at least one of us is consistent.”
I marched up the stairs with furious tears in my eyes, ignoring her calls, hoping to God she didn’t follow me. The last thing I needed was to assault my mother in the middle of the night, on my perfect night.
But when I slammed my door and found myself in my old room, the gravity of the situation laid its full weight upon me. Because perfect would only find me in fluttering, fleeting moments.
Not forever, I reminded myself.
Because if things didn’t change, I would leave. And if Marcus and I went like I thought we might, I’d tell my mother about us, and I’d have to leave.
Either way, fate would decide.
But my mother would not.
14
Whistling Maisie
MARCUS
I walked through the turquoise door of Longbourne, a tray of coffees in hand, cheerfully whistling my way inside.
Jett glanced up at me from the register, double-taking when he really got a look at me, head cocked and dark brows drawn.
“Morning,” I said, nodding at the customers in the shop as I passed, heading for the counter. “Got you a coffee from Blanche’s.”
He took it, confused and suspicious. “You’re awfully chipper this morning.”
“What can I say? I got a great night’s sleep.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m trying to think if I’ve ever heard you whistle.”
“Oh, look at that. A customer.” With a smirk, I moved out of the way for the woman behind me, turning the corner into the workspace.
The shop was bustling, as it always was these days, even on a Wednesday morning. Over the summer, Luke and Tess had renovated the storefront, planning weekly installations that brought people through the front door in droves. We sold out of her market bouquets daily, our deliveries were up four hundred percent, and our greenhouse was booming with blooms.
Business was good. Excellent in fact, our income making steady work of the debts my mother had accrued.
If we could only get rid of Evelyn Bower’s lawsuit, we could save this place in full.
I made my way through the work tables, passing coffee to Tess and Luke, who were chatting about something he was constructing for a display as she arranged a bouquet.
“Thanks,” Luke said, taking a sip, subsequently swearing as he burned his mouth.
“Never were patient,” I said.
Luke rolled his eyes, but like Jett, he gave me a second suspicious look. “Something’s different.” He inspected me. “Did you tie your tie in a full Windsor knot instead of a half or something?”
“Look at that. I didn’t think you even knew what a Windsor knot was. Color me impressed.”
He made a face. “Seriously, what’s with you?”
“He was just whistling,” Jett tattled from the front.
That earned me a full-blown stare-down from Luke and Tess both.
“Whistling?” Tess asked.
“How about a, Thanks for the coffee, Marcus. How did all the legal bullshit you’ve been single-handedly dealing with go yesterday?”
Luke’s brows flattened. “Pardon us for noticing you’re not wound up like a—” His face shot open. “You got laid.”
“Oh my God, he did,” Jett yell-laughed over his shoulder.
I turned for the greenhouse so I didn’t pop one of them in the nose. “Fuck you, ingrates.”
“Oh, don’t let them get to you, Marcus.” Tess chuckled. “Good for you.”
I threw a look at her. “Not you too.”
“Forgive us for wanting to see you whistling.” She leaned into Luke, who was still laughing as he wrapped an arm around her.
“Was it one of Mom’s garden club girls?” he asked. “Did you get on Bumble? I was wondering if you’d figured out how to use it.”
But I kept on walking toward the back. “I don’t need an app to get laid.”
“Coulda fooled me,” he called as I pushed the swinging greenhouse door open.
The scent of fresh, wet earth hit me like a humid, familiar wall. I loved this place despite my tendency to stay away—greenhouses were no place for Italian suits—but when I did visit, I always promised myself to come here more. We had grown up here, running barefoot and filthy through the rows of flowers. I remembered when Luke used to toddle around in my rain boots and a diaper. I remembered dirty hands and dirty clothes and sunshine pouring in through high, lead-veined windows. I remembered Mom teaching us the genus and species of each flower, prompting us to taste the ones that were pleasant and a few that weren’t, just for kicks.
This place was just as much home as our house was. More maybe. Because unlike at home, the greenhouse was supposed to be dirty.
A chuckle exited my nose.
I didn’t see Dad but found Kash in the wide center aisle, shirtless and sweaty as he shucked dirt from a wheelbarrow to a bed of irises.
“Hey,” I called, holding up my last cup of coffee. “Broughtcha something.”
But he didn’t smile or greet me. Instead, he frowned, brows together and eyes accusatory.
I frowned right back as I stopped in front of him. “What’s the matter with you?”
With a furtive glance of a predator over his shoulder, he snagged me by the elbow and dragged me toward the basement storage.
“The hell is wrong with you, Kash?” I removed my arm from his grip and stopped, squaring up. I was an inch taller than him, and I drew myself up to it.
He glared at me. “I saw somebody leaving your place last night.”
I froze, lungs locked. Under my breath, I hissed, “Fuck.”
“Yeah. So if you’d follow me, Your Highness,” he said, sweeping a dramatic hand toward the basement.