“Neither did I.” He chuckles bitterly. “Apparently it was this big town secret that everybody kept from me. When I went home, I confronted my mom about it, and she broke down and explained everything to me. Explained how my biological dad was her high school sweetheart, but he was a few years older, so when she got pregnant at sixteen he was about to graduate. He had a scholarship to play basketball at Duke, which he said he would turn down, but when it came time, he chose basketball over us and left her seven months pregnant. Harry was her best friend in high school and apparently, he’d been in love with her since he was younger but didn’t know what to do about it—a learned trait, I guess—constantly upstaged by whatever this other guy did. So when he left, Harry proposed, said he’d take care of us both, and they never told me the truth. I have Harry’s last name, and he’s the father listed on the birth certificate and everything.
“That night I said some awful things to Harry that I still regret. He was sixteen and he married my mother, quit high school, and started working at his dad’s creamery, and I stood there like a spoiled brat saying that at least I finally understood why he was always so cold, and then I just went into this weird catatonic state. I don’t know how to describe it, but by the time I shook myself out of it, well—”
“It was too late to go to the ball.” The words fall out of my mouth, but my mind is blank, processing the bomb he’s dropping on me.
“Yeah.” He rubs my knuckle with my thumb. “I knew that I had blown it with you.”
The night’s end flashes through in my brain, theactualnight. Heavy with anger, I always focused on my side of the story, the fist curled tight, tear-soaked mascara running down my cheeks. Complete and total humiliation coursed through every ounce of my being in a jumbled static.
After my mom ripped into me, calling me an embarrassment to the family and a disappointment of a daughter, I marched over to Liam’s house to let him know what a jackass I thought he was for leading me on and then bailing on me. When I found him on the porch, I rationalized that he was waiting to gloat. But now, I see him for what he was, a dejected boy, tie askew, his eyes picking up to meet mine in a blurry state. Not the twinkling pride I reimagined. A tiny “You look pretty,” fell out of his lips.
The mask didn’t slam down until I reamed into him. The hard stone, the smirk, the twinkle—I can see the moment it all crashed over him.
“I was awful to you.” I fight back a well of tears. I don’t want to make this about me right now, but one escapes anyway, falling down my cheek.
“Hey, hey, no, it’s okay.” His arms tighten around me, brushing the tear away.
“You were hurting, and I was an absolute monster. Liam, I’m so sorry.”
He raises my chin to meet his eyes. “I could have handled things better, too, Peaches. But I don’t know ... I think I just decided being the villain with you and fighting was a lot easier than processing anything. Like if I told you, you’d just pity me and still be sad because I ruined your big day, too. And I thought if you were angry with me, you’d have somewhere to vent your frustrations, like otherwise, the truth would have swallowed us both up.”
You needed a villain more than you needed the truth.
I don’t know if Liam’s right about what I needed. If he was honest, maybe sitting on the porch and crying over the golden wash our parents lost that night would have healed us faster, but there’s nothing I can do to change it.
“Still, I could have been a little nicer.” I half laugh, half cry at the absolute mess I made for us both. “Thank you for telling me now.” I brush a kiss to his lips and then press my forehead against his. “I’m really glad you came to Paris.”
“Me too,” he says, fighting a yawn.
His weary, tired demeanor pulls at my heartstrings. In all the chaos of the last few hours, I forgot that he hasn’t slept well in at least a week, maybe longer.
“We need to get you some sleep. You look ragged. You think you can nap now?”
“Here?”
“I have a few hours left before work.”
He nods, wrapping his arms around me and rolling me on my side so my back and his stomach are pressed together. He nuzzles into my neck.
“Your birthday is coming soon,” he says in a groggy voice.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Do you have any plans?”
“Just wherever Maria makes reservations for. Why?”
“If you’re feeling up for it, you think I could take you on a real date?”
If you’re feeling up for ithits the nail on the head. I want to say, yes, absolutely! But the truth is, I could flare and ruin everything again. “I can check the symptom tracker app on my phone. I don’t know where I’ll be in my cycle or if that day is usually good, but I’d love that otherwise.”
“We can eat cake in bed if it doesn’t work . . .” His voice is fading to sleep. Not even five minutes pass before his breath rises and falls with that signature heavy slumber cadence. A tightness in my chest lightens, but thoughts spiral in a frenzy in my head.
I knew Liam wasn’t an ass anymore, but the thought that he maybe never was one, that maybe he’s secretly sweeter and gooier than the best version of a cinnamon roll, well, I hadn’t let myself entertain that thought. I wince, closing my eyes. Nana would be scolding me something proper for the way I treated him, but I can’t take it back. There’s only forward. Another Nana life lesson. And from here on out, I must protect the cinnamon roll at all costs.
Liam’s fingers slightly graze my abdomen as his hand falls limp across it. His warmth spirals around me, but it’s quickly chased away by an accompanying pain.
I sigh, falling to sleep to the images of Liam passionately kissing me and switching it off when he realized I was in pain. I hate myself for letting my body ruin that moment.
