I don’t even open the message. I don’t have to because I know the tone, and I can practically hear his voice ordering my presence, my obedience, mysilence. All the warmth drains from my body like someone pulled out a plug.
Xavier notices instantly, his line of sight following mine to the cell phone screen. “You okay?”
It’s another order, another reminder that I’m property to my father, not a fucking son. I lie with a nod to Xavier. It’s easier than trying to explain the kind of fear that lives all the way down deep in your bones. It’s as automatic as breathing, but the flicker of hurt in his face at my dismissal slams into me like a truck.
I want to take it back, but I double down because fear has always spoken louder than hope in my life. And I’ve always just gotten through by getting shit done by myself. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”
Xavier’s expression closes—something I’m growing less and less fond of, especially when it’s me that makes it happen. It’s not closed or angry, it’s just… wounded. And that’s the worst of all, because I did that.
The panic spikes again. Clawing, suffocating, dizzying. “I—I have to go.” I’m already pushing to my feet. It’s weird saying I have to go when my whole family is here and it’s Christmas fucking day… but right now? I have to fuckinggo. Now. “Work. There’s a thing I didn’t handle?—”
“Artemis—”
“I’m sorry.” And I am, but if I stay another minute, I’ll break open in front of all of them. I was raised to do many things—but definitely not that.
I’m not equipped to handle the slew of emotions assaulting me right now. Nor how to deal with the fact thatthe more I learn outside of my family, the less true anything my father taught me seems to be.
I slip out the door before anyone can stop me. Damp, not-at-all cold air hits my face. I make it to the car, slam the door behind me, and drop my forehead against the steering wheel. My breaths shake, and my hands won’t steady.
I left because I’m fucking terrified. Terrified of wanting this. Terrified of feeling like maybe I deserve it. Terrified ofXavierand how under my skin he’s managed to get. After a minute, I force my fingers to move. I open my messages and type:
Artemis: Send the package. Everything we picked for the Martinez family. Deliver it tomorrow morning. No note. No signature. Anonymous.
Artemis: Make sure they get the good wine.
I hit send. It’s pathetic, using my money to fruitlessly try to ease my guilt. But it’s the only language I know how to speak without breaking something. I put the car in drive, one thought sticking out like a splinter: If I stay near Xavier any longer… I won’t just fall for him. I’ll collapse in on myself.
Before I can leave, I glance up. Standing in front of me, arms folded, glaring at me like her stare alone could split me into cosmic fucking dust, is my mother. They sent the big guns after me. Or maybe she didn’t let anyone come after me but her. Either way, she looks pissed.
She approaches, bangs on the window like she’s a cop who just caught me gunning a hundred on the freeway. I open the window, and she brandishes The Finger. “Artemis Javier Carlos de la Peña, get your ass back inside that house.” Spanish, and my full name.
This isn’t going to go well for me.
My jaw works back and forth as I contemplate my reply,but my brain short circuits when I get slapped upside the head. “I said get your ass back inside, Mijo.” She’s still speaking at me in Spanish which means she’s about to roll my fucking balls because she feels more in command of what she says when she uses her mother tongue. She narrows her eyes. “I won’t have you?—”
“I’m not embarrassing you, Mamá. I really do have work to do.” Nope. Big mistake. Huge. Like waving a red flag to a fucking bull.
She purses her lips, raising her brows in a way that’s so very like Athena and tells me exactly what’s about to go down. “Don’t bullshit me. It’s Christmas. There is no work, only fear. And I’m not letting your fear, of your father, of becoming your father, of giving your heart to someone and trusting them not to break it, of being truly seen for the first time in your life, destroy something that is clearly growing into something special.”
No one has ever said that out loud to me. I swallow down the ball of welling emotion.
“Get the fuck out of the car and back in that house before I can take off my shoe.”
Not the dreaded chancla threat. Even as an adult it still holds magical powers, because I shake my head, turn off the car, and walk back inside the Martinez’s house.
CHAPTER 41
Xavier
“We need to talk.”
The way his shoulders go rigid tells me I hit the wrong tone. Or maybe the right one. Could I have worded it better so the thawing ice prince didn’t freeze all-the-way back up in my childhood bedroom?
Probably. For half a second, something flickers in his eyes—hope, panic, maybe both at the same time—but then he closes it off to me again. Whatever door or window I cracked open with this guy seems to be slamming shut right in front of my face.
“Okay.” I heave out a breath. If an emotionally stunted-slash-terrified boyfriend is what I’ve got, then I’ll work with it. But I’m done tiptoeing just to keep him from running. “If you don’t want to talk, how about you listen?” I lead him to the edge of the mattress and gesture for him to sit. The way he holds himself says no, but he reluctantly complies and stares at my hand on his thigh.
“I need you to stop pretending that we mean nothing.” It’s not an attack, at least I try not to let it come out that waybecause it’s simply a truth. But it’s really starting to piss me the fuck off.
