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“Unless you’re doing RID premades…” That was what it reminded me of. The uncomplicated style with clean lines and surprising details that you only noticed when you studied the piece for a while.
I turned to him and crowded close. “Tell me you aren’t RID.”
His face turned stony.
“Are you kidding me?”
He huffed out a breath. “It’s not like it’s a secret if you wanted to know.”
“That is not the point. That you’d keep that from me is…” I pushed him back into the workbench. “I was babbling on about your work and you freaking designed everything?”
“Chaos…”
“Don’t ‘Chaos’ me.” I stabbed my finger into his chest. “I made a fool of myself about getting them as gifts.”
“And I was flattered, but knowing I made them isn’t important.”
He was being deliberately obtuse. That his company was so much a part of him and he hadn’t wanted to share it with me hurt in ways I couldn’t catalog.
He covered my hand on his chest. “I tried to figure out who had bought the gifts, but he used a fake name there too and paid with a throwaway Mastercard available at any drugstore.”
My heart was roaring in my ears. Why would he keep that from me? That this is who he was beyond the soldier and rich guy. Which he also didn’t talk about. God, I was so stupid.
My shoulders ached from holding myself rigid and my throat was as dry as dust. “Why didn’t you tell me? What else haven’t you told me?” Before he could answer, I asked, “RID…your initials?”
He gave a curt nod in the affirmative. “Ransom Isaac Douglas.”
“Unbelievable.” I stalked away from him and paced from one end of the garage to the other. Then noticed another piece. “Is this something new?”
“Yeah.”
It was a beautiful sideboard with a long tabletop and storage beneath, the kind used in a dining room for family meals. Making the piece a little more special, there were intricate spindles to hold platters or other larger pieces. This was so different from his other line and yet still the same. Instantly recognizable as his craftsmanship.
The fact that he hadn’t even thought about sharing himself with me clanged in my ears like church bells.
“It wasn’t exactly a lie,” he said into the silence.
I pressed my lips together against the angry words I didn’t want to let loose. The hurt just beneath was even worse. “An omission is just as bad and you know it.”
“Then let’s get it all out.”
“There’s more?” I fisted my hands, my voice raw.
“I was hoping that if I showed up on your channel or made myself seen, it would draw out this sniveling bastard.”
I backed up a step, my hip dragging against the sharp edge of my sister’s desk.
“Chaos…”
“So, you didn’t want…” My mind whirled. How far did he take it? “You only were with me to—”
“No.” His voice was a whip. “Don’t go there.”
“Go where? That this was all a lie for the cameras?” Us together. The day with the food trucks, kissing me in the rain. Kissing me outside my apartment in Brooklyn.
I bent at the waist. A vague memory of Aidan showing us a video of someone watching the front of my apartment.
“Chaos.” He grabbed for my hand, but I twisted away.
