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He chuckles, running a hand through his blond hair. “Right. My bad. How ‘bout an elbow?”
“That works,” I say through a fake smile, lifting my elbow to touch his.
“Good.”
Deciding I can’t stomach food right now after that coversation, I toss the pizza back into the box. I go to leave, but he stops me again. “There’s something else I want to talk to you about.”
“Okay?”
“I don’t know exactly what happened upstairs, but Nix seemed grumpier than usual so you must’ve done a real number on him.” I can feel my face going red as memories of Marnix watching me masturbate flash through my mind. “He told me you’re refusing to go to the party with him on Friday.”
How much do I even say to his best friend? Do I tell him Marnix threatened me?
I decide not to, since he’s more likely to side with Marnix than me anyway. “We had a fight, and I told him no when he tried to control what I wear—yet again.”
“He’s an asshole, there’s no sugar-coating it. He likes to be in control, and he doesn't know how to handle it when people tell him no.”
“Well, he better get used to it, because I’m not his yes girl. I won’t bend over backwards just because Mr. Macho can’t handle a little shot to his fragile ego.”
“I know you aren’t, wild girl.” His eyes darken as my nickname slips through his lips. “But can you just go and play the doting wife? He needs you there. If you don’t show, that’ll be suspicious.”
“So if I don’t go to one event, they’re going to think this marriage isn’t real? Fucking hell, people have other plans. What, do they expect the wives to drop everything they’re doing and show up to every single event just to be boring arm candy?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what they expect.”
Of course they do. Rich pricks. Always thinking it’s better for women to be seen and not heard.
“Well, I won’t. If Marnix wanted me to, he should’ve asked nicely instead of threatening me.” I realize my mistake as the words leave my mouth.
Cohutta’s brows furrow. “Threatening you?”
“Forget about it. I won’t do it for him.”
He huffs, running his palm down his face. “Then do it for me. His family saved me from being dumped in a foster home. He’s had my back since we were kids. He’s demanding, moody, and has a shit attitude, but not everything is as it seems. There’s more to him than you’ve been able to see, trust me.” The pain in his stormy gray eyes breaks all my restraints. “Please, Tara. I owe it to him to try and get you to go.”
“Did he ask you to do this?” I fucking hate being guilt-tripped into doing things. It’s a huge pet peeve of mine, but the somber look in Cohutta’s eyes is enough to make my chest ache. I’m imagining him as a broken kid getting saved by Marnix’s family, and it tugs at my heartstrings. This is exactly why I hate guilt trips; now I’ll feel like an ass if I say no.
A pained, weak smirk pulls at his lips. “Do you actually think his pride would let him do that?”
“No,” I scoff.
“Exactly.”
I stare into his eyes for a minute. “Okay. I’ll do it. For you, not him. And don’t you ever try to guilt me into doing something again. Otherwise, I’ll punch you in the balls.”
Lord help me.
Cohutta grabs me, squeezing and spinning me. “Thank you, friend.”
A knot forms in my stomach hearing him call me his friend. I mean, we are friends, I guess, but it hurts in ways I never thought it would.
He lets me go, and I scoot around him, racing from the room so I can be alone with my thoughts.
I need to accept it. This is what I wanted.I wanted to push him away before he did it to me. I’m not even the relationship type. So why am I acting like my world is crumbling?
Excitement floods through me as I enter the foyer and that pristine white piano comes into view. What better way to forget about the stress than to lose myself in music. My hand lightly runs over the smooth surface of the fallboard, and I feel a smile light up my face.
Pulling out the bench, I slide in and sit down before opening the lid, exposing the keys. My fingers gravitate toward the black and white keys and automatically start playing, like I never stopped. I feel at ease—like I’m back at home—as my hands slick over the keys. All the anger and confusion falls away the more I play.
God, I’ve missed this.
When the restaurant is okay on its own one day, I’m going to buy myself a black Yamaha.
A slamming door stops me from playing. I turn to find Marnix staring back at me—he must’ve gone outside when he left, and I wonder how long he’s been standing there.
Clearing my throat, I slide the cover back over the keys and stand, carefully pushing the bench back in. My attention falls back to Marnix. His jaw is clenched, his muscles tight, but his blue eyes shine with something I’ve never seen before.
Right now, I can’t bring myself to tell him that I’ll go to that stupid party. I don’t want to ruin the carefree feeling that playing gave me. So I walk past him, heading back to hide in my room. I can tell he wants to say something to me, but doesn’t.
I’m glad he doesn’t. I need to be as far away from him as I can.
