Page 60 of Villains Are Made


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This lie involves Daphne.

She deserves better than me. I’m not my brother, and I don’t know how to be married. I don’t know how to give her much more than sex. I try to stop working for our meals so I can give her some attention and learn about the woman I can’t get enough of, but my mind struggles to focus. I have yet to do anything with her that couples would do. There is no wining and dining. No sweet gifts. No “honey I’m home.” My life consists of fucking and working. Olympus Manor is giving us a bubble of security from the rest of my family, and I’m loving the seclusion. Not a terrible life for me, but I also believe Daphne deserves better.

I have to keep thinking about what Apollo would do. Not what I would do. No doubt he’d do more than just fuck and work. Though it sounds like they weren’t doing a lot of fucking. Regardless, I need to remind myself that I am a married man and need to act accordingly or there is a chance Daphne may discover my dark secret.

“Daphne,” I call out, finally deciding that it’s time I take a break.

She must have been near the study because she pads barefoot into the room holding a dishtowel in her hand. She wears jeans and a white t-shirt and has never looked sexier. Casual and comfortable is a good look on her.

With one eyebrow raised, she asks, “Do you need something? Dinner isn’t for a couple of hours. I still need to start it.”

“Don’t,” I say. “Let’s go into town. It’s about time I take you on a date.”

“A date?” she asks as a smile grows on her face. “Really?”

“We haven’t gone into town unless you want to count The Vault. Have you ever eaten at Ghost Pines?”

“No never. It’s so… Ghost Pines was too expensive for me to ever go when I lived here.”

“It has the best seafood I’ve ever had. It also has a prime rib that is to die for. We can share a bottle of wine and make a romantic evening out of it.”

“Yes!” she replies fast. Maybe a little too fast, which tells me that the poor girl is desperate for some attention, and probably to get out of the house. She and I had taken some walks together on the grounds, but I’m sure she’s getting a bit stir-crazy. “You don’t think it’s raining too badly to drive?”

I glance out the window to see that a steady rain is falling. “It’s fine. I don’t think the heart of the storm is supposed to come in until tomorrow night. This is minor. Do you think your sister can be left alone for a bit?”

Daphne smiles. “It’s cute that you worry about her. And yes, she’ll be fine. Maybe we can bring her home a piece of cheesecake or something.”

I look at her bare feet. “Go get some shoes on. We’ll leave now.”

I don’t have to say another word. Daphne spins on her heels and runs upstairs. I hear her excitement as she sprints up the staircase, and it reminds me of a child running down to a tree with presents underneath on Christmas morning.

The drive into town is fairly quiet. I hadn’t turned off my brain yet and am still, unfortunately, thinking about how I’m going to deal with my father and Athena when I see them. Fortunately, they both have left me alone, allowing me to deal with Daphne and to process everything that happened since the accident. I know they are doing it for two different reasons. Athena is giving me space because I asked for it. My father is giving the time I need to figure out how to keep this lie of becoming Apollo from blowing up in my face.

It’s getting easier by the day with Daphne. I’ve also been able to convince the staff at work via phone and email that I’m Apollo. Not an easy feat since numbers are not my strong suit, and I feel like I’m drowning in spread sheets and tax questions I have no idea how to answer. But I’ve yet to have to face anyone from our lives besides at the funeral, and I’m not sure when I’ll be ready.

When it comes to Daphne, I try to just listen to her talk. I try to take it all in. She’s caught me on a few more things that I’ve had to claim memory loss on, but for the most part, I’m able to fake my way through conversations. But we also haven’t really been in an intimate situation like sitting in a car by each other heading to a date. So, I’ve just been driving and allowing silence to swarm around us. Though it doesn’t seem that Daphne minds. She just sits in her seat and listens to music as the foggy forest passes us by. The roads aren’t bad, and nothing my Jeep can’t handle. I have no concerns that we have to rush back. We can enjoy a nice evening out. We both deserve it.

“I should have taken you here for this dinner sooner,” I say as my eyes quickly lock with hers. “I apologize for that.”

“No need. We only came to Heathens Hollow for family gatherings and parties. It’s not like we had the opportunity.”

“But is it something you would have liked to do?” I ask as I put my eyes back on the road.

“Of course. Ani and I used to fantasize what it would be like to eat there. It’s fancy, but not snooty. Ghost Pines was sort of that marker for people. If you could afford to eat there, then you made something of yourself. I—”

“I wish you would have told me this. Your dreams should be granted,” I interrupt. “Especially something as simple as taking you to a nice seafood and steak restaurant.”

“I’ve never been good at opening up,” she confesses. “Sometimes dreams need to just stay dreams.”

I glance over and reach for her hand. “Not anymore. You're my wife and the very least I can do is start granting some of them.”

When we reach Ghost Pines, I pull up at the entrance to drop Daphne off so she doesn’t have to walk through the parking lot in the rain. “I’m going to park. Go ahead and put our name in.”

ChapterThirty-Two

Daphne

I’ve never eaten prime rib before. I don’t want to admit this fact to Apollo. High society women in Seattle—and I’m assuming the rest of the world—seem to only eat dainty fish dishes, salads, or maybe the occasional chicken breast. No woman I ever met would dare sit at a table and eat a big slab of fatty meat. But that’s exactly what I’m doing. Apollo hadn’t given me much of a choice since he ordered for the both of us. But I can’t say I’m upset by that fact. Growing up an Eastsider, eating at Ghost Pines was never an option. Not even on a special occasion could we even dare walk into a place like this.

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