AllFreeNovel
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“I can’t decide,” I admit with a sigh.
“Gin is fine for cocktails, but all we need for the whiskey is a few ice cubes.”
Good point. I grab the whiskey and two tumblers before heading back to the kitchen. “How about a twenty-four-year-old Irish?”
That killer smile makes another appearance, and my legs go weak. I need a distraction and find it inside the second pantry fridge where Beatrice keeps specialty items that Daddy requests, like the fancy round ice balls. I pick up two and drop them in the tumblers and smile as I pour two healthy servings.
“How’s this for ice?” I hand one to Lucky and keep the other for myself.
“Smells expensive,” he says and takes a sip, groaning as the taste bursts on his tongue. “Tastes really fucking expensive.”
I laugh. “It probably is, but who gives a shit when none of this is real anyway?”
“It is real.” His smile fades. “Just because Geoffrey is living a lie doesn’t mean your life is a lie. This is your home. It’s where you grew up.”
I shrug. “It’s all I remember, but I’m not sure if it’s home.” I look away because it all feels so foreign now, like a puff of smoke that might disappear at a moment’s notice.
Lucky says, “Home is where you feel like you belong,” and he picks up a large black skillet to place on the small table in the kitchen. “Dinner is served, Princess.”
I refill the drinks and bring our plates to the table. “I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “No time like the present to change that, then.” He takes a seat and smiles. “Dig in.”
We take a few bites, and a smile spreads across my face. “This is good. I approve.”
I can feel his gaze on me, heating my flesh and pulsing through my veins.
“Thanks,” he says. “Not too spicy?”
“Nope,” I say and stuff another bite into my mouth.
“How are you feeling? I mean, really?”
I sigh and take a long, fortifying sip of whiskey, letting the smooth sting of the alcohol work its way down to my toes. The alcohol loosens my muscles, which has the unfortunate effect of making all my feelings rush to the surface.
“I’m angry and hurt, Lucky. I’m so fucking confused. I don’t know what to do with myself. Everything I know is a lie.”
He drops his fork, and it clangs against the plate.
“That’s bullshit, Aria. What you know about your father and your mother is a lie. To be fair, that’s true of most children. You are not a fucking lie. I’m sitting right here looking at you, and I see the bitchy edges, the soft center, and the vulnerability you mask with grade-A sarcasm. All of that? It’s fucking real.”
His words shock me, but the intensity of them touches me. No one has ever seen me, not truly. But for some reason, Lucky does.
“You know,” he continues as if he hasn’t just knocked me on my tight ass. “We might be able to find a way for you to talk to your father.”
My heart leaps at the vague promise, but next comes an immediate surge of anger.
“I don’t know if I want to talk to him. What would I say? What could he possibly say to make any of this better?”
“Nothing is going to make it better, Aria. But you might make some sense of it if you had some answers.”
Talking about Daddy depresses me. It makes me angry, and I don’t feel like being angry. I want to be happy, and the whisky is doing a good job along with the pasta dish and my present company.
Instead of wallowing, I push aside all thoughts of the man who’s lied to me since the day I was born and turn a sultry smile in Lucky’s direction.
“No one’s ever cooked for me before, well, no one who wasn’t paid to do it.”
“You’ve had a rough time of it lately, Princess, and you needed a night to be in your feelings. No pressure to look pretty or say the right things. And carbs. Loads of carbs.”
