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No one is on my side anymore.
I don’t know if I want to slap him, scold him, or kiss him. He’s confusing the ever-living fuck out of me while simultaneously pushing my maternal buttons.
But… in a good way. Because hardened mob boss, crime lord, whatever he is—he’s also everything I’ve ever wished Willow could have in a father. Someone who laughs with her, gets silly with her, treats her seriously enough to let her into his world. Someone who protects her with every fiber of his beingand doesn’t act like she’s bothering him even when she almost certainly is.
Someone who still makes mistakes as a parent but does his best to get it right, even when he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.
Demyen’s everything I could ever want for Willow.
I just can’t figure out who or what he is forme.
One minute, he’s romancing me with sweet words and promises and treating me like a goddess in his bed. The next, I’m the scum of the earth, the bane of his existence. But then I’m someone he cares for again. At least, until I’m someone he can use and abuse in front of his colleagues, which only lasts until I’m suddenly so valuable that he might actually kill a cop for me.
And then I’m a servant. Until I’m his partner, then his commodity, and then his girlfriend?
But I’m not, because it was a “one-time thing.”
Until it wasn’t.
And even then, he swerved back and forth between treating me like I’m the air he needs to breathe and treating me like I’m just one of his escorts “servicing” him.
The fucked-up part is how much I enjoyed it.
Yeah.Confusingdoesn’t even begin to cover it.
I’m buried deep in my thoughts while they order at the drive-thru. I only come back to reality in time to request a latte and old-fashioned. Demyen mutters, “Are you sure you don’t want something thick and creamy?”
To which I respond coolly, “Yeah. I’ll get that at home.”
The way he suddenly freezes makes my whole morning.
I make sure to request extra napkins. My maternal anxiety is in full swing and I turn in my seat to arrange several spread napkins over Willow’s lap. “Try not to get sprinkles everywhere,” I caution her.
“It’s fine. I’ll have it detailed when we get back,” Demyen assures me.
When the cashier hands us our donuts, my eyes bug out of my head. That unicorn confection is more frosting than donut. “Oh, Willow, sweetie, that’s going to get all over your face!”
Demyen hands me my latte and donut. “Here. Drink this. Calm down. Let the kid enjoy her special day. There are wet naps in the console.”
“But—”
“Clara.” His voice lowers into thedon’t argue with metone that somehow manages to make me obedient and wet at the same time. “It’s fine. Trust me. We only get one first day of kindergarten.”
Dammit. Here come the waterworks. And I was doing so good, too.
“I know. I just… I…”
He reaches for my hand and strokes his thumb over my fingers. Even though he’s driving, he glances at me a few times and squeezes my hand whenever he sees the tears. “Hey. You got this. We’ll pull up, take a few pictures, embarrass her withsmothering hugs and kisses, and then you can cry your heart out all the way back home. Okay?”
I sniffle and nod. “Okay.”
Something in my gut says the optimal route between Cake Castle and the Montessori school is much shorter than the one we actually end up taking, but I don’t say anything. Demyen keeps glancing in the rearview mirror and only when Willow’s licking up the last bits of frosting from her fingers does he turn down a road that actually leads to the school.
My heart hurts. I don’t know if I can handle this. Between Willow starting school and Demyen beingthis, my heart hurts so much. All I want to do is cry until I crash.
61
CLARA
