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There’s a traitorous part of me that finds the relaxation kind of attractive, the absolute comfort in his own skin, the way he looks almost vulnerable like this. He doesn’t look perfect, and he’s not trying to use fancy clothes to show off who he is. He’s not existing for anyone but himself, and the way he doesn’t flinch and try and act like something else for me makes me feel good in a way I can’t explain.
There’s a trust there that I’ve definitely earned, but I’m not sure if I want it. It’s a trust that binds me to him like a contract, a contract I can’t figure out how to break.
The rest of me, though, feels an absolute fury course through me, an unbridled rage at his brazen display of uncaring. I should never have agreed to this. I should have known moving into his house for a month would be ruinous for everything. Before this, I did respect him. I found him arrogant and annoying, but I respected everything he worked for.
Now he’s showing me exactly what kind of man he is, and I hate that he won’t change even when I’m on my knees begging.
So, finally, I let him have it.
“You are the most selfish, arrogant, self-obsessed person I have ever had the misfortune to know.”
He stares at me, utterly dumbfounded, his mouth wavering as he tries to comprehend what I’m saying to him. So, I continue.
“For the last two weeks, you’ve acted like the world is falling apart around you just because your brother asked you for a favor. Do you have any comprehension of how much trust your brother is even putting in you? You think you can just pay your way into getting whatever you want — and unfortunately we live in the kind of world where that’s probably true. But it’s not true forme. I am so sick of being your servant, of being the person you can kick around and force to work longer hours than is technically legal and treat like absolute garbage. I’msotired of it, Lucas.” My voice cracks, so I pause to take a breath, shaking all over with adrenaline and raw emotion.
Lucas uses this as his chance to get a word in. “Where is this coming from? What’s happened to you? I thought youlikedyour job.”
I let out a hoarse laugh. “You’ve just proved my point. Have you ever for a single second stopped to think about how much I do for you? Have you ever thought about how hard any of this is for me? Have you ever even thought about me atall?”
I pause to give him a chance to defend himself again, but this time the lame comebacks and the floundering leave him dry. He just stares at me and blinks, his brilliant blue eyes shining with an emotion I don’t think he’s ever felt before — guilt.
I should feel bad about that. Butsomeoneneeds to teach him how to be a human being, and no one else but me has it in themto stand up to him. I hesitate before I keep going, knowing that if I keep twisting a knife, I’m probably ruining whatever’s left of our professional relationship.
But he’s an honorable man, so I know he’ll pay me. Even if he hates me, he’ll still pay me. I might be wrecking our relationship, but at least I’ll be going with a hell of a bonus.
“Sophie,” he says, finally regaining the use of his mouth. But he’s too late. I haven’t got the slightest bit of interest in what he’s got to say to me now.
“Don’t bother,” I hiss, swallowing hard to fight back my tears. “You’ve got nothing to say to me.”
I spin around and rush out the door, ignoring him calling my name after me. Again, I feel tears choking me, threatening to make me look as pathetic as him. I hurry back to my room, close the door, and let out a huge sob.
Alone, I can afford to shed one or two tears.
When I finally regain my composure, I grab my laptop from the bedside table and fling it open. I open the tab with my emails and find the one I’ve left unread for days. It’s a job interview for the natural history museum. As an archivist, well, assistant archivist. I close my eyes and let myself imagine walking the halls of the museum every day, looking at the hundreds of exhibits they have on display, and then being allowed to see the ones they don’t show to the public.
The idea thrills me so much that, despite everything that’s just gone on, I feel light. Because if there’s one thing Lucas has taught me, it’s how to sound awesome in a job interview.
I click the email, skim over it, then begin to type my reply.
Thank you for getting in touch. I will be available for a meeting tomorrow at noon.
CHAPTER 14
LUCAS
Number twenty-seven takes an almighty swing at the ball. There’s a huge crack as the leather hits the wood, and the ball goes flying out into the stands. I cheer in triumph. “And that, my friends, is what they call a triple play.”
Sophie went out this morning, without explanation, forcing me to be alone with the kids. In an attempt to avoid them asking me to do any more crafts, I told them that I was going to teach them all about baseball. I put on the Yankees game from last night, and started explaining all the rules.
It’s going okay. I feel like they’re not quite getting all the nuances of pitcher-to-catcher communication, or the beauty of the diamond, and the way the lengths of its sides are all perfectly crafted so that ball and runner are in constant battle. But at least they’re sitting still. Honestly, that’s all I ask for at this point.
“Triple… so, that means they just scored three points?” asks Noah. He’s been watching the game more intently than his sisters, actually showing some interest in my fun baseball facts. Chloe keeps acting like she already knows the rules, which is blatantly untrue because she didn’t even know what a foul was.
I smile with pride. “Close. Not bad. It’s a triple because the bases were loaded, but they actually get four points because four men made it all the way around the field. You see — three on the bases plus the hitter.”
“Oh,” says Noah. “And we want them to win?”
“Don’t be stupid,” says Chloe. “Daddy says the Yankees are rubbish. Daddy says that no New York team is worth following. Daddy says the only baseball team worth watching at all is the Braves.”
