My stomach clenched. “I don’t actually think I can do that.”
Her face fell, and I felt like I’d kicked a puppy.
People always wanted to shop with me. I never really wanted to, but I’d gotten used to it.
“Want to?” Zeke tilted his head.
I nodded. I wouldn’t mind taking a break from how confusing he was to my emotions. I hated shopping, but at least I knew how to do it. “Can’t.”
Zeke reached into his pocket and pulled out a credit card before sliding it over to me. I stared at it. He’d said he would pay for me while I was here. But still I didn’t want to go shopping on his dime like it was nothing at all. I took it just in case, but I wasn’t going to spend money. I’d go with them, but I wouldn’t buy for me. That was always fairly easy to get away with. No one really wanted to shop with me for me. It was for them. And I was glad to help.
I turned toward Zeke. “Is it okay? Honey?”
“Sure.” His mouth twitched. “Danette, you have my address? You’ll have her back by three? I need her tonight. So, she has to get ready.” His gaze fell to me again. “Don’t be gone too long, princess. I’ll miss you too much if you spend the whole day away.”
I wanted to roll my eyes at myself. He didn’t mean it. I wasn’t his princess any more than he was my honey. Even if I wished such a life could exist.
Chapter Fourteen
Danette knew all the best thrift shops in town, and she and her friend Mariana were very lively and fun. Every once in a while, Mariana and I stumbled in the language department. French wasn’t her first language, she’d actually been born in Portugal and English was her third language. Considering I couldn’t speak anything but English, I wasn’t one to judge. I think they found me cute, despite their being two years younger than me, and we all got on just fine. By the end of the excursion, they’d bought every designer thing they spotted in the stores and really didn’t need my help at all in selecting their clothing, which was good since I absolutely was not in the mood to play stylist.
I was too worked up about Zeke. By the tenth selfie the girls and I took, I was over that, too. It wasn’t like I minded. I didn’t have friends who didn’t want to pose with me. That was just how it went. But I was cranky, sore from my run—which was getting worse by the moment—and flustered.
What did it mean that he kept kissing me and then changing his mind? Or maybe he just went around kissing lots of people. That woman from the first day in the café had certainly made it seem like he was love them and leave them.
Four days or something like that.
Maybe I should feel lucky he seemed so pseudo-disinterested. But fuck. I wasn’t uninterested. I wanted his attention. I wanted to feel his hard muscles push down on me in the bed. I wanted his mouth on my nipples. I wanted to lick the sweat off his body.
I shook my head. This kind of thinking really didn’t help anything. If I didn’t want him to kiss me and get me all worked up, I would simply tell him to keep his hands to himself. And I would stay out of his bed to avoid any future embarrassments when my guard was down in the morning.
No more muss, no more fuss.
We were getting ready to leave the store when I stopped abruptly. It had been a long time since a shirt caught my attention the way the one in front of me did. It was a plain white T-shirt with the word $5 Graphic Tee Shirt across the front. I grinned. The meta-irony of that was sort of fantastic. Maybe it was kind of dumb, but it was sort of perfect in its ridiculousness. I had to have it.
I rushed over and grabbed it. I didn’t own anything like it. What would I pair it with? I was going to need jeans. That was great. This place had that, too. Oh, and then there was a really cute bunch of socks with cats on them. When was the last time I had wanted to shop? Well, I’d never had the option to own clothes like this.
This stuff was cheesy, not the latest fashion, and no one was going to want to emulate me for wearing them, but I had to have this stuff. For the first time in a long while, it felt like I had found something that spoke to me. I might have finally done what people bought my book to learn, I might have found my fashion.
And it was pure, undiluted vintage cheese meshed with irony and ridiculousness. I’d never have guessed it.
Oh, there was a picture on that T-shirt of a soda that said Don’t Drink Soda and another one that said This Shirt Sucks. I laughed. This was fantastic. Some of them were in French. I skipped over them. Whoever had selected their English graphic tees had really made my day.
Forget Zeke. This was fun.
Danette dropped me off outside of Zeke’s house and gave me a hug. She wanted to do this again sometime, but I was done with clothes shopping for a while. I walked past the guard, waving at him, and entered the house. I wondered if there would ever come a time I didn’t flinch at the downstairs. As far as I could tell, outside of the kitchen, Zeke spent almost no time there at all.
And I didn’t blame him one bit. It was awful.
I carried my few bags upstairs. Zeke was yelling on the phone with someone, and I winced. That did not sound like happiness. My stomach clenched. I’d missed a meal. It really was amazing how quickly I’d adjusted to this constant eating.
Quickly—because I’d been practically giddy to put on my new clothes the whole ride home—I changed into my jeans. They had ripped holes in the knees. I was pretty sure they’d been designed that way because they were too symmetrical to be manmade. Then I put on my $5 T-shirt. It had cost the equivalent of two American dollars.
There was some sort of crazy irony in that, too. Really, I was enjoying this way too much.
I finally looked down at my phone. I had messages from my sisters. A lot of them. And one from Justin, plus one from Kit. My stomach clenched. It was the last two that made me avoid the phone.
Unable to even open the app to see what they said, I scrolled through my social media presence instead. There I was. Kissing Zeke on the dance floor. Great. He’d be getting what he wanted. My father had to be hearing about this and reacting soon. If he hadn’t already. Maybe that was why Zeke was yelling.
I put on my sneakers and braided my hair into two long braids à la Heidi because I felt like it and it let me avoid my messages for a few minutes later. Lip gloss seemed to complete the outfit, so I put some on, too.
With a sigh, I finally looked at what had been sent to me.
You’re making out with Zeke! That was Hope. She messaged a few minutes later. Holy. Fucking. Shit. I mean…Layla, I am speechless.
I grinned and texted her back. Long story, but yes, I am making out with him. There was more to say, and I’d say it later when this little experiment to get under my father’s skin was over. Then she could hear the whole frustrating tale.
Bridget was next. Layla! You’re dating Zeke? I saw your post. Be careful with him. He’s not an easy person. I think he has a secret history. Well, she was right about that. Mom killed herself, lived in foster care. He did some things to survive he’d probably not like to talk about, except apparently with me. Although, if anyone could bring someone’s heart around, it would be you. You always were the most loving and kindest of all of us.
I stared at her words. Hope was usually the one to talk about emotions. But Bridget had it wrong. Hope was the one who was the kindest and most overtly loving. I was always a little bit lost.
Not true. I texted her back. Most days I don’t know which way is up with emotions. I just left my fiancé at the altar.
With my back steeled, I played with one of my braids and forced myself to look at Justin’s message.
I hate you.
That was all it said. He hated me. Rage surged through me before I forced myself to cool it down. He hated me? What on Earth could I have done to have earned that? I didn’t do anything to him.
I flipped over to the message from Kit and groaned. He had a woman naked beneath him. And beneath the picture were the words you’re a slut.
For half a second, I wondered who had taken that pho
to, but then it quickly moved on to more important things. I was a slut and my brother hated me.
I threw my phone down on the bed so hard it bounced into the air before hitting my pillow. Maybe I should have done it harder and let it crack on the floor. Then no one could contact me at all.
I left the room before I could overthink it and went to the kitchen. There had to be food. I wasn’t eating for hours. Zeke hadn’t told me that, but this was France, they ate later than Americans. I needed something to tide me over. Not eating wasn’t going to happen on the days that I ran.
And yes, I planned to do it again. Even hated sluts could run to take care of their stress.
I opened the fridge. A plate was wrapped, and I took it out, knowing immediately it wasn’t for me. It was a salad with chicken the chef had made for Zeke. How did I know? It was very specific. Dressing on the side, chicken cooked until it was blackened. It didn’t look like something made for me.
He hadn’t eaten lunch.
Well…that wasn’t good. A hungry Zeke was going to be even more unpleasant than a well-fed Zeke. I set his plate down on the counter and grabbed some cheese and meat I found in a drawer. He really liked cheese. Cutting off a bit for myself, I ate mine with some crackers quickly before I downed some water. That was enough food. I was hungry, but that didn’t mean I had to overeat.
I grabbed some of the cheese for Zeke, put it on another plate, and poured him the last of a wine he’d corked in the fridge. On quiet feet, I headed upstairs and knocked on his door.
“What?” he yelled in response, and I cracked it open.
Before he could holler at me to go away, I held up the plates and glass I was doing a rather poor job of balancing. I was, however, determined not to spill. “Brought your lunch.”
He sat at his desk staring at me for a long second before he nodded. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. But I wanted to.” I smiled again and set it down on a clear portion of his desk. “See you later.”
I would have left, but he stopped me with his words. “You look really, really pretty. When did you get that? Or is it something you brought with you?”
Damn it. He’d made me flutter inside. “I got it today. I used your card. But it was cheap. I could pay you back, probably.”
“Don’t.” He took a bite of the salad and then stared at the cheese. “Did Henry give me this cheese?”
“No, that was me. I know you really like cheese, and I thought it might make the salad more exciting.”
He took a large bite. “You’ve made my day. You have no idea. How was the shopping?”
“It was good, actually. I got some things I love.” I headed toward his door. “Enjoy your lunch. Oh, we’re all over social media so there must be some kind of response coming. If my dad is going to screw up, it must be coming. That kiss from last night was genius.”
He set down his fork. “What?”
“The kiss. On the dance floor. You clearly did it for the cameras. We’re everywhere. So good work.” Look at me being breezy and acting like I didn’t care.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I didn’t kiss you for some cameras. Is that what you think?”
No, it hadn’t been until he’d turned me down this morning. I shrugged. Lightweight and easy going. That was the name of the game. “See you later, Zeke.”
I left him sitting there and closed the door behind me. I didn’t know what game I was playing or even what the rules were, but I’d just scored points if, for no other reason, I’d let him think I could care about nothing, too. When this was over, and I went on to whatever was next, I’d have the ability to pretend better than I ever had before. And that had to count for something.
I went back to my room and climbed onto the bed.
There were more messages. Hope and Bridget had both answered, and of course one more for Justin. The truth was that I deserved Kit’s anger. Maybe I’d been wrong in assuming his feelings for me were as negative as mine were for him. Maybe I had hurt him a lot. I’d embarrassed him, that was for sure. But it wasn’t like he’d come to find me and ask me what had happened. It wasn’t as though he’d begged me to give us another chance.
I’d take his abuse. I deserved it. However, Justin was a mystery. Why was he doing this to me?
You’ve always thought you were better than the rest of us.
I laughed, but it wasn’t from amusement. I wasn’t better than anyone. I was just the opposite. The one who couldn’t find her way, even with pointed directions.
I lay down on the bed. Was gravity somehow suddenly stronger?
It felt like it was going to push me over, keep me from being upright ever again. I rolled over and pressed my face into the pillow. I’d just stay like this until I had to get beautiful for dinner again.
That was my role in life after all.
A knock sounded, and the door opened before I could say come in. What was the point of knocking? I managed to roll over to see Zeke standing in the door frame.
“I want to talk about what you just said.”
I groaned. “Okay.”
“I…” His voice trailed off. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I grabbed the pillow and covered my face with it. So much for my little win a minute ago. He was going to lay into me now, and I was going to take it because I didn’t want to go back to New York yet. Those were my choices. Here. Or New York.
The bed sagged where he must have sat down on it next to me. “Layla?”
I moved the pillow. “My brother.”
“What about him?” Zeke’s voice was hard. “What is he doing to you? He’s already abandoned you in Paris, leaving you penniless after stealing from you.”
I wanted to groan again, but that wasn’t an answer. Instead, I handed him my phone. He could see all the things that everyone sent me and that was fine. I had no secrets. Nothing I was saying to Hope or Bridget was anything I shouldn’t. I was keeping our deal just fine.
He stared at it for a second, looking at Justin’s message, his jaw hardening while he did. A second or two later he swiped his finger over it, and I had no idea who he was looking at now. I closed my eyes. Let him have at my phone.
“Just give me a few minutes to collect myself, and then I’ll start to get pretty enough to go to dinner. I need to put this away wherever I shove these things inside of me for my future nervous breakdown.”
He was so quiet, I wondered if I’d imagined him being there to begin with. “Layla.”
I forced my eyes open, braced for this to get worse. “Go for it. Whatever you need to say, say it.”
“I’m sorry your brother is so sick. And I’m sorry that he’s taking it out on you. My mother, who killed herself, was an addict. I mean, I didn’t understand that at the time, but I figured it out eventually when I reexamined things. I don’t think… I mean, I don’t think this is Justin in his right mind. I knew him a little bit years ago when he interned at the company. He was a nice guy. This seems like…like it’s the illness, the addiction, the drugs, not Justin.”
I didn’t know my brother well enough to make that statement. “I’ve never… He and I aren’t close. We never have been. And he’s very preoccupied with sending me mean messages.”
Zeke sighed and lay back on the bed next to me. “Probably because he feels guilty. He knows what he did. And he’s redirecting it right back onto you. Now Kit, on the other hand? I could take care of this problem for you.”
I laughed. “I would think you were past the I’ll-beat-up-your-ex phase of life.”
“I’m not going to beat him up. I’m going to have someone find him and make it stop.”
I shook my head. “As for Kit, I think he gets to do this for a little bit. He gets to hurt me if he wants to.”
“No, sweetheart, he doesn’t.” He rolled over to look at me. “Don’t change your clothes. We’ll go somewhere else for dinner. Some place where you can stay right as you are. I love it.” He tugged on the end of my braid.
“It’s somehow…very you.”
“That’s how I felt about it. Jeans and a T-shirt. Who would have thought it? I can have any clothes in the world, and this is all I want to wear from now and forever.” I shrugged. “Or maybe just for today.”
He smoothed his thumb over my bottom lip. “I didn’t kiss you for the cameras. I forgot that was a possibility in that moment. Oh, but before I forget, I did talk to your publisher today. He is emailing you five ideas for you to write a book about. Or collaborate on one. However you want to do it. They’d love to have you back.”
I nodded. That made sense. I supposed. That was what I had done to make a living in the past, and maybe I could make that work again. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. That’s the deal, right. You help me, I help you.”
I put out my hand. “Put her there, partner.”
He took my outstretched offering, but he brought it to his mouth and kissed it. “We’ll take my motorcycle to dinner.”
“Then you can’t drink. That’s no fun for you.”
“Looking at you across the table is plenty fun, gorgeous.”
I rolled my eyes at him. That was a line if I ever heard one. “Whatever you want.”
He stroked my hair off my face. “Layla, in all seriousness, you haven’t done anything to deserve that kind of hate from your brother. I like that his texts are what bother you and not that scumbag Kit. But you don’t deserve his either. If I had a fiancée and she ran from the altar, I would chase her. I would at least find out why and try to fix what had terrified her. He ran off with your brother and left you to fend for yourself. Not that I should be talking. I’m never getting married, so I won’t have that problem.”
“I’m going to adopt your philosophy in life. I’m going to decide that I’m simply not getting married and be done with the whole thing.”
He snorted, which was a funny noise coming from him. “You are entirely the type of person to fall in love and get married forever. You are made for that.”
Redhead On The Run (RedHeads Book 1) Page 16
