by Penny Reid
When my mother was alive, she’d make us dance with her, all us boys, mostly when we were just littles. I’d escaped early because I could play the guitar. Cletus was excused when he taught himself the banjo. Beau and Duane, Jethro and Roscoe never admitted it, but they loved it. Duane probably most of all; out of all of us, he was the best dancer, Jethro a close second. I’d never wanted to dance. It made me feel foolish, being taught, having to follow until I could lead.
But in this moment, more than anything, more than taking my next breath or seeing another sunrise, I wanted to dance with Scarlet. Just once. I wanted to hold her while she moved, I wanted my hands on her body and her beaming smile in my face and her joyful eyes on mine. I wanted her to teach me how to dance.
And then she caught me.
She yelped, jumping back against the counter and gripping it, her eyes round and startled.
“Oh goodness.” She chuckled nervously after a prolonged second. “You scared the pickles outta me.”
I dropped my eyes and clamped my jaw shut, feeling just how much of a creeper I was when the heat of embarrassment scrambled up my neck to my temples. It was the first time I’d blushed since I was a teenager, I reckon. Good thing I had the beard to hide the worst of it.
“Sorry I scared you.” Even though I’d cleared my throat, the words came out gruff as I strolled into the kitchen.
Taking the tray to the sink, I noted how she backed up at my approach to give me a wide berth, and then she backed up further, as though looking for the nearest exit. A humorless laugh escaped me. The level of Scarlet’s commitment to keeping her distance was as absurd as it was infuriating.
Twisting over my shoulder, not meaning to glare at her, though that’s likely what I did, I snapped, “You don’t need to leave. I’ll be done in just a minute.”
Her lips in a thin, straight line, all signs of her earlier joyful abandon locked up tight, she said, “Fine.” Her lashes flickered, her eyes falling like she found it difficult to look at me.
Turning back to the sink, I flipped on the faucet and pointed out the obvious, “You don’t have to leave every time I walk into a room.”
The press of her eyes on my back, I sensed her drift closer. “I’m just trying to obey your wishes.”
I felt my lips curve into a grimacing smile. “Obey.” No. Scarlet had never obeyed me. Not once.
“That’s right, Your Royal Highness,” she said sweetly, moving into my peripheral vision where several ingredients had been spread out on the counter. “I exist only to respond to your commands, didn’t you know?”
What I knew was, even though her words were meant to be sarcastic, they had an arousing effect. And that, too, struck me as absurd and infuriating.
Which was probably why I growled, “Oh yeah? Then jump.”
She smacked her palm on the counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her turn and face me. “How high?” she asked flatly.
I stilled, giving her a quick glance. Scarlet was scowling at me with all the intensity of an inferno. I blinked. I turned off the faucet, setting the plate I’d been washing to the side, and wiped my hands dry on the towel by the sink. Leaning my hip—my good hip—against the counter, I crossed my arms and studied this gorgeous and angry woman.
The problem with Scarlet was, no matter how she was looking at me, I found her endearing. Disdain, anger, sadness, joy, shyness, apprehension, frustration—made no difference. Just her looking made me want to draw her closer.
“Something on your mind, Scarlet?” Since I was already looking at her, I indulged in a moment to study the woman. Her skin was too pale, had no color, especially given it was summer in Italy, and she had faint smudges of gray under her eyes. She’s not getting enough sleep.
“You . . .” She lifted her chin, crossing her arms too, like she was locking a shield into place, and began again, “I am not a carpet. Folks don’t get to just wipe their feet on me, not anymore. I’m done with that.”
What? “Carpet?”
“You’re irritating is all.”
“Oh? Is that all?” I asked quietly.
This, her anger, was so much safer than her softness; I could be near her without losing anything but my temper. I could talk to her without hoping for more later. It would be a simple exchange of furious words, and then it would be over, and I wouldn’t have to dream about or wish for something impossible.
“Yes. I mean, you tell me to keep my distance, so I do.” She flung her hands in the air. “Then you come down here and try to make me feel foolish for keeping my distance.”
“I made you feel foolish?”
She dropped her voice and her accent, and said, “‘Stay away from me, Scarlet. Oh, wait. Obviously, I didn’t mean leave.’”
I smiled at her impression of me, just a small one, a slight curve of the lips. I didn’t smile to make her angry, I swear. It was just so funny, and she was so frickin’ cute.
But given how her eyelids lowered and her eyes glittered, she didn’t find my smile amusing.
“You know what I think?” Her tone dripped with venom. “I think you like playing with people, making them dance to your tune and then changing it. You’re engaged, but it’s fake. You’ll always want me, until you don’t. You want to talk, but only about subjects that you want to talk about. You’ll always be there for me, until I don’t do exactly what you want exactly when you want it, or until a damsel in distress comes along who needs Billy Winston’s white horse. You’re in love with whatever or whoever you can’t have, but as soon as—"
Enough.
Without thinking, I advanced on her. She backed up, her eyes widening, but she scrambled just two steps before seeming to remember herself. Balling her hands into fists, Scarlet set her arms straight at her sides and angled her chin as I invaded her space.
“Honey,” I rough-whispered so I wouldn’t shout, my arms falling so I could get closer to her, “if I thought you would ever actually give yourself to me, if I could have you, really and truly have you, I’d take you. Right now. Right here.”
Scarlet seemed to swallow around something thick, her eyes darting between mine and then to my mouth, her lips parting.
God in heaven, I wanted to kiss her. As close as I was, I could feel the heat of her skin, the restless energy of her body, and I wanted that bossy mouth of hers, I wanted those full lips, I wanted.
“But no one can ever have you,” I continued, the truth a bucket of ice water to the fire in my veins. Grit in my voice, I spoke what I knew was the truth. “Because you’re in love with hating yourself.”
She flinched, her eyes flashed, and I knew I’d hurt her as she volleyed in a suspiciously unsteady whisper, “Oh yeah? Well you’re in love with hating me.”
Her blow met its target, a stab right to the heart as regret coated my tongue sour. What was I doing?
Stop this.
I needed to stop trying to hurt her as a way to make myself matter to her, which was exactly how my father operated, and which was exactly what I’d just done. The only difference was, Darrell did it with ease, with no discomfort to himself. Whereas every time I lashed out at Scarlet, it was like cutting off one of my own limbs so I could witness her distress.
I was not this person. It was sick and it was wrong, and it needed to stop.
But before I could absorb the blow fully, before I could put distance between us, apologize for being despicable and leave her in peace once and for all, Scarlet’s face crumpled and she choked out, “I just want you to stop hating me.”
And then, from somewhere behind me, my brother Cletus’s voice said, “Am I interrupting something?”
Chapter Eight
*Billy*
“After a good dinner one can forgive anybody, even one's own relations.”
Oscar Wilde, A Woman of No Importance
“Did it ever occur to you, one way or another, you and Scarlet are going to have to get along?”
I gave my brother a patient look, he hated that. “It’s pa
st one in the morning, Cletus. Go to bed.”
Cletus and his wife Jenn, Beau and his lady Shelly, Ashley, her husband Drew, and their daughter Bethany had arrived, the plane touching down just two hours ago. I’d been told they were coming tomorrow, but apparently, I’d been told wrong.
Scarlet had seized upon Cletus’s sudden arrival, running past me, to him, into his arms for a big hug. Meanwhile, he’d glared at me over her shoulder. He’d taken his index and middle finger of one hand, pointed to his own eyes, and then pointed to me, mouthing, “I’m watching you.”
The next several moments were a flurry of activity, during which Scarlet evaded me by offering to show folks where they were sleeping and helping with bags. Jenn bustled in as Scarlet left and before I knew it, I had an apron on and was helping her finish the recipe Scarlet had started for some sort of dark chocolate cookies.
Then, with the deft grace and charm of a professional Cletus-handler, the exceptionally short woman escorted me to my bedroom, smiled at me patiently with her blinding smile and bluish-purplish eyes, and left me with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies. But before she left, she’d placed a kiss on my forehead like I was a twelve-year-old.
And then, perplexed by what precisely had just happened, I’d turned and found my brother. Cletus. Lying on top of my bed with his hands behind his head. Which brings us to now.
Sitting up, Cletus skootched to the edge of my mattress and leaned forward, staring—but not glaring—at me, setting his elbows on his knees. “Here’s how it is: Duane and Beau are her brothers through her momma. Jethro is her best friend, Sienna and Scarlet are two boxes of wine away from forming a sister-wife commune. Jessica and Scarlet have been friends for going on seven or so years and Scarlet is one of the few people who can actually make Shelly laugh. Plus, according to Shelly, Scarlet naturally speaks in odd-numbered sentences, whatever that means. Point is, they’re close. It’s just a matter of time before Scarlet charms the pants off Simone like she’s done with Jenn and Ashley and Drew. Are you following the trail I’m leaving?”
Strolling to the desk, I set down the milk and cookies, crossed my arms and turned to face my brother. “You’re pointing out that Scarlet and I will see each other during various family functions.”
“Correct.”
“And, therefore,” I continued reasonably, “I need to be nice to her.” I knew that already, and tonight—after watching her face crumple and feeling a part of my soul shrivel at the sight—I’d finally accepted it. I would be nice. I would be so damn nice. I’d be a saint.
But then Cletus said, “No, Billy. Not nice. Nice is for tea parties and doctor’s visits. You need to woo her.”
I blinked once. “Woo her.”
“That’s right. You need to woo the pants off her, hopefully literally, and then make that woman yours. Permanently. Once and for all. Put a ring on it. Woo is where it’s at. Jenn still has the centerpieces from our wedding if you’d like to borrow them.” During this enlightening monologue, he’d moseyed over and picked up the glass of milk and a cookie, dunked the cookie into the milk, and then took a bite just as he’d finished his listings of delusions.
“That’s never going to happen.”
“Why not? Those centerpieces are lovely. You don’t know your color scheme yet. Ask Scarlet before you decide.”
I ground my teeth. “Scarlet and I are never going to happen, Cletus.”
He shook his head firmly. “I’m disappointed in your lack of ambition, Billy. I thought we’d be on the same page. But I see now, I’m going to have to take a tough love approach.”
“Cletus—”
“I’m going to give you one chance,” he said, then pushed the rest of the cookie in his mouth and spoke around it as he continued, “One more chance is all you get. I’ve waited long enough for this and you know my feelings on delayed gratification.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s overrated.” He took a gulp of milk and picked up another cookie.
“No, Cletus. One chance on what?”
“I’m giving you one chance. One.” He pointed the cookie at me. “Tomorrow, you’re going to go find her, apologize to her for whatever that kerfufflefuck was I walked in on. Tell her you were suffering from temporary insanity, hopped up on illicit drugs, abducted by asshole probing aliens, whatever. I’m giving you one chance to make this right, and if you don’t take it, you are not going to like what happens next.”
“Are you threatening me?” I asked steadily. I would’ve been amused if the subject matter had been different.
But Cletus knew. He knew my history with Scarlet. He knew what happened when she left the first time and how I’d struggled when she returned. He’d been the one to send her away when she came visiting, looking for me, wanting to be my friend.
But, then again, he didn’t know. He didn’t know I’d tracked her down on her college campus, hoping to convince her to leave Ben. He didn’t know how I’d met her week after week, pushing her to leave her fiancé—who I’d found out later was already her husband—pushing her to change her major from education to music, pushing her to grow wings and fly instead of willingly living her whole life in a cage built by Ben McClure. Cletus didn’t know how I’d fallen in love with her all over again, but grew to deeply resent her too.
He did, however, know that I’d tried to seduce her the night before her wedding. He’d driven me to her house and dropped me off, and he’d found me drunk on our family’s roof the next morning with a tattoo of a goat on my shoulder after she’d told me she’d rather sleep with a goat than with me.
“That’s right, I’m threatening you. I’m threatening you with your own happiness, so don’t give me your brown note stare-down face,” he said calmly, like I was the crazy one in this room and his words were meant to soothe.
“Cletus.” Equally as calm—outwardly—I leaned against the desk, half sitting, and gave him a tight smile. “Let it go. How many times do you have to learn the same lesson? You can’t control everybody. You can’t control every single situation. Scarlet and I are never going to happen. I’m finally starting to let it go, really and truly, and Lord knows Scarlet has been pushing me away for years. Let us both move on.”
Cletus narrowed his eyes on me. Watching me the whole time, he dunked the second cookie into the milk, took a bite, chewed, and then said, “Twenty-four hours. And if you don’t make matters right in twenty-four hours, then it’s on. It’s on like a hippy bong.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s on like a twelve-year-old mowing the lawn.”
“Are you—”
“It’s on like a prawn who yawns at dawn.”
Saying nothing, since he was in a mood to interrupt, I scowled at my brother. He scowled back. I opened my mouth, intending to ask if he was finished.
He held up a finger. “I got one more. It’s on like a Shaun White wearing a thong in the Yukon. Okay, go ahead.”
Despite myself, despite how deeply and thoroughly irritated I was, I fought a smile. “You’re not going to like what happens if you make another it’s on statement.”
“And you’re not going to like what happens if you force my hand. Yet, I reckon you’re also really going to like what happens if you force my hand. I figure it might cause a rift between us for a while, but that’s okay because in the end Scarlet’s happiness is what matters and your happiness is what matters. And with that, I bid thee a good night.”
He shoved the rest of the cookie in his mouth and picked up the plate with the remainder. Turning on his heel, he strolled to the door. I watched him go, knowing there was no talking him out of mischief once he set his mind to it. I’d just have to do my best to avoid the traps he sets. That’s all I could do.
“I hope you brought your knee pads,” he said, glancing over his shoulder once he reached the top of the steps. “You’re gunna need them for all that groveling.”
Dinner the next evening took place on the big stone terrace behind the house. Big planters w
ith red flowers that bees liked were set along the porch, and white jasmine grew up lattice set against the stone exterior of the villa. Every door to the house was open as the heat of the day had yielded to a mild evening and slight breeze. Between the food, night air, and the flowers, it smelled close to heaven.
Like all the tables in this place—in the kitchen, dining room, and this one here on the terrace—the massive piece of furniture accommodated all of us with three seats left to spare.
“For Jess’s brother, Roscoe, and Simone,” Ashley said, lifting her chin to the empty spots. “Next time.”
“Next time.” I held the bowl of pasta while she served herself a helping, looking beyond Drew—who sat across from me—engrossed by the sunset.
The sun hadn’t settled beyond the horizon, but almost. Those of us facing west weren’t bad off, the terrace had a retractable cloth awning, keeping the sun out of our faces for the most part. Plus, we had the view. An olive orchard sloping down to the valley, barley fields, vineyards, the Tuscan hills beyond, a dusk sky streaked with orange and pink.
“What’re you looking at?” Drew twisted in his seat to look over his shoulder, the sunset behind him had made a halo out of his longish blond hair. After pausing for a moment to inspect the view, he turned back to me, a slight smile behind his gray eyes. “Oh. That.”
“You want to sit here?” my sister asked her husband, taking the pasta and holding it so I could serve myself. “You folks along that side with your back to the sun are missing out. You have no view.”
“I have a view,” he said, splitting his attention between Ashley and cutting up the steak on his plate into tiny pieces for their daughter, Bethany. She’d insisted on sitting in her own seat and not on her daddy’s lap.
“Oh pshaw!” Handing the pasta to Beau on her other side, Ashley gestured to the sky behind Drew. “Look at that, just look at all that gorgeousness.”
