by Sunniva Dee
“I don’t know her,” she sniffled, nose pink, shiny from the tears.
“Kat,” I’d said, cupping her little face, “don’t be scared. She’s waiting for you. Remember, she loves you. The only reason she left us behind was that Dad would never have let her bring us.”
I shake my head at how hard I tried. God knows I had no idea what I was talking about. Still don’t. Can a mother who loves her children leave without as much as goodbye? Sure, he beat her senseless and didn’t touch me until she’d scrammed, but Kat was just a baby!
Fuck.
Kat had insisted I come along, but I was sixteen and outside my father’s house, Deepsilver was mine. I needed my sister safe, so I could leave his house. Be with my friends, do my karate—and never look back.
I strip my shirt off. Kick my jeans to the side and stride over to the stereo. Switch on the darkest power metal I own while I snatch my black karate pants from the chair and tug them on.
No use in reliving this shit again. I did for years after I got Kat to safety. All I know is that if it weren’t for our mother’s new husband, a bland little lawyer, Kat would’ve been forced back into my father’s custody at the snap of two fingers.
I start on a breakneck succession of explosive kicks. One after the other, my jabs, punches, and blocks slice through the air in the rhythmic dance of the katas. My heart rate speeds up, my chest swelling with the energy I release.
Over the years, whenever I received good news about my sister in SF, I’d recall my ingenuity at sixteen, how I got her on the flight first, then called Mom afterwards. I figured the damage would be done that way; Mom might as well own it—she’d be in trouble with Dad no matter what. Turns out she, or her new husband, agreed with me.
The death metal roaring out of the speakers fades, which works because I’ve calmed down enough to go for the speed bag. A dull throb in both fists from the heavy bag tells me I should grab gloves, but I’m not ready for pain relief yet.
Fast, hard, explosive. I stare at the punch ball as my hits make it blur. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.
A man is who he is thanks to his past, his talents, and his hard work. My father couldn’t beat me into submission. What he did was beat me quiet, controlled, and controlling. In my teenage years, once the world beyond our front door had become mine, I vowed never to turn into the lowly, sadistic man he was. I upheld that promise to myself with a single slip—my short-term ex, Pandora, whom I was fascinated with for a minute. I’ve stopped wondering how she tilted my world. Main thing is, I’ll never slip again.
The thuds and my low grunts are the only sounds in the room, until a timid knock on my apartment door interrupts me. I stop and blow out a few puffs. The mirrored wall reflects the wild look in my eyes.
I’m better. I’m better. I can tame the demons.
A moment later, I open the door with my chest still heaving. Arriane’s on the outside. She parts her lips, preparing for a question. She’s holding a set of wings and a handful of wands, wiggling them.
“Wings,” I observe. “You better this morning?” Her gaze runs down my body before returning to my face. Embarrassed, I’m guessing by her own perusal of me, she reddens.
“Hi, yes… I was just wondering about the National Tooth Fairy celebration in a week. We have some things left over from last year—this and a batch in the attic, but…”
Tooth fairy? Damn.
“But what? You want more fairy stuff?” I cut to the chase.
She bites her lip, like she’s acknowledging how silly this sounds. “Mmm, maybe?” Now, her eyes sparkle with amusement. Hell, I’m liking it when I can make those violet stunners sparkle.
“Come in. Have breakfast with me, and we’ll go over all the fairy needs.”
Arriane snorts as if she’s about to decline the offer. Pulls a long strand of inky black hair from her face. I need the distraction, though, so I grab her hand and pull her behind me into the kitchen.
“So.” I begin prepping the coffeemaker. Pour beans into the grinder and start filling water. “Do we need fairy dust? Glitter and shit? Or teeth.”
Arriane actually giggles. The sound trickles from her, making me think of random junk like mountain gulleys I’ve never even been to. I check her out behind me. Leaning against the backrest of the chair, she relaxes into her laugh.
I’m not used to women relaxing in my lair. This is Arriane, though. She fucking cleaned my apartment when she was too young to bartend for me, so—unless I tie her to my bed—she really should feel at ease in here.
“More wings, maybe some wigs,” she interrupts where my thoughts are going. Which is to the master suite with her body over my shoulder, ass close enough to bite.
I pop the lid back on and start the coffee. “Done deal. Get wings and wigs. How many—couple dozen each?” I’m ready to agree to whatever number she counters with. “Are you dressing us up?”
A strangled gasp comes from behind me, and I turn. What I find is Arriane sinking forward, laughing quietly, elbows on her knees and boobs trembling from her mirth. “Geez, Leon. You crack me up.”
New one.
“Why? What’s so funny?”
“Mm, picturing you and the guys as fairies.”
I feel like messing with her, so I send her a stern look. She responds immediately, pressing two fingers over her eyelids, trying to suppress the laughter. “Crap, sorry about that,” she mumbles.
“Right. So no dress-up.”
“Yeah. Ah, I’ll be using them for wall décor. Oh, and along the bar counter.”
I remain stone-faced, enjoying her discomfort for another moment. She’s getting nervous. Cute.
Sniffing, she sits up, trying to revert to serious.
I walk over.
“Anyway, were you working out?” she asks in an attempt to divert my attention.
“I was.” I drop in front of her, both hands on her knees. My sad excuse for a conscience whispers about power abuse and not to do this. “Gotta unload some energy.”
“Where’s Katsu?” Clearly rattled by my proximity, she’s aiming at deflection again.
“My sister’s visiting the old man in the hospital. Which is bullshit.”
“Why?” Arriane asks immediately. Her eyes meet mine from under her lashes. “He had a stroke, right?”
“Yeah. She hasn’t seen him in ten years—”
“That’s nice of her, then, to make up for lost—”
I hate being interrupted.
“—for a reason,” I finish my sentence.
Arriane remains silent, gaze still on me, waiting for me to continue. My hand starts rubbing circles on her thigh, the smooth cotton of her skirt applying friction to the bare skin underneath.
“Okay, Arria. Here’s the deal. For Kat, it started at four years old. That’s when our old man tossed her out of the way for the first time. She’d gotten a hold of the remote control next to his glass of whiskey and accidentally changed the TV channel.”
“Okay…” Arriane begins, but I keep going.
“Really tossed, Arriane. As in several feet up and straight into the wall.”
“No way?”
“Yes. Thankfully, Kat was a quick study. She found ways of staying under the radar when he was drunk. Damn, she could be quiet. Kat disappeared into the walls, I swear, camouflaging herself so well even I didn’t notice her sometimes. Still, you can’t be perfect all the time.”
“God. I’m so sorry, Leon. Did he hurt you too?” Arriane isn’t sure if she should be asking that, and I smile a little at how carefully she slinks it out. I don’t mind talking about myself if prodded. I was over his shit years ago. It’s what he did to Katsu I’ll never be able to stomach.
“Sure, he beat the living daylights out of me.” I can’t help chuckling. Arriane’s features smoothen with compassion as she brushes over my cheek with her hand. I turn my face into her palm, closing my hand around it and kissing her fingertips one by one.
“Don’t be sad for
me. It was a long time ago,” I hum out. “Plus, I learned my lesson and started couch-surfing at my friends’ early.”
Her fingertips run down my middle, caressing my stomach. “Did you start with martial arts to stand up to him?”
“Listen to Miss Psychologist, here,” I tease. “But yes. By sixteen, I was a black belt in Enshin Kaikan—full-contact karate. I broke a clavicle on him after an especially fun night.”
“Oh my God! What happened?”
This is where we’re full circle back to Katsu. I’m not up for this. “Anyways. Long story short,” I sum up, “dude deserves no babying at the hospital by Kat or anyone else.”
“Will he… be okay?” she asks, and her voice is so soft.
“Dunno. Don’t care.” I sit up on my knees. Grab her jaw gently and angle her how I want her. Then, I suck her bottom lip into my mouth.
Her breath freezes. I should stop mixing pleasure and work, quit corrupting this sweet woman, but after my first taste on New Year’s Eve, I’ve been wanting her.
Arriane’s arms hang along her sides. They aren’t rising to pull me in. She kisses me back, though, which is what I need.
“Baby, you want to play again?” I stroke her tongue with mine.
“We should talk about Tooth Fairy Day,” she whispers against my lips.
“Or I could fuck you first,” I murmur, and she’s not in shock like the last time I called sex by its true name.
“I think you ‘fucked’ me good the first time, boss,” she blurts out.
I have an odd sensation in my gut when I pull away to study her. One reason for my success in business is my ability to read expressions and body language. Arriane’s are mixed. She radiates attraction and willingness, but frustration too. The anger that’s been surfacing lately flares in her eyes again.
“Arriane. What the hell do you mean?” I’m back to demanding answers instead of asking for them, my tone plummeting on the last word.
I drill my stare into her. She’s been secretive lately. This better not be one of those moments. I push away the nagging thought at the back of my mind; I won’t be making guesses.
“You’re going to explain to me exactly why you said that. From what I saw, you enjoyed me fucking you just fine.”
I wonder if my foul mouth finally got to her physically, because the golden hue of her face pales. She sits up straighter in the chair, eyes roaming for the exit and planning her escape. “I—just… let’s not be that intimate again, Leon.”
“Why not?” I ask while my conscience slams a scrawny fist into the table, agreeing with Arriane. Commanding me to shut up. I never was much for obedience.
I’m actually hurt over this. Pussy. “What’s the difference—you want to stick with public fingering, honey? Maybe suck my dick instead, because none of that’s sex.”
Pissed at myself, I take a step back, straighten, and glare down at her sweet face. “Or hey—you prefer to sample a variety?” I barrel on. “Got your eyes on some prick at the club or something?”
Shit! Ah.
Her eyes deepen into lavender when they snap back to mine, meeting me wrath for wrath. “No. I don’t mix and match, asshole. You won’t see me as much as looking at another man for seven and a half months.”
Arriane has stunned me into silence. No one stuns me into silence.
If lavender could boil, that’s what her irises would do right now as they absorb every shrivel of my shock.
“Yes, Leon,” she says. “I won’t be fucking anyone. At all.”
The man I love stares at me, incredulous. I inhale a long breath for what’s to come. His fury. The denial. Rejection.
I grew up in a family where fairness ruled. I’m practical, grounded, capable of comprehending a world outside the boundaries of my ego, which makes this simple; I could never blame him for any response.
What happened was not planned, but I did insist on this. It wasn’t just for me and my chance at finally being with him in the deepest of ways, but still: Leon lost himself that night, and in his despair, he surrendered because the relief I offered was what he needed.
I stare back at him. Those high cheekbones I’ve studied from every angle for years. The light tan of his cheeks, the barely-there stubble I caressed so lightly minutes ago. Kitten-soft and yet prickly. So perfect against my fingers.
Faded blues connect with my darker ones as he poses the question I didn’t think would be his first.
“Are you sure, baby?”
Baby.
My heart stumbles over the last word. It wants to trick me into crying. I get that he calls me “baby” when we’re intimate. When he was inside of me—or high on my high, like yesterday. But now, after what he just learned?
Leon—this situation—stirs so much in me. My brain does high-speed loops through everything I could possibly worry about. I think of how guys can’t always regulate what happens to the girl. How unfair the world is that I’m in control and Leon isn’t. I can decide to let this grow in me, whether to keep the baby or not. Hell, I could even lie about the father while all he can do is ask, “Is it mine?”
My stomach shifts.
Please. Not now.
I know what I want, what I’m doing from here on out. I won’t make up a prettier story even if he ends up hurt. Leon, this unrequited love of mine, deserves the truth.
I’m up from the chair, uncertain, and Leon’s there next to me, curling a hand around my neck and sweeping my head up in a light slant.
“Arria,” he repeats, “are you sure?”
Everyone knows the latest tests gives you certainty almost immediately. I confirm anyway: “Yes, Leon. I am.”
I bound to the bathroom. The plan is to lock myself in before the steamed rice I had for breakfast launches itself into the toilet. I don’t have time. A short hiccup interrupts my breathing before I gag again.
Leon isn’t following me. Not that I’d expected him to. Yeah, it would’ve been nice, but after my sobby phone call with Mom last night, I’m less worried. I can do this. Her biggest concern was for me to end up with someone who couldn’t love me the way I loved him. She nailed my fear on the first try.
Once I’m done heaving my anguish out, I get up and scour the bathroom and the bedroom beyond it. Instinctively, I chose his master en suite. Why?
I tiptoe into the den. The taste in my mouth soaks through the toothpaste I just ate. I feel gross. A glimpse at my watch reveals I have another eight hours at work with an hour until tonight’s staff arrives. The apartment shows no sign of Leon anywhere.
The father of my unborn child… took off.
Whatever. Between my unplanned confession and how worried I am over his reaction, I don’t have room for outrage. I’m mentally exhausted.
Honestly, if he ends up interested in the little one or me, my betrayal will be bigger. See, Leon left me alone while my body revolted against his baby. But I? After all that I have seen of this man—I know with one hundred percent certainty that Leon cannot be a part of our lives.
I retreat into his apartment instead of exiting. Through his bedroom door and into his bathroom again. I peek into Leon’s shower, the walls lined with crackled, jade tiles. I’ve only ever cleaned this space.
I could go home. It would have been easy to leave him a note, explaining that I’d be back before doors at the club. If I’d asked his permission, he’d give it immediately.
A part of me thinks I should stay, though. Soak up another shrivel of closeness with him. I have to learn how to shun this urge.
I keep the light off as I slide into his shower to wash up.
God, the scent in here. It smells like him. Musk, wrongness, pine… some sort of leathery goodness. I swallow. He’s around me, and he’s growing inside of me.
These are the things I need to stop thinking about. I have to focus forward, keep my head on straight. Feet on the ground.
As my mother said last night, “An intelligent, resourceful woman doesn’t need a husband to raise happy children.
” She should know.
She’s right. She’s right.
I take my time washing up. The steam forms a foggy blanket that I step out into once I’m done. I retrieve a towel from under the sink and wrap it around me as the apartment door creaks.
My heart speeds up at his voice. “Arriane?” he calls out. I try to interpret his mood but can’t. It doesn’t sound different than any other time he’s said my name.
I swallow and stare at myself in the mirror. “Yes?” I reply. I blow out fast, wishing my pulse would slow down. “I’m in the bathroom.”
Now, he’ll finally ask if the baby is his. I have no reason to be upset when he blames me for not being careful. For ruining his life.
A quiet knock on the bathroom door prefaces the doorknob turning. Through the crack, he whispers “Hey,” like he’s afraid of waking me from sleep.
“Hey…” I say back, hugging the towel around me.
“I got you something.” Leon’s eyes shimmer. So beautiful. “I’m lacking a vital piece, but… Come out when you’re ready?”
It gets to me that he’s asking instead of telling me what to do. I bob my head in agreement. My heart, my heart.
I’m afraid of his gift. I can’t picture it being anything good.
Once I’m dressed, I sneak quietly out into the bedroom. It looks the same. Not one piece of clothing out of place, the bed perfectly made, and no Leon in sight. I inhale deeply, readying myself to move into the den. A whiff of some flowery perfume reaches me. Is someone else with him? Maybe Katsu has returned from her outing to the hospital. Unless. Lord, I hope it’s not the girl he flirted with downstairs last night. My body tenses, ready to haul ass out the door if that’s the case.
I enter the den quietly, leaning my head against the doorjamb on my way in, and my chest expands at the sight meeting me.
Leon.
He stands in the middle of the room with arms raised at his sides and palms up. His smile is so big on his face—I’ve never seen him like this.
Then, there’s the space around him.
The entire room is covered with cut flowers. Peonies, roses, daffodils, tulips—and tons I don’t even know the name of. I count ten huge bouquets in vases while the rest lies unopened on tables and windowsills. He’s got a heap on the kitchen island too, and a big salad bowl full of water next to them, probably thinking it’ll be a good vase.
