Pride and Papercuts

by Staci Hart

  But I chuckled. “I don’t know, Jess. It’s always been like this, although I’ve never kept secrets from her. I’ve never done anything that required subterfuge.”

  “You sure picked a doozy for your opening act of defiance.”

  “And she accuses me of being unambitious.” I scoffed.

  “He must be something, Maisie. I’ve never known you to take such a stand.”

  “He’s worth it. I’m worth it. It’s all so stupid, Jess. I’m just ready for it to be over.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “Very little at this point. Only the well-being of the Bennets. But I can’t say worrying about Harvest Center doesn’t upset me. Because she’ll end it, you know she will.”

  Jess nodded soberly. “Well, if she disowns you, then she initiates the end of it. Am I wrong in guessing you’ll never stop feeling guilty if it’s you who pulls the plug?”

  With a pang in my chest, I said, “I don’t think I would. I’d do something else, something on my own. But I’d always regret letting Harvest go. Does that make me a baby?”

  “No. It makes you human, which is more than I can say for your mother.”

  All I could do was sigh.

  “Do you think you’d feel like this if it wasn’t for Marcus?”

  I didn’t even have to consider it, I’d spent so much time wondering the same thing. “I don’t think I’d have gone this far, no. But I’m not doing it for Marcus. I’m doing it because of Marcus. Before him, all doors were closed but the one at the end of the hall, and at the doorknob is my mother, waiting to usher me across the threshold and into Bower. And now … now, all the doors are open, and that gives me courage. He gives me courage.”

  Her face softened. “Sounds an awful lot like you might love him.”

  My heart sprang into my throat at the word, one I’d been thinking too often lately. “I feel an awful lot like I might too.”

  “You deserve this happiness,” Jess said, covering my hand with hers. “Don’t think for a minute you don’t.”

  “I just wish it hadn’t come with a price.”

  “Me too.”

  “And if it comes to that, I’ll make sure everyone who needs the center finds another shelter to feed and support them. Everyone we’ve trained has the skills to be placed with jobs, and I’ll volunteer on my own time to make sure no one’s left behind.”

  The thought both broke and healed me. “And I’ll help too, however I can.”

  “And who knows? Maybe someday we’ll start our own center together. Take everything we’ve learned and strike out on our own.”

  “She’ll fire you if she finds out you’re working with me,” I warned.

  “Well, fuck her then,” she answered, and we laughed at our shameless disrespect.

  Though I reminded myself that one had to be respected before they could be disrespected.

  The topic turned to happier things as we rode into the Village, and by the time we pulled up in front of Marcus’s house, I was giddy with anticipation at seeing him. I slipped on my big glasses and tied a scarf around my head to cover my hair. My jacket hung on my arm—it was far too warm today for a wool coat—and with a glance toward Longbourne, I said goodbye to Jess and dashed out of the cab for Marcus’s door.

  I found myself inside in a flash, thankful again for my key. Standing on that stoop as I used to, waiting for him to answer, had been like standing under the sand streaming through an hourglass—I felt every second.

  But then the door would close, stopping time. And it wouldn’t start again until I left.

  “Hello?” I called, tugging off the scarf to stuff it in my bag.

  His footfalls rumbled on the steps too fast for a walk, and I smiled to myself as I hastily hung my coat, already leaning toward the stairs to greet him.

  He rounded the corner, and the instant our eyes met, the stiff, tense air about him melted away. That rare smile I loved so much touched the lips I’d wanted to kiss every minute since I’d seen him last.

  Before I even knew it, I’d gotten what I wished for, swept into the safety of his arms. His kiss was a baptism, the washing away of everything sad and ugly, every worry and every regret. And when that kiss broke and he smiled down at me, I was as fresh and clean as new-fallen snow.

  His forehead pressed to mine, his nose brushing the bridge of mine. “God, I missed you,” he whispered.

  “The blip doesn’t feel like much of a blip, does it?”

  “No, but I’m looking forward to the day when it does.”

  Marcus kissed me swiftly and set me all the way down—I hadn’t quite realized he’d had nearly all my weight in his arms until I took it back on myself.

  “Want a drink?” he asked, heading for the kitchen with my hand in his.

  “Please. Rough day?”

  “Not exactly.”

  I frowned, taking a seat at the island. “What happened?”

  “First, a drink,” he hedged to the clink of ice in crystal.

  “If you insist,” I answered with an enigmatic smile to match his behavior.

  He handed me my gin, but before we drank, he raised his scotch. “To everything working out.”

  My brows quirked. “Hear, hear.”

  And we took a sip for luck.

  “All right,” I started once my glass was on the island surface, “what in the world is going on?”

  Marcus started to take another sip but stopped, setting his drink down instead. “Everyone in my family knows about us, except my mother.”

  The sharp trail of gin halted somewhere behind my heart. “Oh no,” I whispered.

  “Oh, yes. I was ambushed by my siblings in order to plan an ambush for my mother.”

  “And what did you come up with?”

  He moved around the island to get closer, looking down at me with his brows knit. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Whatever you’re comfortable with, that’s what we’ll do.”

  “God, what is this plan? I don’t have to take a public flogging or something, do I?”

  He relaxed a little at the joke, the corners of his lips flickering with a smile. “No, no flogging or whipping—I mean, unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

  “Not by your mother, thank you.”

  That earned me a single, lovely laugh.

  “So tell me the plan,” I urged, pressing down my anxiety.

  “Well, we’ve got to tell her, that’s for sure, and I don’t know how much time we’ll have. If I know Laney and Jett, they’re currently talking about all of this, and if they’re within a hundred feet of the house, Mom will hear them. So we discussed it, and we think the best chance of success is if you’re there with me when I tell her.”

  The gin finally moved, but it went in the wrong direction. I swallowed hard to force it back down. “Okay. If that’s our best chance, I’m ready.”

  “Ready enough to do it today?”

  “Today?” I squeaked.

  “Now, really.”

  I pursed my lips to stop myself from making that noise again.

  “We don’t have to,” he assured. “I just thought that since you’re here and it’s so hard to get together right now—”

  “I’ll do it.”

  He paused, mouth still posed to finish what he’d been about to say.

  “I want this to go as smoothly as possible. Whatever I have to do, Marcus. Even a flogging, if it’ll help. Because if she doesn’t approve …”

  Marcus slid toward me, framed my face with honest hands. “She’ll approve.”

  “You don’t know that. You can’t possibly know that. And if she doesn’t approve, it’ll split your family in two.”

  He tilted my chin, so our gazes were level. “She will,” was all he said, but the words held such conviction, I had no choice but to believe right along with him.

  When I conceded with a nod, he leaned in, kissing me with tender assurance. And when he let me go and pulled his phone out of his pocket, I dr
ained my drink.

  Marcus fired off a text that was followed by a handful of buzzes as responses came back. And for that moment, I took stock of myself—shoes, dress, hair, lipstick—cataloging what I could improve before meeting Marcus’s mother as his girlfriend.

  She only knew me as the daughter of the woman currently trying to ruin his family’s lives.

  “So what’s the game plan?” I asked, twisting clammy hands in my lap.

  “Luke is gathering everyone up, even Dad—”

  “Wait, they’re all going to be there?”

  “Only if it’s okay,” he soothed, his brows worried and eyes hopeful. “We just figured if we were all there to back you up, it’d serve as insurance.”

  “And they’re all good with me?”

  He hesitated just long enough to make me extraordinarily nervous. “They are. And they trust me. They know what you’ve done for us. Plus, you’re impossible not to love.” The word hung in the air for the longest heartbeat of my life before he smirked and carried on as if he hadn’t said it, “Once they meet you, they’ll see it for themselves.”

  “If you say so,” I answered breathlessly.

  “I say so.”

  And that was where the conversation ended because we spent the time it took us to get to the front door kissing.

  Then we were too nervous to say anything, preoccupied with the imaginings of what we’d say and what she’d do and how we’d all feel in a few crucial minutes.

  The second I stepped onto their stoop, I became an intruder. A terrorist and traitor. Walking inside made me feel like a fraud, one who didn’t belong in the grand entry, littered almost artfully with proof of life—shoes and shopping bags and mail. An umbrella propped on the banister, handle out but top closed, a balled-up coat and rolled-up socks, a cacophony of everyday things that whispered stories of family and home.

  I heard the Bennets before I saw them, the lilting chatter, the occasional laughter, a playful groan.

  My heart was a small, tight, galloping thing, my hands numb, unable to feel the warmth of Marcus’s as he led me toward what I suspected was the kitchen and today, the guillotine.

  He stepped through the casing and into the dining room, putting himself in front of me. The room fell silent.

  Mrs. Bennet laughed. “Marcus, what are you hiding back there? Please tell me it’s the girl you’ve been seeing.” He must have made a face because she added, “Oh, don’t look so surprised—I’m not as witless as you all think I am, and I know your brothers told you I’m onto you. Nothing happens in this house without my hearing whether I like it or not.”

  “But you always like it,” Luke teased.

  “And you don’t know about this,” Marcus said gravely before stepping away to reveal me to the room.

  I stood in front of six Bennets, vulnerable and on display. The air in the room disappeared. The stillness was absolute—they could have been a painting, a shocked, modern version of the Last Supper. Hands stopped midair. No one blinked. Not a chest rose or fell with a breath, not a mouth formed a word.

  Almost in unison, the Bennet family shifted their gaze to the matriarch.

  “Margaret Bower,” she muttered. “Is … if this is a prank, I do not find it amusing.”

  “It’s not a prank,” Marcus said with firm care.

  One by one, his brothers and sister rose, filing forward to flank us as Mrs. Bennet watched on incredulously.

  “You all knew?” she asked with watery eyes. “You all knew, and not one of you told me.”

  With an apologetic look on his face, Mr. Bennet reached for her hand. “Just hear them out.”

  “And you?” she whispered. “Paul Bennet, in all my life, I never—”

  “Rosie,” he urged, “listen before you say anything else.”

  The heave of her chest marked her breath as she looked into his eyes, and whatever she found there steadied her. “All right.” She faced us. “Go ahead.”

  Marcus looked to me, asking silently if I wanted to do it or if he should. But I didn’t want him to speak for me. I didn’t want him to defend me to his mother.

  I would defend myself.

  So I took a shaky step forward, lifted my chin, and did just that.

  “I know I’m the last person you want to be standing here. After what my mother has done to you—what she’s doing to you—I won’t ask for your kindness or forgiveness. But I want you to know two very important things. I am not aligned with my mother, and I’m in love with your son.”

  Something in Marcus sparked, some shift in the air that tugged me in his direction without moving an inch.

  Mrs. Bennet’s eyes shone, her gnarled hand covering her lips.

  “It wasn’t until meeting Marcus that I believed I had a future that my mother didn’t dictate. And it wasn’t until seeing you all stand up for each other, support and love each other, that I understood what family truly was. I’ve done what I can to protect you, to help you from inside Bower, because I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. I can’t stand by and let her destroy you out of spite, not if I can help you fight.” I swallowed, my gaze flicking to the ground and my heart thundering. “I only want you to know my intentions, and I understand if it’s too much to accept—”

  The creak of her chair called my attention as she hauled herself up on failing joints. Her face was bent, tears rolling down her cheeks, but I couldn’t tell if she was distraught or elated. As she approached, I braced myself for a slap, a furious rejection, or the dressing-down of my life. Maybe all three and in that order. And terrified, I waited through a dozen racing heartbeats to learn my fate.

  Because what Rosemary Bennet might say would hurt far worse than anything my mother could.

  She stopped before me, her chest hitching. The room was otherwise breathless.

  “Oh, you silly girl,” she said with a quavering voice. “However could I turn away anyone who loves my son?”

  “Even a Bower?” I asked as she took my hands.

  “Well, maybe Marcus will do something about changing that name to something a little more palatable.”

  The room exhaled, the murmurings of laughter and relief floating around in a chorus of respite. But I stood in a small space with Mrs. Bennet, her hands soft and warm and twisted around mine.

  “I believe you,” she said. “And I forgive you, though you’ve done nothing to require my absolution. Thank you for your help, whatever it might be. Thank you for defending me in that room to your mother. I knew then that you were separate from them, different. And I believe Marcus would only bring you here if he loved you too.”

  I glanced at him over my shoulder, finding him watching me with such intensity, a flush of warmth passed through me.

  Mrs. Bennet drew my attention again with a laugh. “You must have been terrified. Shame on you all for marching her in here like a lamb to slaughter. Julius,” she called, and I didn’t know who she was speaking to until Jett perked up. “I believe we could all use wine, if you’d be a dear.”

  “Whiskey for me,” Luke noted.

  One of Jett’s brows rose. “Any other orders?”

  “Just bring the bottle,” Marcus said.

  “Oh, stop pouting,” Laney teased. “I’ll help you.”

  “And when we’ve all had a drink”—Mrs. Bennet leaned toward me with a clever smile—“you can tell me all about how in the world this happened.”

  She still had my hands, and she used the preface to turn me toward Marcus, setting my hands in his when he extended them.

  “I think I need to sit down,” she said with that smile still on her lips, appraising us with a mixture of surprise, pride, and amusement.

  Kash and Luke offered a smirk before turning to follow her back to the table, leaving Marcus and me where we were.

  And though we weren’t alone, it was just us.

  The look he laid upon me was one of possession. Heavy with the arresting weight of command and surrender.

  “You love me,” he
said. It was a statement of fact. A transparent truth.

  “I do,” I whispered.

  His hand cupped my jaw, those blazing eyes searching my face. “Good, because I’ve loved you always. And it’d be a terrible shame if I were the only one.”

  There was no time for a breath before he kissed me.

  And if I’d had one, he would have stolen it.

  22

  Enough

  MAISIE

  The next day, I floated into work like a balloon.

  Marcus and I’d had dinner with his family last night, and it was the rowdiest, funniest, loveliest meal I thought I’d ever enjoyed. And not just for the company or wit or their unexpected acceptance, but because of the sense of family that bonded them together, one they had unwittingly extended to me.

  It was just the way they were, I gathered. It was impossible to be in their company and not feel a part of them.

  The moment Marcus and I could get away, we’d said our goodbyes and hurried to his house where we spent the hours we had in each other’s arms, whispering words of love and future.

  Love. He loved me. And the world was full of possibility.

  That love was armor against the world, against my mother, and I was instantly invincible. I could do anything. Even walk out on my mother and my duty without looking back. There was far too much happiness in front of me to bother with what was behind me.

  I fantasized about leaving that final battle with the Bennets—mediation—to lay the full truth on her. To expose my betrayal. It was a fuse I’d been waiting to light for what felt like forever, striking match after metaphorical match in anticipation of burning the whole thing down.

  I turned my mind back to the business proposal in front of me but found it almost impossible to concentrate. My thoughts were a million miles away, stuck on Marcus and all the things that were to come. Hoping to focus myself, I’d already reorganized my desk drawers and cleaned up the top. I’d wiped down my keyboard and buffed my screen until there wasn’t a speck on it. The books on my small bookshelf had been haphazardly shoved in place when I claimed this office for my own, so I’d taken a minute to straighten them up and organize them by topic. With that, I was out of things to do.