She’d never had a relationship that was so easy. They could talk about anything, from favorite sports teams to problems with coworkers to the right finishing touches for her Design Divas collection. In the two weeks since her first night with Caleb, they’d spent nearly every free moment together—laughing, talking. And not talking.
“To Liv and Caleb,” Mom finished.
“To Liv and Caleb,” everyone echoed.
“How is life with the ball and chain?” Rafe asked. “Any details you want to share?”
Caleb grinned and took a drink of wine.
That was enough to make Matt turn green. “That’s our baby sister.” He punched Rafe in the arm. “We’re supposed to pretend she doesn’t even know what sex is.”
“Even when she starts popping out nieces and nephews?”
“Immaculate conception, shitbag.”
Mom sighed. “Language, Matteo.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“Just because you’re uncomfortable with emotional intimacy,” Alex said, “doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”
“I don’t think it’s the emotional part of the intimacy he’s worried about.” Rafe tilted his head thoughtfully. “Big Matt, if you’re having problems with Little Matt, there’s this blue pill I’ve heard about that—”
“Raffaello Elia Voretti!” Mom broke in, as Dad tried to hide his grin behind his wine glass. “You will not tease your brother about Viagra while we’re at the dinner table!”
“So it’s okay after we finish eating?”
“Hell, no,” Matt said. “And if you say it again, I’ll kick your—”
“So, Caleb,” Alex interrupted, always the peacemaker, “How much do you think you’ll get for your house?”
“You’re selling your house?” Liv vaguely registered the concern in her mom’s voice, but she was so tightly wrapped in her bubble of happiness, it took a minute for the words to penetrate.
No—that didn’t make sense. Caleb loved that old place
“You’ve spent so much time fixing it up,” Dad said. “Why would you sell it?”
She waited for Caleb to deny it, but all he did was shrug. “It’s too big for one person. Or even two. And I have better things to do on my weekends than fix leaks and paint walls. My realtor thinks it’ll go quickly, so—”
“You already put it on the market?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He looked down at his plate, concentrating a bit too hard on cutting his chicken. “I told you I was selling. Remember? When you came over for Fix-it Day.”
“You said you were going to sell once you got everything fixed up. But you haven’t even started terracing the canyon. And what about that swing set in the garage? It’s not even half-way finished.”
“No point in putting all that work in if I’m going to sell. Prices are good now, so I figured I might as well get rid of it.”
“Prices are terrible! Maya Kendrick had to get a second job waiting tables at Hannigan’s because the market is so bad she’d only sold one place in the last six months.” Liv’s voice echoed back to her, thin and shrill like she was about to cry.
Something sharp twisted inside her chest. Why was Caleb hurting himself this way? Because he was hurting himself. She could tell by the way he stripped each word of emotion before speaking, like he was feeling so much he was afraid if he let the least bit out he would fall apart.
“We’ll give the two of you some privacy,” Mom said. And then, before Liv could reassure her family that she and Caleb didn’t need privacy because they weren’t fighting and she wasn’t upset and everything was fine, her family was filing down the hallway, moving with the speed and precision of Seal Team Six.
Caleb ate a bite of chicken. “Just because Maya can’t hack it doesn’t mean the market is bad. My agent says I can get more than enough to buy one of those two-bedroom condos downtown with the bay views. Think about it.” He finally looked at her, eyes dark and pleading. “We’d be right in the middle of it all. Coffee shops. Restaurants. Night life.”
He’d said “we,” not “I,” which should have made her feel better, but the timing was terribly, horribly wrong. He’d owned the house for six years. Why did he suddenly need to dump it now? “Is this because of your dad? Because of what you told me?”
“No!”
“You never mention your parents. If you want to talk—”
“I don’t.” His voice rang with finality. “This has nothing to do with my parents. It’s…like I said, it was the right time to sell.”
She had to force the next question out of her throat. “Is it because of me?”
His shoulders tensed for a second, before he worked them into a shrug. “Not exactly. It’s about the two of us. I want us to build the life we want without being dragged down by a lifetime’s worth of baggage.”
It was the perfect answer, except that his voice was low and rough, and he had his fork in an I’m-trying-to-snap-the-steel death grip.
“So you want a place with no memories?”
“I think a condo downtown would fit me better. You said you wanted to know the real me.” There was a hint of challenge in his voice. “Well, the real me doesn’t need a big house in the suburbs. Living downtown will cut my commute way down. And we’ll be able to go out whenever we want. Restaurants, bars, clubs. Everything will be close by.”
“But you’re going to want kids one day. Don’t you think?”
The fork jumped out of his hands, but he quickly brought it under control. “We can always buy a house when we need more space. A house that we choose together.” He’d already diced his chicken into tiny squares, and now he moved on to his broccoli.
“But you already have the perfect house. Don’t tell me you haven’t pictured your kids running around on that lawn.”
“I don’t even know if I want kids.”
“You’re building a swing set.”
“I thought it would be an interesting architectural challenge.” He took a bite of chicken, then a bite of broccoli, logical about everything down to the way he ate his dinner to get an equal balance of meat and vegetables. “Anyway, we’re too young to think about kids.”
Her stomach churned those few bites of dinner she’d taken before she’d lost her appetite. Is that why he wanted her? Because he thought she was more interested in clubbing than changing diapers and reading bedtime stories? Because, if he was with her, he wouldn’t have to confront his own issues around having children?
“We need time to have some fun,” he said. “To figure out who we are.”
Why did he have to be so reasonable? There was no way to object without sounding like she was crazy, irrational, overreacting.
“It’s been a long day,” he continued, in that levelheaded voice that made her want to scream. “Let’s go home. Get some sleep. We can talk some more in the morning.”
She forced herself to nod. But she already knew that even if she spent the whole night crafting the perfect, logical argument for why Caleb should pull the house off the market, it wouldn’t change his mind.
She was going to have to show him how wrong he was about her. About both of them. Before the house sold.
*
Liv had exactly seven days before the final episode of Design Divas was filmed. The one where a panel of judges, from models to designers to fashion-obsessed celebrities, would decide if she won $10,000 or not.
Seven days had seemed like plenty of time before Caleb had dropped his bombshell about the house. All she had to do was finish a few hemlines and add some buttons, lace, and beads.
But now she was looking at her collection with new eyes. No wonder Caleb couldn’t imagine the two of them raising children. She’d designed a full wardrobe for a club-hopping twenty-year-old.
She stared at the uneven, zigzag hem of the gauzy skirt in front of her. Yesterday it had seemed flirty, fun, and just dangerous enough to be interesting. Now it looked like the aftermath of a drug-fueled rave. She could see the girl stumbling out o
f the club, so strung out she hadn’t even noticed that her skirt had ripped.
She glared at the fabric. “Piece of crap.”
It sat there on the dress form, not even listening.
“Oh yeah?” She grabbed one end.
The fabric crinkled in her hand, fluffy and useless.
“This is your fault!” She yanked it off the dress form. It ripped the wrong way, the fabric splitting randomly instead of taking the path of least resistance through the seam, then, finally, falling to a heap at her feet. You’ll never put me back together again.
“Good. I don’t want to.”
Her heart thundered in her chest, and not because she was talking to an article of clothing. Former article of clothing.
Okay, so she needed to redo her entire collection in a week. That was totally doable.
If she didn’t sleep.
When Caleb sat in the audience for the finale fashion show, he’d see the new, mature Liv. She’d make sure of it.
CHAPTER 20
THE STAGE LIGHTS had never bothered Liv before. Usually, when the Design Divas cameras pointed her direction, it was like she’d woken from a deep sleep. She felt alive.
This time, it was more like she’d been jarred out of her first full night’s rest in months with a quadruple espresso. She was shaking, full of so much nervous energy that the simple act of sitting in the chair the director had assigned her, between her two competitors, required enormous discipline.
A low hum of voices carried over from the audience, but with the lights glaring into her eyes, she couldn’t see more than a few hundred person-shaped blobs. Still, she knew Caleb was somewhere close by. He’d promised he’d be there, and he always kept his promises.
She took deep breaths, concentrating on Caleb, and the frantic pounding in her chest slowed. Her leg stopped jiggling, and she managed a smile at camera two.
The host came out and said some words she couldn’t process. Then the light shining in her eyes went black and spotlights lit the runway. The models wearing Jackson’s collection strode out to the beat of the techno song pumping through the speakers.
As usual, his workmanship was impeccable, but the pieces were random, with nothing to tie them together as a collection. Helen had gone with the vintage style the judges had dinged her for relying on in the last round, not even making a token attempt to demonstrate that her range extended further.
Liv tried to listen to the judges’ critiques, but she was too conscious of the fact that her collection was coming out next. Her head went fuzzy. It took all her effort to keep a smile plastered to her face.
Then the music went back up, and a model strode onto the runway. Liv stared at the tailored suit for a full second before she remembered it was part of her new collection. It looked like it had been imagined by someone else entirely. Someone who read all the instructions before assembling furniture, never arrived late for an appointment, and wouldn’t even think of inking a design onto her skin.
Which was good. She wanted Caleb to notice that she’d changed, and he’d have no choice but to notice this. Everyone would notice this.
“Well, David? What’s your take on Olivia’s collection?”
Liv jerked to attention. While she’d been lost in thought, all ten of the women modeling her pieces had walked the runway. Now they were lined up along one side, in front of the judges.
David Lance, the famous designer who was half the reason she’d tried out for Design Divas, surveyed her collection with obvious distaste. “I’m not sure what to say, Heather. We both know this isn’t what we’re used to seeing from Olivia Voretti. What happened to the wild child? This collection looks like it was copied from the Ann Taylor catalog.”
“Let’s get it right from the source. Olivia? What were you trying to say?”
The lights were too bright. She couldn’t feel her limbs, like her brain had suddenly vacated her body.
Somehow, she got her mouth to work. “It’s simple, Heather.” Her voice echoed back through the speakers, contributing to the weird, out-of-body feeling. “I’ve spent a lot of time playing around, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get serious. What you saw tonight was the real Olivia—the grown up Olivia.”
“Well, I don’t think I’m alone when I say, bring back the party girl.”
*
Liv tried to enjoy her short ribs—the first real meal she’d had in a week—but it was hard, because her parents and Caleb were staring at her. She’d known it was a bad idea to go out to dinner after the filming, but her dad had already made a reservation, and now here she was, at a cozy table for four, eating food she couldn’t taste and watching her dad’s face go redder and redder as he forced himself to discuss the weather instead of railing on the Design Divas judges.
“We’re finally going to get some cooler nights.” He stabbed a gnocchi with his fork. His face was the exact same shade it had been when he’d walked in on Annabelle in bed with Ty, and Liv knew she had to do something before he exploded.
She sighed. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”
“Hear what?” He decapitated a cauliflower floret with a single swipe of his knife.
“Livvy,” Mom said in her shut-up-this-minute-young-lady tone, but if Liv heard one more word about cold fronts, she was going to scream.
“Come on, Dad. You’re obviously dying to rip those judges a new one. So get it out.”
“They are idioti!” He slammed his fork to the table. “They know nothing about fashion!”
The middle-aged couple at the adjacent table looked up from their macadamia nut crusted salmon to see what was going on, and Liv’s mom heaved out a long-suffering sigh. “Your volume, Antonio.”
“That cafone, Jackson, he must have paid them off. How else could his merda have beat your beautiful designs?” Her dad shot to his feet. “I’ll find him.” He paced around the table, hand going to his side like he was feeling to make sure his P220 was strapped to his side under his jacket. “Fix this mistake.”
She jumped up at the same time Caleb did. “Dad!”
“Let’s all take a deep breath and calm down,” Caleb tried.
“I’ll kill him! I’ll rip out his insides, and—”
“Enough!” Mom’s I’ve-had-it tone cut through Dad’s tirade in an instant. “Sit down.” She shoved her wine glass across the table. “Drink this. And no more shouting.”
Liv sank back into her seat, as did Caleb. Half the restaurant was staring, the wait staff had retreated to the kitchen, and she couldn’t get her lungs to take in air. Everything felt wrong.
“You thought Olivia’s designs were the best.” Though Dad had dialed down the volume, his glare as he surveyed the table, daring anyone to disagree, had lost none of its heat. “Right?”
“Of course.” Caleb’s tone left no room for argument, and that, finally, brought her back to herself. It didn’t matter that she’d lost the competition as long as she’d shown Caleb she was a responsible adult.
“She took styles that are usually boring and made them new and interesting. And she was the only one who knew shit—pardon my language—about how to use color.”
Dad’s laser-beam stare moved to Mom. “Well?” he prompted.
Mom sighed again. “You know I love Olivia’s designs. And I thought her collection was beautiful and sophisticated. But...”
“There is no but. Olivia’s designs were the best.”
Mom was so inured to Dad’s bark that she didn’t even register it, turning to Liv as if there had been no interruption. “They didn’t look like you, Livvy. I think that’s what the judges were trying to say.”
Liv’s lungs did that weird seizing-up thing again, because her mom was right. They hadn’t looked like her. But that was the whole point. She’d wanted to prove to everyone how much she’d changed. “I’ve grown up. They look like the new me, not the old me.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed, the way they used to when Liv gave her some excuse for missing curfew. “Are you sure you’re all r
ight?”
“Positive.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Good.” Mom changed the subject to Annabelle and Ty, who had reached the European portion of their epic, round-the-world trip, but she was still watching Liv with narrowed, I-see-through-you eyes. As though she already knew disaster had struck, and was just waiting for Liv to open her eyes and survey the damage.
*
“Finally.” Liv sighed in relief as the taillights of her dad’s SUV retreated down the dark street. She leaned against Caleb, letting him take her weight, because her muscles didn’t want to do it anymore. It had taken all her energy to maintain a cheerful front for her parents, and now that they were gone, she wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for days. “That was intense.”
“Tell me about it. I thought Revel was going to close before I could take you out to celebrate.”
The thought of the crowded room and loud, pounding music made her want to curl up into a ball. “I’d rather go home.”
“Good idea. I have a bottle of wine I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”
“That’s sweet. But all I really want to do is sleep.”
“One drink, so we can toast your boutique. I know you’re going to be an amazing success.” Despite his enthusiasm, there was an edge of exhaustion in his words. He’d been working late nights too, trying to make headway on a homicide the department was under pressure to solve, but he was still going out of his way to make the night special for her.
The warmth of his affection burned off the worst of her exhaustion. This is what she’d been looking for.
She hugged Caleb close. “Thank you.”
“For what?” He sounded surprised.
“For caring. For trying to make this night into a good memory. For being you.” She pulled back. “I appreciate it more than you know. But let’s wait until tomorrow for that drink. You’re exhausted too.”
“No way. We have too much to celebrate. Your boutique. My new place.”
Pretty in Ink (Voretti Family Book 3) Page 18
