by Cara Dee
“I’m most certainly not, but even if that were the case?” I dip down, brushing my lips over her ear. “I don’t give a fuck, Gemma.” She shivers. “You will not give me attitude. Are we clear on that?” I straighten again.
“Fine,” she mumbles, ducking her head.
Chapter 9
Despite her initial reluctance to accept gifts, when we sit down in a restaurant to order lunch, Gemma is practically bouncing in her seat with excitement.
“Gah! I can’t wait to open these when we get home!” She squeals behind her hand. I chuckle as she tears off her beanie and jacket, only to dive into the bag with her new phone. “I always love finding new apps. Oh, and these are too pretty…” She trails off, lovingly brushing her fingers over one of the two different protective cases.
“Check your menu for what you wish to drink,” I tell her, shaking my head in amusement. “We came here to eat, not fondle iPhone cases.”
“Fine.” She grins and wipes her nose, red from the cold. “By the way, have I thanked you yet?”
I smirk and look down at the choices of fish. “Only a hundred times or so.”
When the waitress comes over, I order us the salmon with asparagus and roasted baby potatoes, knowing very well that Gemma would’ve gone with pizza or a hamburger—if she’d had the choice. That’s a big no for me. She’s freakishly strict about taking care of her skin and hair, yet she eats like a fifteen-year-old boy. If it’s greasy, it’s good.
I remember when I was a teenager; if I ate a pizza, you could see it on my face the day after. Evidently, that doesn’t apply to Gemma.
“When was the last time you had a big, fat Whopper, Dean?” She sips her water and smirks. “Or a bucket of fried chicken, or—”
“I get it, baby girl. I get it.” Now she thinks I’m a snob? That’s hardly the case. “Unfortunately, I don’t eat very well when I’m traveling. Late nights and days packed with meetings usually result in ordering in too much Chinese food or pizza. But,” I stress, “I refuse to eat that crap when I’m home or when I’m on vacation.”
“I guess I can’t wait for us to travel, then.”
I laugh softly. “You act like vegetables are out to kill you.”
*
For having such distaste for vegetables, she inhales the asparagus but blames it on the herbs and oils in which its cooked. She truly is a little brat, isn’t she? Getting technical with me when it suits her won’t take her very far.
“I’ll do my best to keep a lid on the brat,” is Gemma’s sly comment. “She can be hard to handle.”
Is she testing me? For what reason? To see if I have what it takes to knock her right back down? She’ll be in for a rude awakening if that’s the case.
“Bratting is one thing,” I answer, chewing on a piece of fish. “Defiance is another entirely. I’ll keep a leash on the brat and have zero tolerance for defiance.”
“I don’t want to be defiant.” She pushes around some potatoes on her plate. “Sometimes it happens. I guess…it’s easy to act out in anger.”
Indeed. I take a sip of my water, observing her. My immediate thought goes to her rebellious year after high school. There’s usually a reason for acting out. Mistreatment, need for attention, distrust, in protest.
I can’t hold it against her if she wants to test my commitment. Trust is nothing I take for granted. I’m ready to earn it. I’ll do so rigidly. She won’t get me to budge.
“Were you ever angry with me, Gemma?”
Her gaze flicks to me briefly before lowering, and I assume she knows what I’m referring to. “A little? It was mostly irrational. Like, when I was a kid, I didn’t understand why you didn’t move with me to Georgia.”
It’s not irrational for the mind of a nine-year-old.
“I didn’t always understand why you stayed with Tina,” she admits.
Fair. I don’t understand it, either. “I think, for a long time, everything was snowballing. Her depression, your leaving, her getting worse and checking herself in to a treatment center… In the meantime, I had to prove myself at work.” The sixteen-hour days drained me of energy and made me rethink my future in finance. “I was just in the development stages of starting my own business when she, for lack of a better word, flipped.”
“Kind of a fitting word.” She smiles ruefully. “I wasn’t there, so I only know what Lily told me. What exactly happened?”
It was bizarre, more than anything. I chew and swallow what’s in my mouth, choosing my words with care. In my own defense, Tina had done nothing wrong up until then. She was human, overwhelmed, and not exempt from making mistakes. That said, I don’t want to come off as defensive. It’s not about me.
“Firstly, her time away at that facility helped with her anxiety,” I start off by saying. “She was calmer and at peace, I’d say, but the tension was there. A retreat won’t cure depression. I was cautiously hopeful you’d come home soon, though.” Then that day… Christ, I remember coming home from work… “She was offered a role in a film. That was the big change—or trigger.”
Gemma nods slowly. “Mom said it was like Tina was resurrected overnight.”
Good way of putting it, and it had been the root cause of our major problems, after all. Tina felt like her life had been cut short because she was a parent. She’d watched her sisters and friends start their careers, and it’d planted the seed of jealousy in Tina. It’d grown from there.
“You could say that. She was over the moon. I was very happy for her. It seemed like the big break she needed, both career-wise and for her personal recovery.” I recall the relief I felt, which was probably nothing compared to her own. “I didn’t see the situation as fragile anymore, so I mentioned we could make plans for your homecoming when she was ready. She didn’t take that well.”
In short, she freaked out on me. There was a lot of “How dare you bring that up now?” thrown at me. The situation was fragile, after all. She wasn’t ready. She didn’t want to hear about it. Gemma became a topic that was off-limits.
“And then my grandfather died…” Gemma sits back and releases a breath. “Not that I cared much about him, but he put the fear of God into Tina and her sisters.”
Very true. At the time, I was so focused on helping Tina get better—so Gemma could eventually come home—as well as my career, that I was too blind and tired to see the shift that happened. Without the family patriarch around, the truth came out.
Tina had no intention of bringing her daughter home. She was unfit to be a parent, she said. Only, to me, it was delivered with a woe-is-me story. It angers me to this day how blind I was.
When I inevitably blew up and told her she was being fucking selfish, I got the “she’s not your daughter, Dean” speech. And it struck me hard. It grounded me as well as put a guard up. I had no say in the matter, and with the mind-set I unknowingly clung to—that Tina was nothing but a victim—I took a step back.
I took a step back.
I may have spoken up for Gemma, but I stood by Tina’s side, idling in a way, exhausted and defeated. It’s a bit of a reality check, and I don’t blame Gemma for any anger she may have carried for me.
“I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you, sweetheart.” Reaching across the table, I give her hand a squeeze and thread our fingers together. “I have no excuses.”
“Dude.” She shakes her head. “You had your own life, too.”
Of course, but she shouldn’t have been a cause I only fought for during reunions and holidays when everyone was under the same roof. I remember one Christmas particularly. One of Tina’s younger cousins told Gemma outright it was insensitive of her to show up when everyone knew how much Tina had struggled to feel better. It resulted in me banging my hand on the table to shut the woman up. Gemma ran out with Lily following, and Tina garnered sympathy by shedding a few tears. She and I had one of our most vicious fights that evening, but I still went home with her, didn’t I?
I went home with her, holiday after holiday, and rem
ained there due to manipulation, seeing Tina’s medication in the bathroom as a reminder of what she’d gone through and of my inability to pull my head out of my ass. I hid instead; around that time, work became more than a passion. It became my escape.
“We’ll agree to disagree, then.” I kiss her knuckles before sitting back. We’re in a public space, and we shouldn’t push our luck. “I won’t leave your side, and if you have any doubts, I’ll prove it to you over and over. Whatever it takes.”
*
Throughout our visit in Salt Lake City, she gives me a better insight into the abandonment she felt toward her mother, which morphed into resentment and anger around the time she finished high school. She admits it almost hurt more when other family members reached out in reaction to her tabloid escapades, yet Tina remained silent.
“I mean, I’d hear through Lily and Alec that you called and were concerned,” Gemma says, “or that my grandmother was worried… But Tina rarely bothered. It was the wrong person who reached out to me. No offense.”
It’s impossible to be offended. Of course she wanted Tina to be the one who cared.
Eventually, we make our way back to the house, and she admits, “Some people can be replaced, though.”
“How do you mean?” We’ve ended up behind a snow plow truck, so we might get home quicker if we walk.
“I guess I woke up one day and realized I have a few awesome family members who’ve done more than Tina ever has.” She looks out the window, fingers tapping absently along the armrest. “I still struggle with managing my own life, but I don’t wanna be a part of hers anymore. Now when I see her on TV, I just…I don’t know. She’s a stranger to me. It’s Lily I look forward to checking in with, not Tina. Lily, who isn’t even my aunt, has been there for me for as long as I can remember. She’s my mom, no one else. And Alec, and you, Grandma, and Uncle Frederick’s kids.” She speaks of a couple cousins her age. “I acted like an ungrateful bitch. Even when I was little—it took me so long to view Lily and Alec as my parents because I was focused on Tina.”
I grab her hand and kiss the top of it. Then I finally get the chance to pass the plow truck, and Gemma goes on to tell me how she withdrew from the spotlight after her rebellious year in and out of nightclubs. She wandered aimlessly before deciding to get back into music. It’s a topic I certainly want to hear more about, but I want to reassure her on the previous subject, as well. Though, we have time. I’m not going anywhere.
*
I get the first taste of her willful disobedience a few days later.
Music’s blaring in the living room, and how Gemma can sleep through it is beyond me.
We had an “almost” fight yesterday. We happened to turn on the TV when Tina was being interviewed for her next movie. For some reason—probably due to the fact that we haven’t gone public with our breakup—she said, “Oh, everything’s great, hard to plan a wedding when we’re so busy” in response to a question on how we, as a couple, were doing.
Upon noticing that Gemma tried to withdraw from me, I called Tina, who didn’t answer her phone. I left her a message, however. I don’t want her going around telling people we’re getting married when we’re clearly not.
I could be wrong, of course, though I get the distinct feeling I’m currently seeing a messy-as-hell living room, not because Gemma forgot to clean it, but because she’s testing my limits.
“Gemma?” I call. I’ve been gone two hours; tidying up shouldn’t have taken more than ten minutes. Stowing away the items I’ve had delivered to my PO box in town, I wait for her to wake up.
I don’t know how it’s physically possible to trash a room that fast. It’s exactly what she’s done, too. There were only a couple plates on the table, magazines strewn about, and some clothes on the floor when I left. Now her makeup case has made a reappearance, and there are little napkins and candy wrappers everywhere.
Walking over to the stereo, I crank up the volume to its max—only for a beat or two—but it works, and my little Gem jumps up.
“Holy fucking shit!” she screams.
I turn off the music completely and face her with my arms folded over my chest.
She could not look any cuter, I’m sure of it, in a pair of cotton panties and a pastel pink tee.
“Oh.” She blushes and ducks her head, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “Daddy, you’re—you’re home.”
I stare at her. “And you haven’t done anything about this mess yet. In fact, you’ve made it ten times worse.”
Her defense couldn’t be weaker. “I, uh…I fell asleep?”
That much is obvious. “You have twenty minutes to finish.” I check my watch. “I’ll get started on dinner.” I start to walk past her, but she grabs my arm and looks up at me with a pleading look. Not that she can fool me. “Did you have something to say?”
She shifts her weight from foot to foot and releases my arm. There’s the pout. “Can’t I do it after dinner? Please?”
“No.”
“But…but…” She huffs. “Cleaning is boring.”
Why do I get the feeling it’s not the last time she’ll say that?
She gives me a wicked grin. “There are other things I can think of that are a lot more fun.”
I’m not amused, nor will I allow her to play me.
I grip her chin. “Are you trying to fool Daddy?”
She tries to look away, but I don’t let her.
“It’s not working,” I whisper in her ear. “The only thing you’ve accomplished here is earning yourself a punishment.”
She gulps. “P-punishment?”
“Mm.” I give the room another glance. “Start cleaning, young lady.”
*
While I make us dinner, I hear her stomping around in the living room as she cleans her mess. I hear the huffs, the curses, and the whines.
Boy, will she hate me before the night is over.
“Daddy, I’m finished!” she yells.
“Good for you!” I yell back. I take out a spoon and scoop up some of the sauce I’m preparing for the lamb chops. “Salt,” I mumble quietly. It needs more salt. Butter, too.
“Ugh! Can you come look?” Oh, the yelling.
Little brat, giving me attitude. She will regret this after her bath tonight.
“I’m busy right now,” I tell her. “We’ll deal with that later. Dinner’s almost ready, so you might as well come here. You can set the table.”
More stomping. More huffing. “Fucking crap.” And more cursing.
“Your punishments just keep piling up, Gemma,” I mutter.
I hear her snort behind me. “Whatever.”
I grind my teeth together.
*
“You’re not saying much.”
I hum in agreement around a mouthful of food. “Neither are you, dear.”
“Are you mad?”
“Why would I be mad?” I reach for my wine. “You’ll be sobbing apologies soon enough.”
“Sobbing,” she repeats in a whisper, gaze lowered. Then she shakes her head. “I don’t think you have it in you. When you spanked me, you kept checking in with me to make sure you weren’t hurting me.”
Right, it’s called learning a sub’s limits. She has her safeword. I trust her to use it tonight, or I’ll keep going.
“You’ll get bored with me soon enough.” She winks.
My heart actually hurts for her. It’s going to take a lot more than a little defiance to push me away, however.
“You can go fill the bathtub in my bedroom,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t see the point, but whatever.”
I sigh as she leaves the kitchen and stomps up the stairs.
Wonderful dinner.
I might as well continue along these lines and call Tina again. She hasn’t gotten back to me since I left her the message, and I won’t allow there to be any confusion. Needing to grab the bag I left in the hallway earlier, I call Tina on the way.
Her PA answers
. “Tina Delaney’s phone, this is Eric speaking.”
“Hello, Eric, it’s Dean. Is Tina around?”
“Just a minute, honey,” he sings. “Tina, darling! Your handsome man is on the phone!” I grimace. “Do I want to know why you renamed him to his initials in your phone?” She did that a while ago, actually. She’s prone to misplace things, and I don’t want my name and my personal number out there if she loses her phone. Tina’s voice filters through. “Dean?”
I clear my throat. “Hey, I was calling to see if you got my message.”
“Oh. Well, yes. Such a pleasant message it was, too,” she drawls. “Don’t be an idiot, Dean. You and I both know we’ll work things out.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “I don’t have time for your delusions. We’re over, so I’d appreciate if you stopped telling the press our wedding is on.” I grab the bag and peer inside, looking forward to trying some of these implements on Gemma tonight.
“Look,” she grits out, “I’m about to do my physical, and filming starts in a few weeks. I don’t have time to argue about this—”
“There’s nothing to argue about,” I snap irritably. “Your schedule could not be clearer where I’m concerned. You take your time moving your things out of the house. It’ll be a while before I get back there.” Gemma and I have loosely discussed extending our stay here, and I have obligations in Hawaii in a few weeks. It wouldn’t surprise me if we went straight there from here. “It’ll only be to pack up my own belongings, anyway.” Because there’s not a chance in hell I’m living there any longer.
I yearn to start fresh, hopefully with Gemma.
“Are you serious?” Tina asks in disbelief.
“Dead serious.” I end the call.
Chapter 10
After taking a few moments to rejoin the bubble I’ve created with Gemma, I go up the stairs and toward my bedroom. I hear the water running, and even from here, I can smell the cotton candy-scented soap she uses in the water. The girl loves her bubbles.
She doesn’t notice me when I appear in the doorway, seemingly lost in her thoughts. She’s fully submerged in the water, sans head and the tops of her shoulders.
