by Anne Eliot
Turning away from him more than ever as I feel his presence coming up too close behind me, I pull out some diapers from a box, and kneel to stack some rows of diapers on the bottom shelf of the changing table. “I’m not avoiding anyone. I’m working. You are paying me so much money. I’m here to do a job and I’m doing it. It’s like I told you the first day. You, and Adam and Hunter your your faces and your eyes fluster me to the point I feel kind of queasy when I’m looking at you, so I’m trying as hard as possible not to look.”
Vere laughs, “Well that answers that, because even I’d noticed you avoiding looking at people.” She laughs again.
“And, okay,” I go on. “I do have the urge to run when you all first come in the room. Even from you, Vere.”
“Why?” Her big brown eyes look concerned.
I meet her eyes and shrug, before continuing, “Try to look at things from my point of view. I’m a fish out of water up here. I think it’s scary to go out in the living room because it’s as big as my whole high-school entryway was, and,” I pull in a breath. “It was a very big high school. I feel like if I randomly come across one of you—well—heck what does a normal person like me say to people who are part of a famous rock band? You’re also each so drop-dead-gorgeous that with one direct look you sweep away my mind. Oh, and because of that I also don’t like looking at your eyes.”
Vere’s cracking up. “Oh-my-God-I Love-Robin-Love.”
I toss her a look. “And I do mean to ask for autographs because my brother, Sage, he’s such a fan and I’ve promised him that I would. He keeps begging me to get them actually, but so far it’s been too daunting for me to do that. Concert tickets are like one hundred dollars or more each, right?”
Vere nods. “At least.”
“I wouldn’t assume to ever ask for something as big as that, because that’s presumptuous and rude, and I promised Mrs. Hildebrandt that I would not be that type of employee. Promises mean a lot to me.” I shake my head, staring down at my hands. “And, then, there’s always the part where you, Royce…you say this baby is not your baby and—and—”
“Go on, please,” he encourages me softly, and by the sound of his voice I get that he’s walked up next to me.
“And that makes me so angry. A point which also makes me not want to look at you specifically, Royce. Because…” I drop my voice to a whisper and add, “I’m not very polite when I’m angry and I’m sort of always angry at you.”
“Wow. Honest much?” He laughs, sounding unoffended.
“But you asked!” My heart thrums with stress that he’s expecting me to tell him more about myself, so I lash out with the only other truth I can say out loud, “I’m a private person, so please don’t pry into my life anymore. Even though I don’t have lawyers and paperwork backing me here, can we agree that you will give me the same respect I gave you, when you made me sign those non-disclosure documents before starting to work for you?”
I pause to breathe out a shaking breath and stand from where I’ve been working. I steel myself to turn and face him, prepared to slam him with one last back off comment, but suddenly he’s too close to me and I’m saying, “Oh. Oh, God. Would you look at your eye!”
Shocked, I put one hand over my mouth and take in the black-blue-swollen side of his face. Speaking through my fingers, I say, “Is that what my elbow did to you?”
He nods, those sliver eyes of his are circling my face like they did the night we met.
“I’m so sorry.” Before I can think, I’m stepping up high onto my toes so I can get a better look. From far away I hear my voice saying, “It really hurts still, doesn’t it?” He nods. “Calling it a black eye doesn’t describe this properly, does it? There’s actually yellow in there. Lots of yellow, and maroons and so much purple. It should be called a painted eye.”
“Spoken like a true artist, I suppose?” He winces as one of my fingers trails under the bruise and touches a puffy part under his eye. “Looks way worse than it feels. Honest.”
“He’s lying, Robin. Lying is what he does best.” Vere’s skipped over to peer up at Royce along with me. “And holy cow, you’re right. So many colors! You should have heard him howling when they prodded him before they x-rayed it.”
“You had to be x-rayed?” I shake my head, heart weighty with guilt as I gently push his chin to the side so I can get a better look at the dark swoop under his eye, aware that his sexy rock star beard is just long enough that it’s soft against my fingertips, not prickly. “Do you want me to pay back the medical costs? I will.” I sigh, straightening my shoulders because they’re trying to slump against the wave of worry that idea has caused me. If he had an x-ray and saw a bunch of doctors, then my ten thousand dollars is going right back to him.
“If it helps at all, I didn’t mean to hurt you like this and, truly, I’m sorry. Now I see why Adam said the make-up artist was upset. This must be impossible to cover up. No wonder you’ve been so hateful towards me.”
His forehead crinkles and he turns his face directly back to face mine. “You think I’ve been…hateful?” His silver eyes go over my face again.
This time the intensity of his look makes me shiver.
“Robin.” He swallows, running both hands through his hair. “No one hates you, and I’m the one who’s sorry if you think that. Sorry that this,” he points around the room. “This situation has made me hateful. Damn me, but you’re scrambling my head.” His gaze seeks out Vere’s. “Hurting an innocent girl’s feelings counts as a new low for Guarderobe’s schemes, right Vere?” he asks, cryptically.
“That’s what I’m trying to fix. That’s why I draged you in here,” she answers. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Robin is so easy to be friends with, and you don’t have to be so…terrible.”
“Don’t I?” His penetrating sci-fi eyes of his are hovering between my face and Vere’s like they don’t know where to land. I flick a glance to Vere also. For the first time since I’ve known her, she looks so unhappy, like she wants to say something more, but is holding back.
I’d step back, or turn away, but when my eyes go back to Royce, I’m stuck. Trapped cataloging all of his beauty like I did the day I met him in that limo.
Aside from those eyes of his, which I’ve already pondered too much, I’m caught wondering about the way his jaw’s clenched so hard it seems to create a pulse in one side of his cheek. Then I’m wondering which shade of black his hair might be, because there are so many shades of black in the world. His thick waves, in this light, boast maroon and reddish tones mixed in there. Colors which have me wondering if they’re natural, or if it’s a contrived attractive-stylist-suggested-add-on like the beard he’s grown. Maybe the colors hiding in his hair came out of some stylist’s bottle.
When he blinks I realize the hurt eye moves slower than the other, because it’s more than bruised, it’s really swollen. I say, “You’ve been lying about how much this hurts, haven’t you?”
He doesn’t answer my question, just goes completely motionless and stares down at me as I can’t stop staring up, pressing on, “And you definitely need to ice it. Right here.” I move my hand up and gingerly hover my fingers over the outer edges of the injury under his eye, then reach to touch above the bruise near his brow. “And, also here. Are you doing ice? Taking some Motrin for swelling, at least?”
Like he’s noticed that I’ve noticed the heat coming off of his skin, or maybe he’s noticed that I’ve caught a heady whiff of what that same, very expensive musky cologne that sucked out my soul days ago, he flinches like he’s afraid I’m going to touch him again, or worse deck him again.
He pulls back away from me very fast, and I flush to the tips of my ears.
Vere, seemingly unaware time stopped for Royce and I while she’s been grinning and moving around the piles of stuff in the room, says, “So, where were we on the topic of our sweet Robin’s misguided future?”
“Nowhere.” I shake my head. “Where were we on the topic of getting Royce
some ice so the swelling will go down enough that he can see to his baby better, which is really why he came in here, right?” I switch subjects; deliberately trying to remind both of them that Royce hasn’t even looked at the sleeping baby in the crib since he’s come in here.
“Good point,” Vere nods, taking my cue.
Like he’s flipped a switch and can read my mind or something, Royce glances quickly into the crib, but his eyes hardly skim the baby.
“Baby’s checked, and I’m fine. I actually welcome the pain thudding through my head, so no ice necessary.”
When he looks back at me, I try for the most pleading expression I can make. I also try to make my eyes wide, and open my heart so he can see my thoughts, but I don’t think I’m doing a good job at it. It’s the first time I’ve tried to tell someone with an expression alone that they’ve failed. That they need be a better person. Can he not understand this baby is his daughter? That she’s going to be his everything?
When he doesn’t, just looks at me with this odd helpless expression and shrugs without once glancing back at the baby, I also can’t stop the headshake of disapproval and utter disappointment I send out next.
That one, he seems to understand.
“Okay. We’re done here, aren’t we? Yes. Yes we have to be,” he says, voice pensive, almost desolate. I get the distinct feeling he’s talking to himself, not to me. His silver eyes have closed up again until they appear shuttered like they were the first time I met him. The warm, concerned and almost kind voice I’d only just become used to has gone back to cold. Ice cold. “I’ve done my duties, checked the baby—made sure the nanny’s okay and working, and we’ve gotten to know each other a little better. But now, I’m thinking that part was a mistake. I can’t do this how you want, Vere.”
“You can’t do what?” Vere asks. “Royce? What?”
With no answer, he stalks out of the room, leaving an almost crackling silence stretching between me and Vere.
“Was that my fault? I’m sure it was,” I ask quietly. “Mrs. Hildebrandt told me not to touch you guys, and I got a little bossy as well. But, someone has to remind him daily that a sweet baby girl is counting on him.”
“I agree. That’s why I tried to drag him in here. I bet, when the tests happen that will prove the baby is truly Royce’s, he’s going to rally and be a great daddy. In the meantime, don’t take anything he says, or does, or doesn’t do personally.” She scrunches up her nose, trying to be funny. “I know, let’s try not to think about him at all, okay?”
I laugh at her expression. “Already, I don’t. And for the future, I won’t,” I lie, because after what happened in here today, it’s all become very personal.
Because of how important my father is to me, and because of the love I now have for his baby, I vow to make sure Royce never looks at the baby how he just did—like she doesn’t belong to him—ever again.
Chapter 23
When the limo drops me back at the Perino’s house I note that both Angel and Mrs. Perino’s cars are in the driveway, meaning everyone’s already here and there is probably another amazing dinner waiting. Even better, my little white Subaru has been tucked up next to the garage. My heart swells with gratitude, because seeing it full of our things feels like I’ve been reunited with an old friend.
Angel peeks around the hood as I approach. “How’d it go?”
“Another day of strange rockstar-life moments. It’s getting less stressful. Or, at least I’m getting used to them some. It’s a crazy strange life they live. The baby is still cute though.” I’m trying to smile, but I’m so wiped out it’s hard to fake my optimism today. As I take in Angel’s calm, ever-observant eyes going over me like he’s already wrapped me into his protective bubble of gentle-giant-kindness, I realize with him, with the Perinos, I don’t have to fake things in front of them. I let my shoulders drop and add, “I’m really tired.”
“So I noticed.” He puts down his wrench, and closes the hood.
I point at the car. “Did you have it towed here, or is it actually fixed? I’m counting down the days when I won’t have to rely on riding in the limo with cranky-driver-man. I swear that guy hates me.”
Angel laughs. “A friend of mine helped me tow it here, no charge. I got a lead on a used engine. The thing should run you about $650.00. Labor is free of course. It will take about ten days of after-work tinkering to get it going again.”
“Do you think they’ll hold the engine for me until I get paid?” I lay my hand on the hood of the car.
“No need. I already paid for it. I know you’re good for it.”
“But that’s just the thing. You don’t know I’m good for it, not really.” I open one of the car’s side doors and pull out the two duffel bags that hold my clothes and Sage’s.
“Yes. I do.”
“Thank you, Angel. I’ll pay you the day Guarderobe pays me.”
Angel quirks a smile, takes both bags out of my hands and shoulders them when Mrs. Perino comes out of the back gate, calling, “Ragazzi! I saw the limo driving away. Are you coming in? Dinner’s lasagna tonight. It’s almost time to pull it out of the oven.”
“Just grabbing some things I’d been missing.” I answer, waving as she approaches.
Mrs. Perino reaches us, pausing to wipe her hands into her flowered apron. “Hello Robin. Bella-picola. Was the day good?” She pulls me into a quick hug and I breathe in the warm smell of flour and vanilla, probably from her baked goods, that I’m realizing always clings to her clothes. “Welcome home.”
“Good. Yes. Thanks.” I hug her back, my heart has expanded at the sincere welcome. Pulling back, I study their faces. “Why are you both so nice? Really, thank you for making my life so easy and caring for Sage. I want you to know I will pay you back for everything.”
Mrs. Perino opens her mouth like she’s about to protest but Angel presses closer to both of us and answers first, “Robin, look here at my mamma’s face.” He points at Mrs. Perino. “I know you only just met us as well, so you don’t have a comparison, but, see that smile?”
I nod, and Mrs. Perino smiles wider.
“The smile is one she’s been wearing since you and Sage arrived here. It’s a smile she I had almost forgotten. One that you and Sage brought here with you. To see it again, to know my mamma is feeling truly happy like some circle we’d had left wide open ten years ago has been closed thanks to you, is payback enough.”
“He’s right, Robin.” Mrs. Perino nods. “You have paid us back.”
Angel continues, locking his eyes onto mine, “It might be too soon to say this, but having you and Sage here with us has brought back how we felt before Cara died. We haven’t felt this right in so long.”
“What he means is,” Mrs. Perino puts a gentle arm on my arm. “We haven’t felt like a family. Not like a whole family. Always, something was missing. But with you and Sage sitting around our table, adding noise and life to the place, all suddenly feels peaceful. Like this was meant to be. Like we’re all in the right place. Do you have that feeling?”
Her words make me think how Sage had said almost the same thing, and have caused my chest to tighten and twist all over again, this time with such longing it actually hurts, because it makes me afraid. “I feel something, too,” I answer honestly. “I just don’t know what to do with how it feels.”
“Well, I know.” Mrs. Perino hugs herself. “It is why I’ve been asking you to stay here should you want to, because we want you to. You don’t need to search for an apartment. We have a place here. A perfect place. Cara’s cottage. When you see it, you will understand that it can work for the two of you. For us.”
Looking away from them both, I fiddle with the door handle on my car. “I peeked into that cottage last night. Cara’s art studio?” They nod, as I forge ahead. “It’s full of her supplies, her mind-blowing tree mural she’d painted on the wall. So beautiful.” The memories of it make me shiver. When I glance between them, they’re nodding, but I can see they also fe
el a little guilty. “Why didn’t you tell me Cara was a serious artist? Like an amazing, fine artist? You said she was into painting.” I make air quotes. “But from what I saw, she was better than great. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Angel laughs a tight laugh. “Because I’m cynical, and because I don’t believe in God anymore, or even fate.” He holds out his arms for me to see goosebumps scattered there. “All this woo-woo-goose-bumps all over my arms, shaking legs, dreams of my sister all night long, and all that I’ve been suddenly experiencing and believing in since the first second I met you, makes me feel like a freak. That’s why.”
Mrs. Perino picks up Angel’s hand. “That’s what you’ve been feeling? Me too.” She puts an arm around his waist.
Angel levels me with that black wide-open gaze of his. “Because telling you our past scares the shit out of me. Because based on your expression, all that I’ve wondered is true.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I wondered, if I mentioned any of the bigger similarities between you and Cara, if it would freak you out. I was afraid it would make you bolt the hell out of here. I also figured you’d find out on your own.” His eyes skate away from mine. “Everyone finds out about us, eventually, and then they don’t stick around, and my mom and I…well, we really want you to stay.”
I sigh, looking between both of them. “What if I don’t want to wait and find out eventually? Mrs. Hildebrandt said some things that made me wonder.”
“Maybe she said a few things that made you a little…afraid?”
