Chapter 53
Rick looks like the last thing in the world he wants to do is agree with Mom, but he crosses both burly arms over his barrel chest and mutter a very unconvincing, “Right.”
“Well, thank you for having me.” Adrian’s smile shines almost as bright as his brown Hermès loafers.
Mom’s eyes are drawn straight to them. “What did you say your last name was again?”
“Ellis, ma’am.”
“Ellis?” She turns to Rick. “Why does that sound familiar to me? It’s like…” Her eyes widen, her back straightens, her mouth gapes open. “Jesus! I’ve seen your mother’s interviews in People magazine.” Her face lights up like I’ve brought home a shiny new toy. “...and you’re dating my Poppy.”
“I am, ma’am.”
She throws her head back and laughs, then steps close enough to squeeze his shoulder. “Oh, there’s no need for any of that! You can call me Mae.”
I cringe, unable to tell what’s worse: that Adrian has now met my mother or that my mother’s now met Adrian.
***
By the time I manage to pry Adrian from my mother and drag him into my bedroom, the stupor has lifted and my anger returns full-force.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
For someone who’s likely just flown across the country, he looks obnoxiously well-styled and uncreased by the scratchy fabric of an airplane seat.
Adrian pays no mind to the fact that I’m about to blow my top, choosing instead to peruse the knick-knacks stacked on top of my dresser. “I didn’t realize you were such a cute kid,” he says. “Or a fan of Elizabeth Taylor.”
“I’m not.” My cheeks bloom with color as I pluck a photo of me, aged seven and wearing a dark wig too big for my head, from his fingers. “I just thought she was cool.”
And effortlessly elegant in the way that I always wanted to be.
Mom used to have a bunch of her old movies on DVD, so I spent more than enough of my childhood wondering what it’d be like to a live a life that could be told through diamonds just as well it could through stories.
“And your obsession with the color green?” He points to a handful of old sketches taped to the walls, all done in varying shades of green.
I shrug. “There was this specific brand of colored pencils I really wanted as a kid. The green pack was all I could afford.”
Having toured my dresser, he turns his attention to my bed next. “Well, I can see why you never complain about that rickety little bed in your dorm room.” He presses his palm into the mattress, and when the springs loudly protest even a fraction of his weight, he turns to look at me, one eyebrow cocked. “Please tell me you don’t actually sleep on this thing every night.”
It’s this comment in particular that reminds me I’m not the one who should be answering questions right now.
“My bed’s fine,” I snap. “Now, do you need a tour of the rest of my childhood, or can we have a conversation?”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind the tour.” Adrian straightens to his full height, and the top of his head nearly brushes the popcorn ceiling.
“I think you’ve had enough of a tour. Why are you here?” Thanks to the trailer’s paper-thin walls, it comes out as more of a whisper than a shout.
It only takes Adrian a millisecond to close the space between us, to slide his hands around my waist, to slot his head into the crook of my neck. “Am I not allowed to miss you?”
It’s almost embarrassing to admit that, after a week without it, his touch scorches more than the Alabama sun ever has.
I sigh. “Adrian –”
His mouth meets my skin. “I think I like it when you say my name like that.”
Unbidden, an image flashes through my head – Adrian’s body pressed into mine, my wrists pinned to the mattress, and me screaming his name.
No, no, not now.
Don’t think about this now.
You’re supposed to be having a conversation.
Still, I allow myself approximately three seconds to soak in the pleasure of the open-mouthed kisses he trails down my neck before pushing him away.
And it takes just about every ounce of my self-control to do so.
“I know what you’re doing,” I tell him, though my voice’s certainly shakier than it was when we started. “And I don’t appreciate it.”
Hands still planted around my waist, he asks, “And what is it I’m doing?”
“You’re trying to distract me,” I say. “And it’s not working.”
Liar, a little voice in the back of my head whispers.
I take another step back, grateful when he doesn’t follow, and suck in a breath. “Why are you here, Adrian?”
He blinks down at me through those long, dark lashes of his. “I told you. I missed you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You missed me so much you didn’t bother even calling or texting once.”
“Well, neither did you.”
“Because I wanted space,” I retort.
“I gave you an entire week of space.”
“It should’ve been three.”
“But I –”
“Wanted to fuck with me,” I cut in. “Why actually give me space when you can just pretend to, then show up at the last second, and invade my home?”
“‘Invade’ is a bit of a strong word, don’t you think?” Amusement curls the corners of his mouth, which tells me exactly how serious he’s taking this conversation.
I shake my head.
That’s how this is going to go?
Fine.
I plaster a smile on my face. “You know what? We don’t need to argue about this.”
“Well, we’re in agreement about that, sweetheart.”
“Good.” My voice turns sickly sweet. “Because if you don’t leave right now, I’m going to walk out of this room, start sobbing, and explain to my mother that you cheated on me. She’ll throw you out herself.”
It’s probably more gratifying than it should be to watch the amusement drain from his face. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” I nod. “And trust me – there won’t be enough sunflowers in the world to charm your way back into her good graces. She despises cheating.” There’s an entire arsenal of shitty ex-boyfriends to thank for that.
Adrian pauses like he’s mulling the proposition over and then says, “Well, I’ll just blame it on the pregnancy hormones.”
I go still. “What?”
He cocks his head to the side, obsidian eyes sparkling. “How disappointed do you think she’d be to learn you’re about to be a teenage mom?”
I know the panic that sparks in my chest is exactly the reaction he’s hoping for, but I can’t help it. “You wouldn’t.”
“I can make just as much of a scene as you can, sweetheart,” he replies. “It only matters which one of us Mae believes first.”
I’d like to say me.
I should, as her daughter, be able to say she’d believe me over the charming boy who waltzed into her home twenty minutes ago.
And I can’t.
Because if there’s one thing I understand about Mae Anne Davis – besides her absolute detest for cheaters – it’s that she absolutely would take the word of a charming stranger over her own daughter’s any day of the week.
Hell, Rick planted the idea in her head that I might be strung out on drugs, and it took nearly an hour-and-a-half to convince her otherwise.
And the reality of that drains every last bit of fight out of me.
“You know,” I finally say. “When you confessed your feelings for me, I joked that we’d have a relationship built on secrets and blackmail, but I’m not sure I actually grasped what that meant at the time.”
“Well, it’s not all blackmail,” he shoots back. “Maybe only fifty-percent.”
“And if I want zero percent? If I don’t want to sit around waiting to see what you’ll do to throw me off-kilter next?” I shake my head, the frustration suddenly pouring out of me like water through a broken dam. “It’s always a power struggle with you. It’s like...I’m never sure if I’m standing on solid ground. And any ground I do get, I have to fight tooth and nail for it because you’re not willing to relinquish an inch.
“Three weeks. That’s all I wanted. Just a few weeks to clear my head, to get a little bit of space, and you couldn’t even give me that.”
“Right,” he drawls, his voice sharpening to a knife point. “And are you sure three weeks would’ve been enough to make yourself believe that what we have isn’t real?”
“That’s not –”
He raises one challenging eyebrow. “That’s what you mean by space, isn’t it, sweetheart? Take some time away. Clear your head. Convince yourself that your feelings for me aren’t genuine.”
My mouth goes dry.
Of course I’d known – or suspected – that Adrian might discern the major reason I wanted to spend break separately, but it feels surprisingly raw to have it laid out so plainly.
“I wasn’t convincing myself of anything,” I argue back. “I just wanted to think, and I wanted to do it in a place that you haven’t already sucked the oxygen out of.”
His mouth thins.
I square my shoulders.
He exhales loudly through his nose.
I cross my arms.
Neither one of us wants to cow under the weight of the other’s displeasure, but after a beat of silence, Adrian breaks the staring match, sighs, and admits, “I don’t know how to do this part.”
“What part?”
Now he’s the one glancing away, his mouth twisted up like I’ve made him swallow piece of sour candy. “The part where I’m not in control.”
It’s a surprisingly truthful answer.