I start, “Marco—”
His eyes hard, he cuts me off with, “I mean it, Cat. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay far away from me.”
I watch him get back on his bike, start it up and speed back towards the road that leads to town. My mind tries to comprehend everything that just happened. Only one thought remains.
My once simple life is anything but that.
***
Tonight is a special occasion.
My feet move around the other women in the kitchen in a dance we have choreographed and perfected over the years. We work well together.
It’s Clark’s birthday today, so tonight, we feast like kings.
Frankie and I prep the dinner portion of the meal, while Ari works on making individual chocolate soufflés for everyone. It’s a finicky thing, baking a soufflé, even more so when making one for everyone, but Ari does this with such grace and precision; it’s a wonder she can hear anything going on around her.
When Ari bakes, the world melts away. She becomes locked in a secure bubble.
This is her happy place.
Frankie peels carrots and potatoes to roast. I season the many racks of lamb to join them. Frankie works the dough for her specialty—handmade pasta. I make the Napolitano sauce from scratch. Ari washes lettuce for the salad, while I quietly chop tomatoes.
Bob approaches.
Bob gets shooed away by three busy women.
Working in the kitchen can be fun when the three of us are together, whereas morning kitchen duty is boring with a capital B.
“So, Cat, what did you get Clark for his birthday?” Frankie probes.
My body turns cold with dread. Slowly turning, I ask with disbelief, “We’re doing presents this year? We never do presents!”
Ari rolls her eyes. “I did not get him anything, chéri. Do not panic.” Turning to Frankie, she scolds, “Do not freak her out.”
Frankie—still peeling vegetables—grins. “It’s just that I’m pretty sure I know what Clark wants for his birthday, but it can only come from you.”
I’m confused. “Why only me?”
Frankie leans in close and looks around in secrecy before she answers, “Because the boy is in love with you, Cat. He wouldn’t want a kiss from anyone else.”
A kiss?
A kiss with Clark?
Laughter bursts out of me so viciously Frankie’s hand flies to her chest as she jumps back in fright. “Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit out of me. What the hell is so funny?”
Still chuckling, I explain, “Clark and I are friends! We’ve always been friends. We’ll always be friends. Nothing more. He doesn’t think of me like that. I would know if he does. He would tell me.”
Her eyes narrow. “He would’ve told you, would he?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
Taking a piece of tomato off my chopping board, she tosses it into her mouth and talks around it. “Then how come he told me this just last week?”
I pause mid-chop. My head lifts. A look of astonishment masks my face.
Peeling away, Frankie utters sarcastically, “Oh, but I’m sure he would have told you if he were head-over-heels in love with you for the last three years. I’m sure.” She drags out the last word, and then adds a pffft noise. “’Cause Clark isn’t the least bit insecure when it comes to you. No. Not at all. He’s so confident you love him back that he’s been hiding how he feels all this time.” Her expression turns exasperated. “Wake up and smell the roses, Cat! He’s scared to tell you how he feels!”
My steady heartbeat suddenly quickens.
Could she be right?
I think back to two years ago.
As I shuffle papers, Clark appears by my side. “How’s it going?”
I smile up at him. “I’m good, thanks.”
He laughs awkwardly and scratches his chin. “That’s great, Cat, really. But I meant how’s the job going?”
My cheeks flush. “Oh.” I laugh uneasily. “Umm. It’s okay, I guess.”
Clark’s smile fades. “It’s been over a month, Cat. You need to move it. We need that Intel, and we need it now.”
But ending the job means ending my time with James.
How am I supposed to do that to the person I love?
I don’t think I can do it.
I make a grave mistake. Before I can think about what I’m saying, I blurt out, “James doesn’t know anything, Clark. I swear. He’s a good guy. I know him. He’s not a bad guy. We got it wrong this time.”
He stares at me long and hard before moving closer to me and whispering, “Cat, think about what you’re saying...what you’re doing. Think about which side you’re taking and why.” His expression turns hurt. “You can’t choose him over me...us. You just can’t.”
I don’t respond. Clark doesn’t understand what James and I have.
None of them do.
They’re all against him, and they don’t even know him. In order to avoid this argument, I tell him, “I just need another week.”
Clark is not a stupid man. He knows exactly what I’m doing. His features harden. “He can’t give you what we can, Cat. He is exactly what we said he is. We’re your family. He’s nothing. And you’re everything to...us. Please don’t force my hand on this. You have one week.” He takes a step away from me, expression cold. “If you’re not done in a week, I’ll have to tell Bob about this.”
It would certainly explain why he was so protective of me when it came to James. But even if Clark did love me, the question remains.
Do I love him back?
Chapter Twelve
If you had asked me about Clark three years ago, my eyes would’ve turned dreamy, I would’ve smiled a secret smile and my mind would’ve drifted off to far-away places. All of those far-off fantasies would have starred Clark as the hero of the story. He always came to my rescue.
He was my champion.
But times have changed. We have changed. We aren’t who we were three years ago, and honestly, I would be worried if we were. Three years is a long time for nothing to change.
Change is a natural progression in life.
Clark was my very first crush, and having Frankie tell me I could’ve had Clark all that time makes my stomach ache.
Bitterness sweeps through me and attacks my mind with vicious flare.
If you had Clark back then, you never would’ve fallen for that asshole.
Does that make it Clark’s fault, what happened with James?
A solid bubble of emotion clogs my throat and stops me from swallowing. I blink vacantly as my thoughts take a turn in the opposite direction.
What do you feel?
Do you still get those butterflies when he’s close by, or have you resigned yourself to the fact all you’ll ever be is friends?
I’m...I’m just not sure. The more I think about this, the more unclear the answer becomes.
Dear Lord, please help me find clarity in this trying time.
Brushing my hair, I pause mid-stroke to look at myself in the bathroom mirror.
Bob told us that tonight’s dinner was to be casual and relaxed, meaning we don’t have to wear our daily disguises. So tonight, I’m wearing a black, tasteful dress; although, I never wear dresses when I don’t have to, and I’m not sure why I chose tonight to wear one.
Am I subconsciously trying to look nice for Clark?
Sighing, I shake my head and place my frigid hands on my cheeks to cool them and take some of the intense pinkness away from them.
My dress is nice. At least I can say that much. It’s black linen, comes to just above the knee and is fitted everywhere it should be. The neck remains high, buttoned up, with a white collar. The sleeves are long and also have white cuffs. A thin black belt came with the dress, but I don’t wear it. I prefer to keep it simple.
This dress was a gift from Frankie and Ari on my eighteenth birthday. We don’t usually give gifts for birthdays, but they insisted. They said every girl should have a lit
tle black dress, so when we went two towns over and I chose this one, they both said it wasn’t the type of little black dress they’d had in mind.
But it’s me. And I love it.
I sit on the edge of the tub and pull on my thigh-high white tights, slide on my black Mary-Janes and just as I go to exit—uncharacteristically and impulsively—I stop to reach for one of Ari’s headbands. I choose a thin, black band with a small bow on the left side.
After I’m sure about myself, I make my way down the stairs and through to the kitchen. Dinner will be held at Mirage, so when I reach the kitchen and find Ari and Frankie still in their habits, I stop in my tracks.
Ari spots me first. She looks flustered, prattling off harsh words in French. When she settles on me, she beams. “Oh, dear. You look beautiful.”
Frankie looks up from placing vegetables onto serving dishes, and rather than smiling, she looks down at my clothes and pales. “Oh, Cat...”
Before she can say a thing, Bob—no, scratch that—Father Robert appears by my side, dressed the part. He smiles down at me. “You look very pretty, girlie.” But the expression doesn’t reach his eyes.
My mind reels. “What’s going on?”
Father Robert puts on a tight smile. “Change of plans. We have an extra guest tonight. An outsider.”
Oh, shit.
My eyes widen as I’m suddenly panicked. “Should I go change?”
Frankie cringes, while Bob utters quietly, “Too late for that. They’re already here. Just go with it. We’ll be okay.”
“We’re here!” comes from the back entrance.
Smiling widely at Clark’s voice, I hear Frankie mutter, “Oh, shit,” a second before I turn to see Clark.
And his date.
***
I take my fork and stab at a roasted potato on my plate so hard that a shrill squeaking noise fills the awkward silence of the church’s dining quarters. I seem to miss everyone cringe and wince at the high-pitched sound.
I’m oblivious to everything and everyone at the moment. My mood tonight went from hopeful to murderous. Yes. Murderous.
Literally.
If I had a job tonight, I would have executed it in mere minutes. Blood pumps through my veins at such a speed I can hear it pulse and roar through my eardrums.
I’m furious. But what makes me even more furious is that I’m not sure why I’m so angry.
I knew it. I told Frankie Clark and I were just friends, but she pushed. And pushed. And pushed until I thought—for just a moment—we could have something good together. Sure, my feelings for him have changed, but he’s a great looking guy; he’s sweet, adorable and a great friend, and I’m sure—given the chance—I could fall in love with him.
It took me all day to work up the courage to admit I wanted to kiss him, that I wanted to feel his lips on mine, because I know if I had been given the opportunity to kiss him, that’s all I would’ve needed to know if Clark and I are compatible.
Although, you felt the zing with James...
That wasn’t a zing. I was wrong about James. This time around, when I feel the zing, I’ll have something to compare it to. Something to judge it against.
This time, you’ll know if it’s lust or something more.
I sure as hell hope so.
After Clark and Michelle arrived, I stood in the kitchen blinking stupidly at the pretty woman, completely missing my introduction to her. Bob nudged me in warning, so I gritted my teeth and held out my hand to the obnoxiously kempt outsider.
As I shook her hand and smiled, I pictured picking every blonde hair out her head one-by-one. I thought about taking the fork from the long kitchen bench and gouging her pretty blue eyes out. It would’ve been so easy to take the carving knife next to the resting racks of lamb and slit her dainty little throat, then watch the blood and life ooze out of her simultaneously.
But then she smiled at the mention of my name. Then hugged me.
“Oh, wow! You’re Cat! Clark talks so much about you.” Winking, she chuckled. “You’re his special girl.”
I stood there mid-embrace, begging my lip not to curl at her touch, while pleading with my hand to avoid flipping her ass-over-tit and breaking her wrist.
My response was laced with venom. “That’s funny. He never mentioned you.”
Loosening her hold on me, she took a step back and fluttered her lashes up at him. When he smiled back down at her, it hurt a little. Irrationally. That smile had been directed at me so many times before; I wonder how I missed just how special it was.
That’s my special smile.
She beamed at me. “Well, we didn’t tell anyone we were seeing each other.” Taking Clark’s hand, her smile softened. “We wanted to make sure we knew each other a bit better before we took the next step.”
My heart skipped a beat.
Excuse me, Cinderella?
Next step? Next step?
I swallowed hard, then stuttered, “N-next step?”
Clark cut in then, “Yeah, meeting each other’s family.”
Family. Yes. We are a family. I should be happy for him. I should.
So why do I feel as though she’s won and I’ve lost?
Jaw set, I stab at a carrot with such force I almost crack my dinner plate. Father Robert sits at the head of the table, with Sisters Arianne and Francis by his sides. On one side of the table, Michelle and Clark sit close together, whispering soft words to each other.
I fight hard to hide my subtle eye roll.
Oh, puh-leeze. Someone gag me.
On my side of the table, Marco sits between Ari and me, leaving me at the open end of the table.
Michelle speaks up, “So, Cat, where do you go to school?”
Before I can answers with, ‘I’ve been training as an assassin since before you knew your times-tables’, Bob cuts me off as he states, “Cat is in training here at the church.” He smiles proudly at me. “She’s going to be a nun.”
Michelle’s brows rise in surprise. “Oh, wow,” her eyes narrow at my dress, “I didn’t realise you could wear things like that.”
My mouth opens, but once again, I’m cut off, this time by Frankie, “We’re a smaller church, and although our beliefs remain the same as the Vatican, you could say we’re a little more liberal that way.” Frankie smirks at Michelle. “The way Cat dresses doesn’t affect what she believes in, but most days, she wears a modest outfit and veil.”
Michelle nods, face blank. We all watch her intently, hoping to God she buys our bullshit. When she smiles for the hundredth time tonight, we all seem to exhale in relief.
While everyone chats away, I mope around my meal. When a husky voice whispers by my ear, I jump. “You look beautiful, pussy cat.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks. “Thank you.”
It’s then when I stop focusing on the happy new couple and look around me. Frankie and Bob talk with their heads close together, while Ari and Michelle talk from across the table, with Clark listening in on their conversation. And Marco...
Holy shit.
I hadn’t really noticed Marco until he spoke to me. Conflicting emotions coarse through me. My cheeks flush hotter. Marco looks amazing. He’s made an effort this evening, and dressed up in dark jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. My eyes close as I suddenly catch his scent, and it makes me want to bury my nose in the crook of his neck and lick a trail up to his jawline.
Oh, fuck.
You don’t ever think about Clark that way.
No.
I don’t.
Before my mind can stop my mouth, I respond to Marco with, “You look beautiful, too.” He lifts his head and slowly turns to me, lips twitching.
Shit!
Cheeks so red they might just burst into flames, I quickly mutter, “Not beautiful—handsome. You look handsome.” I shrug in an act to seem as though I’m unaffected by his magnificence. “Not that you don’t every other day, but with the dress jeans and shirt, you don’t just look handsome—you look gorgeous.”
/>
Oh, for fuc—SHUT UP!
Really. Kill me, please.
Having had this conversation quiet enough so no one else could possibly hear, I sit in silence blinking down at my lap, my face on fire. Thankfully, Marco gives me the silence I need right now.
My mouth is dry. I’m suddenly parched.
“I need water,” I croak, and reach for my glass at the same time Marco does. Our hands collide and knock my glass full of water all over the table, where it dribbles and spills over the side and into my lap.
Marco mumbles, “Shit,” as I jump up so fast, my chair flies back, tipping over with a boom that echoes throughout the room.
As Marco reaches out to me with his napkin in-hand, I step back, away from the source of my discomfort. “I’m sorry; I’m so darn clumsy sometimes.” I force a strained chuckle, holding my own napkin to my soaked dress. I look to Clark and whisper, “I’m so sorry.” Blinking away tears of mortification, I quickly turn to Bob and ask, “May I be excused?”
Before he can answer, I’m out the door.
Chapter Thirteen
Have you ever been so embarrassed about something all you wanted to do was crawl in a hole and die?
Well, that’s exactly how I feel right now.
My feet move quickly up the stairs and down the hall to my room, where I throw open the door, close it behind me and lock it. I shrug out of my dress, humiliated at the fact I wore something special for a man who didn’t appreciate it. A man who didn’t want me.
I feel rejected for all the wrong reasons.
A day ago, Clark was just my friend. And without him even knowing, I have spent the last twenty-four hours contemplating our non-existent relationship beyond repair.
I quickly dress in plain black pyjama pants and a loose white tee; I slide on my slippers and retreat to a place I always feel welcome. Going the long way around to avoid our guests, I slip downstairs and out Bob’s private entrance to the side of the building. I tiptoe my way to the back entry, where my haven awaits me.
I shuffle over to the garden, but surprise has me screeching to a halt.
Clark sits at the bench by the tree beside my garden.
Sighing, I run my hand through my hair and take a small step forward. Clark sits with his elbows resting on his knees, his face in his hands. The sound of leaves crunching beneath my feet has Clark looking up at me. His eyes meet mine in an intense stare.