Sparrow (12 page)

Finally, after a few minutes, she hung up on the person and wiggled her finger at me. “My daughter will give you nice dress. She your size. But you no dirty it and you give back after dry clean.
Comprende
?”

I nodded, a little shocked and a lot relieved. I couldn’t, for the life of me, understand why she’d want to help me. Either way, I was glad Brennan would see me in something presentable and perhaps give me this job.

“Thanks, I guess.” I followed her movements as she began cleaning up after me.

“You,” she said furiously, scrubbing pans and shielding me away from helping her with her shoulder, “are little girl. He,” she continued, pointing upstairs with her chin to where the bedroom was, “a big, powerful man. You no annoying him, or he dump your ass.”

I couldn’t help but break into a laugh. “Dump your ass” was just about the funniest thing Maria had ever said to me.

I shook my head and walked to her, pouting my apology. “You’re right. And please don’t clean after me. I can do this myself.” I carefully tried to pry a dirty pan from her hand.

She rolled her eyes and elbowed me away. “Let me clean, silly girl.”

I packed up all the food that I'd made and dispatched it to the homeless shelter, via a taxi and a big tip from Connor, who refused to let me deliver it myself.

I didn’t get to meet Maria’s daughter. She left the cocktail dress for Connor to pick up in the lobby along with a pair of high heels while I was in the shower. Those, too, were exactly my size. When I walked into the bedroom, the gown was already laid out on Troy’s big bed. It was a peach-colored and sleeveless, with a sweetheart neckline and a thin gold belt.

At 7:45, I zipped it on me, added some makeup (not too much, just a little mascara and lip gloss to cover up my freckles and hours of self-pity) and rode the elevator down to the lobby.

Not to my surprise, Troy was late. I texted Lucy and Daisy while sitting in one of the creamy leather chairs, waiting for him. A sudden urge to wrap myself up in familiarity, in their friendship, gripped me. Plus, it was evident they were more than a little suspicious about my sudden disappearance from our neighborhood.

Me:
Hey, girls, want to have drinks next week?

Lucy:
You tell us.

Me:
?

Daisy:
Stopped by your house. Your dad said something about you moving out. What’re you hiding, Birdie?

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Guess the reassuring messages I’d sent my friends hadn’t really make the impact I was hoping for.

Me:
You must have misunderstood. I’m not hiding anything. Just busy. My interview is in a few minutes, btw.

Lucy:
You worked at a diner and take cooking classes. Now all of a sudden, you have a job interview at Rouge Bis? One to ten, how stupid do you think we are?

Me:
Mmm…5?

Me again:
Kidding. Look, I can explain.

No, I couldn’t. And that was the worst part. I knew they’d find out eventually, but I didn’t want to deal.

Daisy:
You better. We’ll be waiting for you @ our usual spot. Good luck with the interview.

I was about to fire Lucy and Daisy another message when I heard footfalls and my eyes shot up from my cell. I recognized his walk. It was elegant, self-assured and claimed the space he’d just entered. He wore a pale gray suit that somehow made him look even taller and broader. I stood up, smoothing my dress with my hands and looking at him like a guilty kid.

“How were the pancakes?” Brennan placed a dry, impersonal kiss on my cheek.

Like he had to. Like I was an annoying aunt. He also seemed to have forgotten (or not noticed) I’d thrown the stack of pancakes in the sink. Wow, what an attentive husband. Lucky me.

“Worth all the sugary
crap
in them.” I tipped my chin up defiantly, then rethought the attitude. I
wanted
that job. “Like my dress?”

Brennan frowned, but his expression looked more puzzled than angry. “You picked this dress yourself?” He took a step back, examining me. His frown made him no less easy on the eyes.

In fact, any expression other than his cold shark-gaze made my pulse increase. He wasn’t unattractive, and it bothered me.
A lot.

“Shopping wasn’t first priority,” I admitted, making sure there was enough distance between us. Brennan was hot. Not just figuratively, he actually radiated warmth. “Maria was kind enough to call her daughter and ask if I could borrow a dress from her.”

“Her daughter?” He studied my face as we made our way out of the lobby, like he didn’t believe me.

“Yeah, her daughter. Why? Is it too peachy for your taste? Or maybe you were expecting a leather thong like my wedding gift?” I cocked an eyebrow, shivering as we exited into another cold, drizzling night.

He simply pressed his palm possessively into the small of my back and led me out to the awning-covered sidewalk. I tried to ignore the bolt of lust shooting down my belly at his touch. I wanted to move into his heat. Probably just the fact I had little to no experience with the opposite sex, I tried convincing myself. After all, I hated this man. My body, as it turned out, didn’t share the sentiment.

“You look nice,” he offered, though everything about his compliment felt like it had a hidden meaning, as per usual.

“Thank you.”

The street was buzzing with traffic and pedestrians. I recognized his car from his visit to my neighborhood. The white Maserati—a stark contrast to a mob-style black Mercedes, I didn’t fail to note—was double-parked in the middle of the one-way street in front of the building. He’d created an unapologetic traffic jam, blocking the way of a dozen vehicles behind him. People were honking and swearing, waving their fists out of their car windows despite the rain.

But when they saw it was Troy Brennan who approached the shiny GranTurismo, they swiftly tucked their heads back into their cars and rolled their windows up. I actually heard the
clicks
of the closest doors locking in unison.

Embarrassed beyond words and horrified by my other half’s arrogance, I shook off his touch and picked up my pace to his car. He carried an unopened umbrella, but didn’t increase his speed or spare me a second glance as I rushed to avoid getting wet. I still couldn’t believe it was so rainy and cold in June. It was like the whole world had conspired against Sparrow Raynes. It was bad enough to deal with this guy without nature deciding to taunt me with constant clouds.

“Did you
have
to block all those people?” I asked as I fastened my seatbelt.

“No.” He met my gaze, unblinking, as he climbed behind the wheel. “Just didn’t care enough not to.”

I stared out the window with pursed lips and thunder in my eyes as the car rolled into Boston’s unforgiving Friday-night traffic, trying to let the chilly leather seat cool my temper. The radio station played “Heavy Is The Head” by the Zac Brown Band and Chris Cornell. Pretty ironic, I thought bitterly.

“You can wipe that satisfied grin off your face,” I said after a steadying breath. I could see his amusement from my peripheral vision. “Rudeness doesn’t impress me. I’ve never seen the appeal of the whole angry-asshole façade, and I’d definitely never fall for someone like you.”

"Troy Brennan. Nice to meet you. There’s always a first time for everything.”

“Maybe this…” I waved my finger between us. “Will be the first time you realize that not all women are the gold-digging, cookie-cutter, cardboard stereotype you’ve been dating so far.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t burn all your bridges to my good graces.” His smirk somehow broke into an even wider smile. “You have something you want from me tonight, Red.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He flashed me a quick glance before training his amused gaze back on the road. “Because you agreed to have dinner with me.”

I blew some air out of my lungs, rubbing my bare arms. He noticed and turned on the heater. Sadly, it was the nicest thing he’d ever done for me.

“Okay, you’re right. I have a suggestion I need to run by you.” My voice was thick.

“Later,” Brennan said, and I decided not to push for now.

As the silence stretched. I adjusted my dress, pried at the high heels that felt too tight.

“How’s your foot tonight?” he suddenly asked.

“Better,” I answered automatically, then bit my inner cheek once I realized what I’d done.
Shit
.

I was collecting
shit
-moments by the second this evening.

His lips pressed together in a thin line. “I’m a lot of bad things, but an idiot is not one of them. I figured you cut yourself on our wedding night to avoid consummating our marriage. You wearing my socks, and the blood I found on my razor was a big fucking clue. I’m not a rapist, Sparrow.”

Feeling my cheeks heat, I rubbed my forehead. “With all due respect, Brennan, with your track record, I decided it was better to be safe than sorry.”

“My track record?” He hissed out a breath. “Please educate me on what the fuck you’re talking about? And quit calling me Brennan. I’m your husband, not your boss.”

I needed to backpedal my last remark. What was I supposed to answer?
Everyone knows you killed Billy Crupti? People say you break bones for a living? You make my knees weak with fear?

“My point is,” I said, “intimidating a woman with sex is disgusting. I didn’t want you to touch me.” I folded my arms over my chest, trying to catch my breath again.

That was my constant physical state around this man. I could run for hours on end and sing simultaneously without missing a note, but I couldn’t, for the life of me, talk to him for a few seconds without feeling like I needed an inhaler.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Red. But if I recall, on our wedding night you creamed my boxers like they were a fucking birthday cake.”

This man was so disgusting sometimes the need to hurt him overwhelmed me.

“Thanks for the poetic analogy. And still, I don’t want to have sex with you.”

“Yes, you do.” His lips curved seductively, his eyes still narrowed on the car in front of us. “Your eyes wander to my morning wood. You grind yourself against me when given the opportunity. Your nipples were so hard when I sucked on your blood, they almost cut through your shirt.” His right hand traveled from the gearbox, hovering over my thigh, but never touching. “And you kissed me last night and moaned my name.
You.
”

Damn, it was hot. I could feel the warmth of his skin, even through the dress’s fabric.

“You’re ripe, Red. And you want to have sex. It’s just a shame you want to have it with a man you hate.”

I shook my head. “Unbelievable.”

He shrugged, holding the steering wheel in one hand and drumming on the gearbox with the other, moving away from my thigh. “Love and hate are similar in a lot of ways.”

“Is there a way to love you away from me?” I snapped.

“No, but you could hate-fuck me all you want.”

I flushed lobster red, a jolt of warmth finding its way to my groin. Troy Brennan was perfectly content with talking dirty, whereas I was embarrassed at simply thinking about sex. Yet again, he had the upper hand.

I stretched, straightening my spine, wishing we weren’t in the middle of the traffic jam from hell. I had a feeling we weren’t going to make it to the restaurant even if he made reservations for nine o’clock.

I changed the subject. “We’re going to miss our reservation with this traffic. Maybe we should just forget dinner.” The less time together, the better.

“I don’t need reservations. I own the place. They’ll serve us at four in the morning if that’s what I feel like.”

Just like that, a gap opened up in the traffic. He sped through a light, and my heart picked up speed, along with the car. We were going to visit Rouge Bis, the restaurant I so desperately wanted to work at. This brought new possibilities and hence new hopefulness to my mood. I perked up in my seat, trying to keep my smile to myself.

Back to plan A.

Back to playing nice.

Back to building bridges.

I decided calling him by his first name would be a good start.

“Can you tell me a little more about why you chose to marry me, Troy?” I stared straight ahead to avoid the sting if he decided to award me with another snarky comment.

He was navigating the streets like a fire-spitting monster was on our heels, violating every driving law known to man, and inspiring some new laws in the process.

“When you were nine and I was nineteen…” He paused, letting the gravity of our age difference sink in. “There was a wedding. Paddy and Shona Rowan, remember them? She was his third wife, I think.”

I swallowed hard, nodding. One of the only mobster weddings Pops was ever invited to, and, boy, was he proud. The groom was a man who dabbled in real estate and drug smuggling after the FBI threw his friends in jail. He didn’t mind socializing with peasants like my dad.

And on his wedding day, I found out why.

Paddy Rowan was high on my shit list, one of the first two people up there, along with the man who sat right next to me. The only difference was that I hated Troy and wanted him out of my life, but Paddy? I wanted Paddy dead.

“I remember,” I said, pain already tickling the pit of my stomach. “‘Saving All My Love For You.’”

“Excuse me?” he said, sounding amused.

“The name of the song we…you know.” My face was on fire. I was embarrassed to admit that I remembered. “We danced to it. “Saving All My Love For You” by Whitney Houston.”

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Anyway, my family shared a table with yours, much to everyone’s surprise.”

Just in case I’d forgotten just how low-class I was.

“But,” he continued, “Paddy was always a clueless prick. Anyway, you sat across from me. I didn’t pay much attention to you, because you were nine, and that was too fucked up even by my standards.” He shook his head, almost cringing. “I remember you were the cutest, politest little thing. You asked my mother tons of questions. At one point you asked her if her teeth were real. Then you tried to convince me to dance with you.”