A Wicked Song - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,14
not give. I set my spoon down. “Your father was really that cold?”
“He was,” he confirms, and I don’t miss the tic in his jaw, that tells a story. He’s willingly toed this territory with me but the topic of his father is not a gentle one.
“Jenny is so sweet. I assumed Jerry would be a kind person, as well.” In an effort to ease the intensity of the full force of my interest, I pick my spoon up again and scoop up a big, wonderful dumpling.
“He is. He absolutely is.”
My brows furrow. “Then I’m confused. He and your father seem an odd pairing.”
“It was all about money and convenience to my father. He invested in Jerry’s bakeries. He controlled Jerry to some degree. And he turned him into a babysitter, which thankfully also created a bond between me and Jerry. And Jenny,” he adds, “when she came into the picture.”
“Babysitter? Why would they need a babysitter when you were always traveling?”
“I wasn’t always on the road. I had windows, months at a time, when I was home. When my parents would travel during those months, they’d leave me with Jerry and Jenny.”
I set my spoon down again. “Wait. So, when you were here, they would leave?”
“When business called, my father answered.” He grabs another piece of bread. “And now you know why I have a sweet tooth. I was always around those damn cookies.”
“We aren’t so different. You lost your father, too.”
There’s a sharp spike to his energy but his answer is matter-of-fact. “I never had my father.” In a swift change of topic, he asks, “What happened to your father, Aria?”
He’s officially moved the discomfort from him to me. “I haven’t told you?” It’s not really intended to be a question.
“No. You haven’t told me.”
“Right well—he disappeared. My mother got us out of bed one night, packed us up and we came here.”
“He just disappeared? And your mother left instead of looking for him? There’s clearly more to the story.”
“She told us she knew he was dead. She wouldn’t talk about the details and believe me, I tried to get her to talk, over and over again. So did Gio.”
“Could he be alive?”
“Gio and I have had moments when we’ve both leaned that direction, but we’re always grounded back in reality by one certainty: if he were alive he would have found us. There’s no way he would have stayed away.”
“I can see that. He loved his family. I was young when I spent time with him but I felt that love. He was a good man.” I can feel the emotion expanding in my chest and as if he reads my readiness for a change of topic, he eyes my bowl. “You ate it all.”
He’s right on that. Somehow I’ve managed to down it all while we’ve talked, while I dare think now that we’ve managed to grow closer in a time one would think we’d be farther away. “How could I not? It was delicious.”
“How do you feel?”
“Much better.”
“Your hand?”
“Hurts,” I say, “but it’s remarkably bearable.”
“Then I have something to show you.” He pushes to his feet and steps to my side, offering me his hand. That hand is always a question, one that I understand now more than ever. His hand is always about trust, him asking for it, and me giving it.
But he asks. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t demand. The question is: does he manipulate? I’d say yes, he does. His decision to hold back his knowledge of my identity was, in fact, manipulation. I have reasons to doubt and fear Kace, I do. The problem is that I want to trust him. I have always wanted to trust him.
But trust is a two-way street and I believe Kace has offered me an olive branch; he’s shown me trust tonight. It matters.
I press my hand to his hand and he pulls me to my feet, our legs aligned, his hard body pressed to mine. I feel delicate with this man and somehow strong but as I promised him, I will not allow feelings to control me. And so, I warn, “My trust is not unconditional, Kace. In fact, right now, it’s fragile.”
CHAPTER SIX
Kace reacts to my declaration in that perfect way Kace reacts to everything. He doesn’t push back. He doesn’t throw words or anger at me. In fact, he doesn’t use words at all. He simply cups my head and kisses me until I’m weak in the knees, and moaning with the