All or Nothing: The Lonnigans, Book 2 Page 6

  She glared harder at the box. In her hand was the blowtorch, all set to play a little game of catch. In her heart, though, was an unhealthy dose of curiosity.

  The flowers had been surprising. She’d loved them. She’d even run one over her lips before she toasted it and took it back to him. The dog damn near got her, with his whole little body wriggling while he tried to sit in one place. She’d relented enough for a few face licks and to feed him, but that was it.

  For all his intelligence, Lucas was probably more oblivious than the average man. He really thought she’d be pleased that he knew her so well. As if she’d consider it a good thing.

  He’d known she’d love those roses. Most of the guys she’d met and dated over the years had gotten her something appropriate, black fallen petals or dried carnations. Things that matched her blasé take on life and death. Not a single one of them would have thought of real flowers or a live puppy. They’d completely missed the mark on who she was and that generally kept the relationship going a little while longer.

  Not Lucas, the moron. He had to go and be thoughtful. Find her something alive, beautiful and loving. Or something feminine and unique. Because he knew her. Knew her.

  It was enough to make her kick something. She didn’t like being obvious to anyone and he didn’t seem to get that. Her own mother didn’t understand her, complaining regularly that Belinda should settle down and have kids like her siblings had. There were now nearly enough Riggses to fill their own classroom. The next generation would probably fill a school.

  Lucas had to prove how well he could see into her. He called her on every lie, whether he said anything or not. Just a flick of those deep blue eyes and she knew he’d seen through her. A quirk of his mouth and she knew he was biting back words.

  As much as she hated it, that was why his rejection hurt so damn bad. If any other man ended a relationship, she shrugged it off. It wasn’t as if the guy ever meant anything; he certainly didn’t know anything. But when Lucas rejected her, he rejected who she really was. Every secret, protected thought. Every raw inch of her, body and soul, past and present.

  She fingered the clamp on the blowtorch. Any woman who claimed she wouldn’t be hurt by that was a damn liar. The reasonable side of her—no doubt spurred on by the curious part—admitted she’d rejected him the same way for years and she’d had this coming. The least she could do was open the box.

  Especially since it had the rather annoying tag on it reading: “Do not burn.”

  Setting the torch down, she unfolded her legs to sit up straight at the table. With a deep breath, she pulled the sash on the cream-colored bow. It slid with a whisper until the knot came loose and fell off the corners of the box. She pushed out the breath and rushed her fingers through lifting the lid.

  It flipped back behind itself, gaping open, waiting for her to look inside its six-inch depths. Nothing crawled out. No poisonous gas. No jack-in-the-box of any kind. Which meant she’d have to look in. Twisting her lip, she put her hands on either side of the box, standing to look down carefully.

  “Oh, shit.”

  Horrified, she began to reach in, then looked at her hands and rushed to the sink a few feet away to wash them. It probably wouldn’t help much, but she didn’t want to put lotion on and ruin it with oil. Belinda rushed back to the table in a jangle of keys and tools, carefully reached in and lifted the impossible gift.

  She’d never seen anything like it. It was a fairy wing. It had to be. It shone even in the faint shadowy light of the workshop. Belinda slid it over her arm to look at the breathtaking butterflies and flowers dotting its expanse. So many sizes and shapes, each one completely different from the others. The hem scalloped into the shape of wings where they’d hang on her back if she ever wore it.

  The son of a bitch had sent her a handmade wedding veil.

  What the hell did it mean?

  Her hands trembling, she made herself fold the veil as carefully into the box as it was when she found it, looking for some kind of note. All she found was the faint stamp on the back of the lid in pink reading Lucy’s Lacery. Evidently, Lucas saw no point in apologizing twice and the man wasn’t about to either break his knees or his jaw by even writing the word “please”.

  So what was this? A proposal? Did he somehow think burned flowers and a peed-upon Union-Tribune on his doorstep translated into “I forgive you, you big, hulking idiot”?

  She closed the box with a decisive, two-handed push, slid it back to the center of the table and sat on the chair with her knees curled up under her chin.

  Options. She needed options. Her gaze found the blowtorch still on the table and she jumped up to take it to its hanging hook. People went to hell for destroying things like that, on purpose or accident. But she couldn’t accept it, either. Keeping it meant she was agreeing to forgive him—Not in this lifetime, buddy—and possibly even marry him.

  The urge to throw up swamped her.

  Even if she were going to get married, it would never be to Lucas. By the end of the first month she’d revert to her mother’s special brand of servitude: overworked, overcompensating, overplacating. God, just plain over. Worse, she’d probably like it.

  Her mind played a movie she came up with years ago when her secret wants and desires threatened to overcome her sense. Lucas lying on a recliner, his beautiful body softened to fat that oozed over the edge of his pants. A couple of kids very close in age, playing, ignored, at his feet. A dog or three would be sleeping in front of a television that had seen better days. All the furniture in the cramped, dark place would be worn out, the walls cracked and faded, and she would be pregnant, coming out of the kitchen with a cheery smile on her obviously tired face, chiming about dinner being ready while absolutely no one noticed. Lucas would ask for a beer, tell her he wanted to watch the game. He’d eat in his chair and the kids would whine about wanting ice cream for dinner. Then the dogs would start to howl while she tried to keep a happy, perfect, Betty-Crocker grin on her face.

  The vision was unfair to Lucas, she knew. He never drank much, he still ran daily—she had a few embarrassing secrets from high school about watching him from the shadows like a stalker—and he’d never owned a dog until she dumped li’l Sparky back on his porch. The kids were cute, her only concession to him, she supposed, but it was a sharp reminder what happened to the women in her family when they married. All of them ended up like her mother.

  It would only be a matter of time before she did the same. Lucas had too much power in their relationship as it was. One of his frowns could make her doubt herself for weeks. One of his almost-smiles could give her a high like nothing else. And, all right, her mother may have been onto something about passion being worth a little heartache. But not years of it.

  It couldn’t have been worth the screaming arguments that had Belinda’s siblings huddling in her bed, shivering with fear that their father would turn his anger on them again. It couldn’t be worth the nightmares still haunting her from the nights when he did. It would never be worth the dozens of scars on her body he’d inflicted.

  No, this veil had to go back. It was beautiful, but it was terrifying. If Lucas hoped forgiveness meant marriage, then she’d never forgive him. Ever.

  But she couldn’t leave it on his stoop like she had the flowers. If someone stole this, she’d never forgive herself. She couldn’t hand it to him, either. One look at him and she’d either kiss him or kill him. Which meant she’d need to go about this a bit more circuitously.

  She looked up Lucy’s Lacery and grabbed her phone. The voice that answered was a perky, happy chirp. She was probably a blonde, Belinda thought with a rabid sourness. Probably blonde and cute and just Lucas’s type. She’d fit under his arm, smile all the time and make people think his grim bearing was adorable. They’d even sound good together. Lucas and Lucy Lonnigan, leaping, lacing and—

  “Hello?” the woman asked again, louder.

  “Oh, sorry.” Belinda shook herself. God, this was getting r
eally out of hand. “I’m calling about a veil that was delivered this morning—”

  “The Butterfly Dream? Oh, I’m so glad it arrived safely!”

  “Yes, yes, it’s perfectly fine. It’s just—”

  “You didn’t like it?” the woman asked, clearly shocked.

  “What? No, no, it’s beautiful, I loved it. It’s just…I have to return it.” The stunned pause had Belinda chewing her lip. “Ma’am?”

  There was a soft laugh. “I’m sorry, I probably heard you wrong. Did you say—”

  “I need to return it.”

  “Have you spoken to Mr. Lonnigan about this?”

  Belinda’s ears twitched. “You’re on a name basis with him?”

  “One remembers a man like that, Miss Riggs.”

  “Sounds like you remember a lot,” Belinda grumbled.

  The chuckle didn’t help her disposition. “Just out of curiosity, why would you want to return the veil?”

  “Because it’s… I can’t accept it.”

  “He seemed very adamant that you have it.”

  “Lucas is always adamant. He doesn’t have any other modes.”

  Another laugh. A knowing one. Belinda was getting a definite yen to rip this woman’s hair out. “I’m afraid I can’t take the veil back, miss.”

  “If it’s about the money, you can refund it to Lucas.”

  “Store policy is that all sales are final, but even if I could, I wouldn’t accept the veil back.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “That veil has hung in this store for thirty years, Miss Riggs. It was never intended to be sold. Yesterday, your Mr. Lonnigan came in and knew it was made for you. Who am I to argue?”

  The goddamned owner, that’s who. “He said that? Made for me?”

  “He didn’t have to.”

  Belinda’s hopes—which she was pretty sure she’d never allowed to rise—plummeted.

  “It was something on his face,” the lacery woman continued in a dreamy, over-romantic tone. “I get a lot of women in here: women in love, women in need and women who just want. I’ve never had a man in desperation.”

  Lucas didn’t get desperate. If he did, it would not be a good sign. “I can’t keep this. He’ll take it as tantamount to an accepted marriage proposal.”

  “Oh, I seriously doubt it,” the woman said dismissively.

  Belinda pulled the phone from her ear to stare at it. Was I just pooh-poohed? “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “I don’t think he knew what it was.”

  Belinda frowned, turning to give the box the same disbelieving glance she’d leveled at the phone. It didn’t take a master of the obvious to figure it out. “It’s a veil.”

  “He seemed under the impression you might drape it somewhere. Like a curtain.”

  Belinda closed her eyes. Her grandmother’s doilies. The lace curtains she’d inherited and didn’t have the heart not to use. The observant schmuck was paying too much attention.

  “I truly believe he bought it for you, but not as a message. I got the sense he knew you would cherish it, which is the only reason I allowed him to buy it. Aside from pity, of course.”

  Belinda choked. “Pity?” On Lucas?

  “Well, the poor man seemed to have been all over the place looking for just the right thing. I’m sure if he didn’t find something soon, he was going to burst.” Lucy Lacery coughed. “Unpleasantly.”

  For the first time in the conversation, Belinda laughed. Lucas in a state. It’d been a long time since she’d seen that. Probably not since he broke her arm when they first met. “I still can’t accept this, it’s too much. I can’t accept anything from him.”

  “It was a gift from his heart, Miss Riggs.”

  Belinda’s smile fell away. She knew it was. So were the roses. Even the loopy puppy. But she didn’t want gifts from Lucas’s heart. She didn’t want anything. Still, she couldn’t destroy the veil, either.

  They both waited in silence, each hoping the other would give in. Belinda’s gaze fell on the scrap pile she was going to be cleaning up as soon as this mess was over with, the shards and shavings already swept into a little pyramid.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any scraps of your work, would you, Lucy?” she asked, gripping the phone tightly, an idea being born that might allow them all to get what they needed. “Pieces that might be similar to what this veil is made out of.”

  “Of course I do, but—”

  Belinda sent a glance to the clock above the bay door. Assuming Lucy closed at five, she’d have an hour to get to the store. Plenty of time. “How about you let me know exactly where you are. I’d like to buy them off you.”

  Lucy sighed. She had to have a clue what this meant. She probably didn’t like it. But she relented when Belinda said it was either the scraps…or the real thing.

  This would make Lucas go away.

  It had to.

  Chapter Five

  Having a dog wasn’t so bad. He’d never particularly wanted one but there was something to be said for happy company. Kind of like Kyle, with less yapping. Carrying around stinky plastic bags tied to your pack was a little sickening, but only until the next receptacle came along. The pup was even starting to run in a straight line instead of his back end overtaking the front until the poor thing had to execute some sort of whole body roll to get facing the right way again. Plus it was hard to be mad when for the first time ever, someone was kissing him awake. It wasn’t Belinda, but at least it was genuine.

  Gross, but genuine.

  It was even kind of nice to be running outside again. The cold, moist air was more invigorating than temperature control and the pup made a great alarm clock. The only problem was that Lucas did his thinking while he ran. Without a problem in front of him to specifically concentrate on, he had only one other thing to think about.

  Belinda, naked in her bed, glaring at him, angry enough to spear him with something dull. Belinda wearing her work overalls and a tank top with goggles and a grin. Belinda, nervous as a cat while they applied for her business loan, her fingers damn near crushing his under the lip of the desk. Belinda, when he’d come back from his first year at MIT, defiantly daring him to make some sort of comment about her shorn black hair or her morose clothes. All the way back to Belinda in her red prom dress, sitting on that swing in the twilight.

  They never saw their prom party room, had no idea what the decorations were or who was there, but it was still the most memorable night of his life. Kyle went, of course. Lucas only put on his tux for his mother’s sake. He’d never asked anyone to go. He’d claimed he was meeting his date and went walking down the street. Essentially, that’s what eventually happened, but it wasn’t what he’d planned. Even in his wildest fantasies, he could never have even hoped for what happened.

  He’d found Belinda at the park completely on accident, sitting in the swing, looking lost. All her beautiful blonde hair swept back from her face, tied up in a chignon that would have made his mother sigh. She’d been wearing red satin, a strapless gown with black accents and a simple black ribbon choker. She’d been so surprised to be caught there…by him…crying.

  “My mom made the dress.” She’d plucked at her skirt when he sat in the swing next to her. From their vantage point, it was easy to see the city lights starting to flicker on, see limos arriving around the neighborhood. “I tried to tell her not to, but she said every girl deserved to go to her prom. She put a lot of work into it.”

  Work Amanda Riggs was probably too tired and busy for, but she’d found time anyway. Lucas hadn’t said anything, just held out the corsage his mother had handed him before he left.

  At the time, he didn’t have a clue what he was going to do with it and didn’t care what it was. But that moment, when Belinda’s eyes looked from his face to the flower box and back again, he knew he’d never be able to thank his mother enough. The white orchid with purple and burgundy and yellow dripping out of its center was cradled by baby’s breath and wide green le
aves. It was probably the size of his hand and way too big for someone as slight as her, but she wanted it. She was moved by that flower.

  She accepted the box and let him pin it on her, the first time he’d touched her skin. The first time he made her gasp with just a graze of his fingers. The first taste of what would become an addiction.

  He wasn’t stupid. He knew why she had no date for prom. She’d waited for Kyle to ask her. It was the reason Lucas hadn’t asked her himself. By that time, he’d come to grips with the fact that he “liked her”—a lame kid phrase to explain what couldn’t be handled—and wasn’t prepared to be rejected by her. Their odd, tense friendship was enough for him. Until he’d touched her.

  They’d stayed on the swings for a while, watching the sun set, quiet until the cars stopped driving past the small park. It was easy to be quiet together then. They were accustomed to it. Belinda was a lot for silence back then. She never talked about what went on in her home or why her parents were so rarely there. She especially wouldn’t talk about the yelling he heard late at night. But she let him see her drawings. Let him see her projects from her industrial design classes. Even Kyle didn’t get to see those.

  She did finally start talking, asking him what he’d tell his inquisitive mother about his night. They’d come up with stories to tell about what they ate and music they heard. Her stories of what happened to her less-than-favorite popular kids could still make him laugh. That was when they’d decided to head to the lake deeper in the park to skip rocks. He’d taken her hand to help her walk in the heels she was unused to. He didn’t let go when they reached the lake, though. Instead he’d used that grip to pull her close and dance.

  To this day, he didn’t understand the compulsion. There was no music, no thought. She just looked beautiful, her hand in his… It seemed the natural thing to do. The same way it was natural for her palm to slide between his jacket and dress shirt to hold his side and sigh when she laid her head on his shoulder. He was lost in her scent and the glow of her hair and the sound of crickets around the lake. It was just as natural for him to brush his lips against her neck. Once, twice, then a third, firmer time when she tightened her hold on him.