Twisted Palace
Page 25
He might go to prison.
Still, I can’t bring myself to toss another dose of reality his way, so I simply cup his chin and twist his head toward mine. Our lips meet in a soft, slow kiss, and then we pull apart, resting our foreheads against each other.
For once, he doesn’t force a smile and try to tell me that everything will be okay, so I do it for him.
“We’ll get through this,” I proclaim with confidence I don’t feel.
He just nods, before gesturing to the bakery’s front window. “You should go. You’ll be late for work.”
“Don’t overdo it with the weights this morning, okay?” Reed’s doctor cleared him for practice this week, but with some restrictions. Even though his stab wound is healing nicely, the doctor said that he shouldn’t push himself too hard.
“I won’t,” he promises.
I give him another quick kiss and hop out of the car, hurrying toward the French Twist.
My boss is kneading dough when I walk into the kitchen. The gray of the stainless steel countertop is barely visible under the coating of flour. Behind her is a stack of bowls that need to be washed.
I hang up my jacket and am rolling up my sleeves when she suddenly seems to notice me.
“Ella, you’re here.” She blows a strand of hair away from her forehead. The bouncy curl falls back immediately, forcing her to peer at me through the spirals.
“I’m here,” I say cheerfully, even though I can tell by her tone that the you’re here statement wasn’t one of greeting but almost of warning. “I’ll start washing the dishes and then you can tell me what you want me to do next.”
I hustle over to the sink as if having my hands wet will prevent her from unloading the bad news.
She straightens and wipes her hands on her apron. “I think we’d better talk.”
My shoulders go rigid. “Is it because of Reed?” Panic creeps into my voice. “He didn’t do it, Luce. I swear.”
Lucy sighs and rubs the back of her hand under her chin. The crowd of curls around her face gives her the look of a worried angel. “It’s not about Reed, honey, although I can’t say I’m pleased about that situation, either. Why don’t you grab yourself a cup of coffee and a pastry and we’ll sit down?”
“Nah, I’m good.” Why delay the inevitable? Caffeine isn’t going to make this conversation less awkward.
She presses her lips together in slight frustration, but I don’t feel like making it easy for her. Yes, I totally left her in the lurch when I disappeared a few weeks ago, but I came back and haven’t missed another day since. I’ve never been late, even though getting here at five in the morning requires me to wake up before the birds.
I fold my arms across my chest, lean my butt against the sink, and wait.
Lucy walks over to the coffeemaker and mutters something to herself about needing at least three cups before she feels human. Then she turns back to me. “I didn’t realize your father was found alive. That must’ve been a huge shock.”
“Wait, this is about Steve?” I say in surprise.
She nods, takes another sip of courage, and says, “He came to talk to me last night before closing.”
“He did?” A nervous feeling flutters in my stomach. Why the hell would Steve come to the bakery?
“He told me he doesn’t want you to work,” Lucy continues. “He feels that you’re missing out on activities and socialization by coming here so early in the morning.”
What?
“He can’t stop you from employing me,” I protest.
This is beyond ridiculous. What does Steve care if I work? He’s back less than a week and thinks he can dictate what I do? Bull. Shit.
Lucy clicks her tongue. “I don’t know if he has that right, but I’m not really in a position to fight it. Lawyers are expensive...” Her voice trails off even as her eyes plead for understanding.
I’m horrified. “He threatened to sue you?”
“Not in so many words,” she admits.
“What exactly did he say?” I push, because I can’t let it go. I honestly don’t understand why Steve would object to me having a job. When I mentioned it to him after Brooke’s funeral, he didn’t say a word about not being on board with it.
“He simply said he didn’t think it was appropriate for you to be working so many hours and taking a job away from someone who really needs the money. He wants you to focus on your studies. He was very nice.” Lucy drains her coffee and sets the mug down. “I wish I could keep you on, Ella, but I can’t.”
“But I’m not taking a job away from anyone! You said yourself that you didn’t have anyone who would work the morning shift.”
“I’m sorry, honey.” Her tone has a ring of finality.
No matter what I say, Lucy’s mind is made up. It was made up before I even got here.
She bustles around the kitchen and grabs a white to-go box. “Why don’t you pick a few things out for your classmates? Your, um, stepbrothers enjoy the éclairs, right?”
I almost say no because I’m mad, but then I decide I might as well accept everything Lucy is offering since she’s taking my job away.
I stuff a dozen pastries into the box and get my coat. Just as I reach the doorway, Lucy says, “You’re a good worker, Ella. If things change, let me know.”
I nod sullenly, too pissed off to mutter anything more than a thanks and goodbye. The walk to school doesn’t take very long. When I arrive, the grounds of Astor Park are mostly empty, but the parking lot is surprisingly full.
It’s too early for most of the students to be here. The only ones who come early are the football players. Sure enough, as I approach the front doors of the main building, I hear a few shouts and faint whistles coming from the practice field. I could go over and watch Reed and Easton practice, but that sounds about as exciting as watching paste dry.
Instead, I slip inside the school, shove the pastries inside my locker, and text Callum.
Why is Steve dictating where I work?
There’s no immediate reply. It occurs to me that Callum wasn’t a fan of me working at the bakery, either. Reed got mad, too, when he heard about it, saying that my job implied to everyone that the Royals were mistreating their ward. I explained to both of them that I got the job because I was used to working and wanted money of my own. I don’t know if they understood it, but eventually they accepted it.
Still, I can’t bring myself to toss another dose of reality his way, so I simply cup his chin and twist his head toward mine. Our lips meet in a soft, slow kiss, and then we pull apart, resting our foreheads against each other.
For once, he doesn’t force a smile and try to tell me that everything will be okay, so I do it for him.
“We’ll get through this,” I proclaim with confidence I don’t feel.
He just nods, before gesturing to the bakery’s front window. “You should go. You’ll be late for work.”
“Don’t overdo it with the weights this morning, okay?” Reed’s doctor cleared him for practice this week, but with some restrictions. Even though his stab wound is healing nicely, the doctor said that he shouldn’t push himself too hard.
“I won’t,” he promises.
I give him another quick kiss and hop out of the car, hurrying toward the French Twist.
My boss is kneading dough when I walk into the kitchen. The gray of the stainless steel countertop is barely visible under the coating of flour. Behind her is a stack of bowls that need to be washed.
I hang up my jacket and am rolling up my sleeves when she suddenly seems to notice me.
“Ella, you’re here.” She blows a strand of hair away from her forehead. The bouncy curl falls back immediately, forcing her to peer at me through the spirals.
“I’m here,” I say cheerfully, even though I can tell by her tone that the you’re here statement wasn’t one of greeting but almost of warning. “I’ll start washing the dishes and then you can tell me what you want me to do next.”
I hustle over to the sink as if having my hands wet will prevent her from unloading the bad news.
She straightens and wipes her hands on her apron. “I think we’d better talk.”
My shoulders go rigid. “Is it because of Reed?” Panic creeps into my voice. “He didn’t do it, Luce. I swear.”
Lucy sighs and rubs the back of her hand under her chin. The crowd of curls around her face gives her the look of a worried angel. “It’s not about Reed, honey, although I can’t say I’m pleased about that situation, either. Why don’t you grab yourself a cup of coffee and a pastry and we’ll sit down?”
“Nah, I’m good.” Why delay the inevitable? Caffeine isn’t going to make this conversation less awkward.
She presses her lips together in slight frustration, but I don’t feel like making it easy for her. Yes, I totally left her in the lurch when I disappeared a few weeks ago, but I came back and haven’t missed another day since. I’ve never been late, even though getting here at five in the morning requires me to wake up before the birds.
I fold my arms across my chest, lean my butt against the sink, and wait.
Lucy walks over to the coffeemaker and mutters something to herself about needing at least three cups before she feels human. Then she turns back to me. “I didn’t realize your father was found alive. That must’ve been a huge shock.”
“Wait, this is about Steve?” I say in surprise.
She nods, takes another sip of courage, and says, “He came to talk to me last night before closing.”
“He did?” A nervous feeling flutters in my stomach. Why the hell would Steve come to the bakery?
“He told me he doesn’t want you to work,” Lucy continues. “He feels that you’re missing out on activities and socialization by coming here so early in the morning.”
What?
“He can’t stop you from employing me,” I protest.
This is beyond ridiculous. What does Steve care if I work? He’s back less than a week and thinks he can dictate what I do? Bull. Shit.
Lucy clicks her tongue. “I don’t know if he has that right, but I’m not really in a position to fight it. Lawyers are expensive...” Her voice trails off even as her eyes plead for understanding.
I’m horrified. “He threatened to sue you?”
“Not in so many words,” she admits.
“What exactly did he say?” I push, because I can’t let it go. I honestly don’t understand why Steve would object to me having a job. When I mentioned it to him after Brooke’s funeral, he didn’t say a word about not being on board with it.
“He simply said he didn’t think it was appropriate for you to be working so many hours and taking a job away from someone who really needs the money. He wants you to focus on your studies. He was very nice.” Lucy drains her coffee and sets the mug down. “I wish I could keep you on, Ella, but I can’t.”
“But I’m not taking a job away from anyone! You said yourself that you didn’t have anyone who would work the morning shift.”
“I’m sorry, honey.” Her tone has a ring of finality.
No matter what I say, Lucy’s mind is made up. It was made up before I even got here.
She bustles around the kitchen and grabs a white to-go box. “Why don’t you pick a few things out for your classmates? Your, um, stepbrothers enjoy the éclairs, right?”
I almost say no because I’m mad, but then I decide I might as well accept everything Lucy is offering since she’s taking my job away.
I stuff a dozen pastries into the box and get my coat. Just as I reach the doorway, Lucy says, “You’re a good worker, Ella. If things change, let me know.”
I nod sullenly, too pissed off to mutter anything more than a thanks and goodbye. The walk to school doesn’t take very long. When I arrive, the grounds of Astor Park are mostly empty, but the parking lot is surprisingly full.
It’s too early for most of the students to be here. The only ones who come early are the football players. Sure enough, as I approach the front doors of the main building, I hear a few shouts and faint whistles coming from the practice field. I could go over and watch Reed and Easton practice, but that sounds about as exciting as watching paste dry.
Instead, I slip inside the school, shove the pastries inside my locker, and text Callum.
Why is Steve dictating where I work?
There’s no immediate reply. It occurs to me that Callum wasn’t a fan of me working at the bakery, either. Reed got mad, too, when he heard about it, saying that my job implied to everyone that the Royals were mistreating their ward. I explained to both of them that I got the job because I was used to working and wanted money of my own. I don’t know if they understood it, but eventually they accepted it.
