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  There are times when Hutch is sweet and gentle, but this ain’t one of them. I gladly take everything he has to give me.

  Master me. Command me. Fuck me.

  Love me.

  He hits my sensitive sweet spot perfectly, and my body contracts around his cock, detonating his orgasm. “Ah… ah. Lou, I…”

  I reach for his face and stretch upward, pressing our foreheads together.

  What is it, Hutch? Do you want to say something else to me?

  When our orgasms end, he relaxes against me. He stays that way for a while, our foreheads still pressed together, before pulling out and collapsing on the bed beside me.

  I toy with the back of his hair while staring up at the beautiful sheer panels draped over the canopy above us, with one thought—this bed was meant for making love, but that isn’t what we just did. This bed was meant to be shared by two people in love, but that isn’t what we are.

  But I can pretend.

  And what a beautiful illusion it is.

  I smell breakfast. Definitely bacon. Maybe pancakes? I’m hungry, and it’s difficult to pass up, but I’m exhausted. It was a late night. Very late.

  I turn over on my stomach and pull the sheet up over my head, getting a few more minutes of sleep before I feel Hutch reach under the sheet to rub my bare butt cheeks.

  “Good morning, birthday girl.”

  I lift the covers and look at him. He’s grinning, so damn proud of himself. “How did you know today’s my birthday?”

  “You told me last week and I remembered, so get up for your birthday breakfast.”

  I remember mentioning that our birthdays were a week apart, but I thought it went in one ear and out the other. I never expected him to remember. No one does. Except Rachel.

  “Give me a minute in the bathroom.”

  After slipping into the plush hotel robe and slippers, I go into the living/dining area. There I find a huge breakfast buffet spread across the table. It’s a ton of food. We’ll never be able to eat all of it.

  “I had them send up one of everything for my wee foodie.”

  His wee foodie. That may be one of the sweetest things that a guy has ever called me.

  He lifts a plate and hands it to me. “Birthday girl gets to go first.”

  While I’m plating my food, he pours coffee for himself and a glass of orange juice for me. He doesn’t even have to ask anymore. We’ve been together long enough that he knows.

  My drink preference. He knows that plus a whole lot of other things. Like how to touch me in all of the right places. How to say words that have a direct path to my heart. How to make me want to hold on to him forever and never let go.

  He joins me at the table with a tall stack of pancakes. “Hungry much?”

  “I had a famishing night, but I always eat this much in the morning. You’d know that if you were ever awake to join me for breakfast.” His words are followed by a wink and a grin.

  “Breakfast is important to you. Sleep is important to me. We all have our priorities.”

  He chuckles. “I’m aware.”

  “How’s your hand today?”

  He holds it up, making a fist and then releasing it. “It hurts, but I can move it. Maybe nothing’s broken.”

  “I would feel terrible if you were injured on my account.”

  “You’re worth a broken hand.”

  “No one has ever defended me like that.” I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t like it.

  “No one gets to call you a whore.”

  “You can.”

  He stops eating and looks at me. “I’d never degrade you by calling you a whore.”

  “Not a whore. Your whore. There’s a difference.”

  I can almost see the wheels turning in Hutch’s head. “You’re my whore?”

  “Yes. Only yours.”

  “My whore.” He grins. “I don’t think that I’m supposed to like that, but I do.”

  “And I don’t think I’m supposed to like being your whore, but I do. Very much.”

  He reaches out for my hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing it. “You never cease to amaze me.”

  “Dirty talk. Never underestimate the power of it.”

  When I finish eating, I push my plate away. “That was wonderful. And such a nice gift to wake up to. Thank you.”

  “I hope you don’t believe that breakfast is your birthday gift.”

  “The concert last night and breakfast this morning. No one has ever given me better gifts.”

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black velvet jewelry box, sliding it across the table to me. “Another gift.”

  Jewelry.

  Why is my heart speeding? It’s not as though this box contains an engagement ring. It also doesn’t contain a piece of jewelry that will imply any sort of commitment. We may be pretending that he and I have something real, but that doesn’t extend to this gift.

  I reach for the box and crack it open. Inside is an ornate heart pendant hanging on a chain. “It’s beautiful.”

  Is the heart symbolic of something? Or just the first pretty necklace that you saw? I need you to tell me.

  “It isn’t just a necklace.”

  My heart speeds. Is he going to say something that could change our relationship forever? “It’s not?”

  “See the split? Pull it apart.”

  I do as he instructs and the heart breaks into two pieces. “A USB?”

  “You told me that you lost months of work when your computer crashed. You don’t have to ever worry about that again. You can back it up to this USB and you’ll always have it with you.”

  What a thoughtful and wonderful birthday gift. So why am I so sad?

  “You don’t like it?”

  I force a smile. “I love it. It’s perfect and proves how well you know me. Thank you.”

  I take it out of the box and pass it to him. “Will you put it on me?”

  Turning around, I lift my hair. After he closes the clasp, he kisses the back of my neck.

  I spin around and touch the heart at the dip of my neck. “Such a thoughtful gift. And beautiful.”

  He smiles, admiring his gift around my neck. “Looks good on you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Go get ready. Let’s go out.”

  We never get to go out in Edinburgh. There’s always the risk of being seen together. “And do what?”

  “Any damn thing we want to do.”

  He kisses the top of my head. Is it not the kind of kiss a man gives to a woman when he cares for her? The answer is yes. But is it pretend, a part of this game that we’re playing? That, I don’t know.

  He smacks my ass. “Go, mo maise.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I’m about to get into the shower when I hear Rachel’s ringtone. “Happy birthday to you…” And on it goes.

  I went years without hearing anyone sing that song to me, but not since meeting Rachel. She is going to sing that song to me every year on the morning of my birthday or burst.

  “Thank you.”

  “You should have told Hutch that it was your birthday.”

  “I sort of told him last week. Not the exact date but he figured it out. He took me to see Southern Ophelia last night and I woke to a huge birthday breakfast. And he gave me a gift.”

  “Do tell.”

  “A necklace. Heart-shaped with a USB inside so I can upload my manuscript and not lose it again when my shitty laptop crashes.”

  “Wow. That’s really thoughtful. Is it yellow gold?”

  “White. Coming from him, it’s probably platinum. And there are stones on it. I’m pretty sure they’re diamonds.” A man like Hutch wouldn’t give cubic zirconia to a woman.

  “That’s a great gift. Why do you sound disappointed?”

  “I’m not disappointed.” Lie. I am. And I should be ashamed.

  “You are. I hear the disappointment in your voice.”

  No one knows me like Rachel. Sometimes it’s great. Othe
r times, not so much.

  “I guess the practicality of it throws me off. I was hoping for something romantic.”

  “The romance is his knowing you and your needs on a deeply intimate level. He put a lot of thought into it.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know why I didn’t see that.” And I don’t know what I was expecting.

  “You long for more with him just like I want more with Claud. I get it, Cait.”

  “What’s the latest on you two?”

  “Claud asked me to leave Inamorata.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” That’s huge. “He wants you to leave Inamorata and do what exactly?”

  “Take care of him. Let him take care of me.”

  “He wants you to live with him on a full-time basis?”

  “Aye.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Let’s call it a stepping-stone toward what I really want.”

  “Marriage? Kids?” That fucking beautiful ever after we’re all chasing?

  “Yes.”

  “You love Claud enough to marry him? Have his babies?”

  “I do.” She didn’t hesitate with that reply.

  “Do you think he loves you?”

  “Yes. Maybe not enough to marry me just yet, but he will. I’m going to make it happen.”

  “I’m happy for you, Rachel.”

  “I’m wondering what to do with our flat.”

  I have plenty of money and zero intentions of ever living in that shithole again. “Let it go.”

  “I thought that’s what you might say.”

  “I’ll come by soon and sort out what I want to keep and donate.”

  “You’re next, you know?”

  “I don’t think so. Claud’s circumstances are very different from Hutch’s.”

  “It’s going to happen for you. I believe that.”

  Hutch is unobtainable, same as every other thing in my life. I don’t understand. Why is life so easy for some and so miserable for others?

  Fairy tales are fairy tales because they’re fictional. Made-up stories about a love that doesn’t exist. A prince charming who doesn’t breathe or walk or love outside of the black ink on white paper. I’ve surrounded myself with those stories for as long as I can remember. I blanketed myself inside of them, blocking out the cold of the world and everyone in it.

  The princess always gets her prince charming. She always gets her happy ending. It’s a cruel story to hear time and time again. Heartless actually. Because as a child these tales made me believe that I too would one day get my happily ever after.

  Fairy tales. False hope. Lies printed in black and white.

  Fuck that. Those were my words. I decided to give up on believing in fairy tales a long time ago. I buried the stories beneath the pain and hurt and disappointment in life but as hard as I tried, I could never make them go away completely. They’re part of me, deep as bone. And that tiny spark of hope remains lit waiting to be doused again.

  I’m getting out of the shower when my phone rings. I see that it’s my dad and it happens all over again. I’m a ten-year-old little girl who is thrilled because her daddy is calling to tell her happy birthday.

  It’s pathetic, this innate love that I feel for him when he has spent most of my life pretending that I didn’t exist. Why are little girls that way with their fathers?

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Caitriona. How are you?” Despite telling him time and time again to call me Cait, he continues to call me by my first name. But I can see why he would choose that—it’s more impersonal.

  “I’m good, Dad. And you?”

  “Everyone’s well.”

  I’m happy about that. My brother Owen tends to be sick a lot. “Oh, that’s good to hear.”

  “I was calling to see if you could come by the house this evening.”

  Wow. My dad has a birthday gift for me? It wouldn’t be a first, but I could probably count on one hand the number of times he’s remembered my birthday and given me a gift.

  “Sorry, I can’t. I’m in Glasgow right now.”

  “What are you doing there?”

  I’m having a romantic weekend with a beautiful man that I can’t get enough of. “I came up for the weekend with a friend to see a concert.”

  “When will you be back in Edinburgh?”

  “Tonight. Late tonight.”

  “Well, Heidi and I were hoping to speak to you in person, but I guess it can be handled over the phone.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Heidi and I have been trying to have another baby. It took a while this time but she’s finally pregnant.”

  I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Again.

  Really? He can’t afford to support me while I finish my final two semesters of school, but he can afford to have another child?

  My dad has always been a great father to his other kids. But never me. Not even when I was his only child. He has always made his love for my brother and sisters well known, but I had to plead for so much as a kind word. I did everything within my power to make him love me, aside from begging on my knees.

  There are a lot of things I could say to him. But I choose one word. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. We feel blessed but taking care of four children is going to be a lot of work for Heidi. We want to talk to you about moving back in and helping her.”

  Is that what this call is about? He kicked me out and now he’s asking me to come back and take care of his kids so Heidi can have it easy?

  The asshole doesn’t even realize that it’s my birthday? “It’s July 8th, Dad. Don’t you know what today is?”

  He’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t know, Caitriona. Is it a special day?”

  “No, Dad.” It’s never been special to you or anyone else and it won’t start being special today. “Forget that I brought it up.”

  “You won’t be able to move back into your old room; we need it for the nursery.”

  I’m not considering this shit, but I have to ask because I’m so damn curious. “Then where would I sleep?”

  “We haven’t figured out where we’ll put you just yet but don’t worry. We’ll come up with something for you.”

  “The futon in your office probably sleeps okay.”

  “Aye, Heidi mentioned that.”

  Oh my God, Dad. I wasn’t serious.

  “What about uni? I’m planning to go back in September.” I’m dying to know if they expect me to quit school and take care of their kids.

  “We’ve talked about this, Caitriona. We aren’t going to pay for your tuition, especially now that another baby is on the way.”

  “I wasn’t asking for money. I have plenty. I don’t need any of yours. And you know what else I don’t need? You.”

  “Caitriona—” That’s the only word that I hear before I press END on my phone screen.

  I don’t know the exact moment that the tears started. Maybe it was when he told me that he was having another baby. Perhaps it was when I realized that he’d forgotten my birthday. Again. Doesn’t matter. I only know that I can’t stop the tears once they begin, and the more I try to hold them in, the more I feel like I might explode.

  I jolt when I feel warm arms wrap around me from behind. “I’m here, Lou. I’ve got you.”

  I melt against Hutch when he strokes my hair. Such a simple gesture yet so soothing. And so needed in this moment.

  He doesn’t ask what has upset me. I imagine he doesn’t have to ask if he heard any part of the conversation with my dad.

  He holds me and his embrace speaks volumes without saying a word. And I have hope for the first time in a while that maybe fairy tales aren’t full of lies and broken promises.

  26

  Maxwell Hutcheson

  Lou’s pain. It’s old and deep and I feel it in the center of my core.

  And I grasp it full circle now. I understand why Lou has been so adamant about protecting Ava Rose, striving so hard to make me comprehe
nd why I can never do anything to make that wee girl feel the way Lou feels right now.

  I’m angry, fucking angry, that Lou’s father would treat her so poorly. I can’t see how a father could hurt his daughter this way. Even if he doesn’t feel a father-daughter relationship with her, he has a responsibility to cause her no harm.

  Oh, the things that I would say to her father if he were in front of me right now. He’d know how to treat her when I was finished with him.

  I sit on the couch and pat the cushion between my legs. “You. Right here.”

  She sits, leaning against my chest, and I kiss the top of her head. She’s never said so, but I think she likes when I do that. She always seems to cozy up to me a wee bit tighter afterward.

  Lou can be difficult to read at times, but now isn’t one of those occasions. She’s hurting and I want to be the champion that she deserves. God knows she doesn’t get support from anyone else in her life, save her friend, Rachel.

  This woman, so childlike in the moment, needs comfort. I simply hold her in my arms and that’s all. I think it’s what she needs, and I’m content to sit here doing it for as long as she needs me.

  Let me take away your pain, Lou.

  I don’t know how long we stay that way, me holding her in my hands like a wounded animal, before her tears stop. But it’s a while.

  “I’m sorry for acting like this.”

  “He hurt you. Don’t apologize because you feel pain.”

  She takes my hand and laces our fingers together. “I don’t think you know how good you are at making me feel better.”

  She lifts her head from my shoulder and her eyes meet mine. Her lips part, and she inhales, but no words come.

  “You make me feel better too so we’re even.”

  She blinks rapidly and looks away, lifting my right hand and inspecting it. “The swelling has gone down, but I can see some discoloration beneath the skin.”

  “It’s fine. Barely hurts anymore.”

  “It still looks painful.” She brings it to her lips and kisses it.

  “Your kiss will make it better in no time.”