Page 156 of Loving the Liar

“Sit down and eat.”

He lets me go, but I stay exactly where I am.

“Is this how it’s going to be from now on? You order, I execute?”

He smiles knowingly. “Was it ever different?”

“It’s not something I love about you.”

“It is.”

The bouncing exchange is only cut short by my mouth dropping open.

“Is it not?” he insists. “You like the way I make you feel when I guide you because it feels like care to you. And it feels to me like I’m caring for you. If it works for us, why not?”

“Because…Chris,” I huff. “It’s not healthy.”

“I only care about what makes us feel good. Now sit down and eat.” The change from softness to a stern voice makes me grit my teeth. He notices right away and adds, “I know you have many questions about everything I’ve done since coming back, and I will answer them while you eat. I just want you to feed yourself so you don’t faint. It’s been quite the evening for you.”

Considering it a good deal, I sit down, take the fork, and shove burning hot lasagna in my mouth while he softly says, “Careful, it’s hot?—”

My eyes tear up, tongue burning, and he shakes his head, chuckling at my behavior.

I narrow my eyes at him, chewing through the scorching dish and swallow with a gulp.

He plays with his own mug, and I can smell the whiskey from here. No glasses in this household. Truly.

“I’ll answer anything you want,” he rasps.

My gaze bounces between his eyes. I bet the liquid in his mug matches the amber surrounding his pupils.

I burn myself through another mouthful before I push the word that stings more than the food.

“Juilliard.”

His eyes flutter shut, and he licks his lips. He puts the whiskey down to massage the back of his neck. “I thought you’d start with that.”

“Get to it, then,” I snap.

He nods to himself, takes a large gulp of his drink, and puts the glass back down.

“Christopher.”

“Your dad was going to marry you off.”

I feel my eyebrows lift so high I have to consciously force myself to lower them.

“My dad was not going to marry me?—”

“Harvey James.”

“That was Bakers Café CFO,” I say right away.

“Yes, before it all became a mess. He lives in New York. Your average middle-aged man who was dying to become part of the Circle. He just needed a wife. Your dad really wanted him in the Circle. A great advantage for him and his business. So he offered his daughter.” He takes another sip. “If you had gone to Juilliard, your dad was going to force you into marrying Harvey. The location was ideal, and he didn’t believe you could become a dancer, so he thought marriage was better. Believe me or not, it’s the truth. I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

My throat tightens, and I force more food down so I don’t have to answer anything. I chew, swallow, think carefully about my words.

“So it was a joint effort with my dad to ruin my dream.”

---