Page 33 of Royal Bargain
“Okay,” she says. “If Miranda thinks it’s worth showing up for… I’ll go.”
I give her a small grin. “Great. I’ll pick out a dress for you.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Liam.”
“Something tasteful,” I add quickly. “You know. Like sparkles and a slit up to your hip.”
“Absolutely not,” she says, deadpan. “I’m picking my own dress.”
“Killjoy,” I mutter.
She smirks. “You’ll survive.”
The days blur together in a haze of phone calls, planning meetings, and last-minute scrambling for the gala. Burns has me running all over town to secure press invites and donor confirmations, which means I’ve been living half out of my laptop bag and leaving a trail of disaster in my wake.
Apparently, that doesn’t go unnoticed.
“This is the third time today I’ve tripped over your shoes,” Ana says, voice tight, as she scoops up a scuffed pair of boots I left near the stairs.
I glance up from my laptop on the kitchen table, rubbing the back of my neck. “Sorry. I’ll move them in a sec.”
Ana gives me a look and tosses the boots toward the front door, wiping down the kitchen counters. I bite my lip, frustrated since I’d already wiped those this morning.
“I know the place is a mess,” I say, trying not to sound defensive. “I’ve been swamped. You know that.”
“I’ve been trying to give you grace but dammit, Liam. I’m not your mother! Can’t you pick up after yourself? For once?” she snaps. “I’m not asking for perfection, but it feels like you don’t care how your mess affects anyone else.”
Her words sting more than I’m willing to admit. Slamming my laptop shut, I stare up at her. “So you think I’m just a slob then?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You basically just did!” I shoot back. “Sorry I’m not a perfectionist like you.”
She crosses her arms, eyes narrowing. “I’m not a perfectionist. I’m trying to keep things clean and safe for Lily, and?—”
“And I’m trying to keep things from falling apart for all of us.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. “You think you’re the only one trying to take care of Lily around here?”
We both go still. Breathing hard.
The tension stretches between us, widening the gulf between us that’s already started to fissure.
Ana turns away, snatches a burp cloth off the back of the couch and folds it with tight, careful motions as I scrub a hand through my hair, dragging in a deep breath.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “Probably.”
As I move around making us something to eat, it’s obvious that there’s more that needs saying but neither of us are ready to break down whatever it is that’s got us on the edge.
Lily naps in her bassinet nearby, one tiny hand flopped over her chest like she’s exhausted from all the grown-up drama.
I wash the dishes. Ana dries. Neither of us talks about the argument. Neither of us apologizes. But the air between us feels… thinner. Like a sheet pulled too tight.
I’m just reaching to put away the last plate when there’s a knock at the door.
We both freeze.
Ana’s eyes dart toward Lily, then to me.
