Page 51 of For the Win
I lift my head, a little insulted. “I read and watch other things, but I’m trying to stay current. For the children. Do you have any idea how many of the girls in my last class suddenly became A students after learning I’d read a certain dragon academy series? An alarming number, Michael. That’s how many. They don’t share my love of history, but they really do like girls with powers, knives and dragons getting the dangerous broody bad boy.”
“You don’t like this?” He pulls me closer and does a half spin, lifting me enough that my feet barely touch the ground. “It doesn’t make you want more?”
Even when we stop, the room still feels like it’s spinning. “I’ll take more of you, Michael Demir. Anytime you’re ready for me.”
Heat sparks in his eyes and he lowers my feet to the ground, his head dipping closer just as a timer goes off.
“Give me a minute,” he says, his voice full of dark promise even as he lets me go to take a pan out of the oven.
Is this a low point in my experiment with dating? I offer sex and get abandoned for baked goods? I wonder if there’s a thread on Reddit for that. “Why are we making all these puff balls again? I thought you had enough to do with your hands.”
He laughs. “I have to make close to four hundred for the two croquembouches. We’re preparing the pâte à choux first. Then I’ll make the crème pâtissière for the filling. I won’t put them together until I get them to the lodge kitchen tomorrow. The weather should have cleared up by then. I’m guessing I’ll just make the caramel on site.”
I shake my head in confusion and, oddly, arousal. Cream filling and caramel. Mmm. Then what he’s saying registers. Four hundred puffs and he’s making the caramel at the lodge. “You’re baking for the party?”
“I am.”
“Don’t they have chefs for that?” And oh my giddy Chenoweth, didn’t that sound privileged? “I just meant, you’re Bellamy’s guest. His brother.”
Michael’s smile is strained. “I’m a guest of Seamus. Bellamy wasn’t the one who invited me, remember? And we’re still working on what to call ourselves. But my new niece and nephews tried one of my cakes a few weeks ago, and when they found out I was coming, they asked me to make something special for their grandparents’ anniversary. I couldn’t say no to that. Since I haven’t met most of their family yet and as I told you, I’m not that good around people, I thought it might be an icebreaker as well.” He shrugs. “Or a reason for me to stay in the kitchen and out of the way, depending on how things go. I was going to bring those macarons too until?—”
“I said I was sorry!” I interrupt, feeling a little guilty. But only a little. “I didn’t know they were for the party or I wouldn’t have been so greedy.” I found them in the fridge while he was setting up and grabbed a handful. It’s a good thing my metabolism hasalways been through the roof. If I spend much more time with him, I’ll go from Skinny Winnie to… Well, nothing else rhymes, so let’s not even think about it.
“It’s fine, Win. I like watching you eat my fancy cookies.” He winks, but I can’t stop thinking about what he said.
I’m sure Seamus meant well, but he invited Michael to a weekend event where his brother would be comfortable, while he only knew a handful of people. “I’m sorry things haven’t been easier for you two.”
“After our conversation yesterday, I think most of the blame falls on me. He was surprised I existed, sure, but…” He grimaces. “My father’s cousin was my old boss, and he was an asshole, but he was always singing Bellamy’s praises while finding me lacking. I knew all the stories about his wild days and just…”
“You thought if your father and his cousin were like that, your brother had to be too.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I haven’t made the last few months easy on him. I wouldn’t even stay at their house.”
I’m dying to ask where he’s been staying for the last few months if not with his family, but I manage to restrain myself. How close has he been all this time when I thought he’d moved on and forgotten me?
But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d been trying to see if there was anything to salvage from his father’s family, even though he had no reason to believe that was possible. It was worth admiring. And so was his honesty about his part in it.
“For most of my life, the only thing I knew about my father was his name, because I had the same one,” I say into the silence. “I spent a lot of time imagining what the other Nolan Winston was like. Half superhero and half saint one day, a member of a famous boy band the next. I needed him to be special, because my mother…” I hesitate, not wanting to say too much. “She wasn’t. I was thirteen when I found out he’d been a thief. Andnot a very good one, since he’d been in prison off and on for most of my life. After that, I was relieved I hadn’t gotten to meet him before he died. Even so, if I’d discovered I had a brother or sister that he’d treated well with all his ill-gotten gains while I was left with the woman who hated me? I might have had a problem with them too. I might think they were just like him. And twisted as it is, I might wonder what it was about me that wasn’t worth their time.”
Michael went still while I spoke. I was trying to commiserate, but I’d only highlighted our differences instead. He was the product of an affair between a billionaire and an artist. I’m the son of a hypocrite and a criminal.
“What I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to feel bad about not instantly bonding with the man. In a way, it would have been easier if you were just as surprised as he was, because you wouldn’t have any prejudice to deal with. Instead, your asshole boss kept rubbing him in your face, and your father embraced him while keeping you at a distance. Have you told Bellamy about any of that?”
“No. I don’t want to badmouth his family.”
I look at him pointedly. “You’re his family, Michael. And don’t think you’re only here because of Seamus, though he is the mediator of the Finns. If Bellamy didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be. I’m guessing he would love to know why you haven’t been dazzled by his charms yet.”
Michael dips his chin, as if in acknowledgement, and then turns back toward the kitchen counter. “Come help me with this.”
I’m actually grateful the attention is off me and my revealing attempt to make him feel better. I never talk about my family. Not even with my friends. They witnessed enough of it firsthand and don’t need the recap.
Wanting this man to know it’s okay to be in a bad mood about a shitty family situation, and that he’s not alone, suddenly seemed too important for me to keep my mouth shut. But it’s left me feeling naked and raw.
“Can you knead this while I’m dealing with the rest of it?” He asks in a subdued voice.
I look at the large ball of herb-flecked dough on the counter. When did he put that together? “This looks completely different than the choux pastry. Is it for the tower too?”
“No. This is brioche. For our dinner. I’d appreciate the help.”
