Page 88 of Masked in Deception
If the incredible dates we’ve been on recently, the late-night text conversations like days of old, or her canceling on masked me weren’t enough to give me hope that things with us could work, spending the day with the family sure is.
As we laughed and played together, I realized something I should’ve known all along. We aremeantto be. We're already family.But unlike Henry and Ledger, who are the same as brothers, or Blanche, who’s like a mother to me, Margot has always been more. I swear to God, I get the imprinting bullshitnow because it’s like my soul has always belonged to her, but only in the way she needed from me at the time.
Whether that be someone to console her when she cries, make her laugh when she’s sad, protect her when she’s in danger, hold her when she’s scared, orput a collar on her when she needs dominating…The list could go on forever.
My purpose has always been and will always be Margot, and for the rest of my life, I’ll give her whatever version of Jack she needs. I just hope with everything that I am, that what she needs in me now is her forever.
Chapter sixty
“Yes, thank you so much for your warm wishes. I’m still not interested at this time, but if that changes, I’ll be sure to consider your team,” I say politely, masking how much I want to bite the head off the representative for the third giant corporation who’s tried to buy me out this week. The New York store has been an amazing success, and although it’s been a whirlwind, I’m having a good time. There have been a couple of moments, though, when I’ve considered what it would be like to take a step back from the administrative duties and solely focus on creative direction. Then the devil on my shoulder reminds me that we’ve only just achieved all this. Why would we give it up so soon? I don’treallyhave time to unpack all of that tonight, so I shake it off as I grab my things and move downstairs to meet my driver. Milan and Berlin have both been floated as potential expansions, and I have the weekend to prepare before meetings next week.
I look up from the sidewalk to find my driver, but instead, Jack is waiting in front of a sleek SUV.
“Hi, Princess,” he says, kissing my cheek and taking my things before opening the back door for me. Sliding in beside me, he places his hand on my thigh, immediately causing goose bumps to erupt across my body.
“What is this? Is anything wrong?” I ask, a little breathless from his presence.
He chuckles and shifts over to be closer, his entire body pressed against the side of mine. “Nothing wrong. A little birdie told me that you’ve had an extremely busy week, and I was hoping you’d indulge me with dinner at home tonight. Nothing fancy. Just to relax. If you don’t want to and you’d rather be home alone and do your skincare and go to sleep, we can drop you off there. No pressure.”
I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and think about how, since I’ve been slowly letting Jack back into my life, I’ve felt lighter and more like myself than I have in years. He seems to really just want to take care of me, and as hard as it is to accept it, I really like it. After being pretty independent for over two years, I’m starting to like the idea of a partner, someone to share things with. I could fight him for taking me away from my pre-planned evening of, well, nothing. But I think I might be done fighting. At least, I think I’m getting there.
Leaning into his side and putting my head on his shoulder, I smile. “I think a quiet dinner sounds perfect.”
It’s a bit surreal, pulling up with Jack to my old apartment building from my time in the city while completing my master’s.He usually isn’t the forgetful type, and didn’t he say we were going to his place?
“I don’t live here anymore, Jack,” I say, furrowing my brow and checking to see if he’s showing any overt signs of a stroke. Trying to remember the acronym, I see his face isn’t symmetrical, but I think it’s due to his half grimace, half grin. He wasn’t slurring his words in the car. The driver has dropped us off and left, so now we’re stuck here for the time being. “Are you okay?”
“Ha. Yeah. Yes, yes, I’m okay.” He awkwardly chuckles, clearing his throat and leading me by the hand into the building and up the elevator. “So, I know you don’t live here, Margot. But, uh, well. I kind of do.”
Too much time passes as I blink at him sheepishly.
“You live here.”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“It’s been a while. I don’t really remember the move-in date. I might have the paperwork around here somewhere if you want details, or we can ask Mrs. Goldsmith across the hall. You know she never forgets anything and probably has a time-stamped video of me moving all my stuff in…”
He’s rambling, but I’ve stopped paying him any attention. As soon as he opened the door and led me in with one hand on my lower back, I made a beeline for the corner of the living room that always got the most natural light during the day. Now I’m running my hands along the beautiful grand piano from his other apartment, feeling tears fill my eyes.
“Why do you have this?” I ask lowly, not daring to turn around. He takes slow steps until he’s a foot away, then he stops.
He’s not going to answer me, and as I move to sit on the piano bench so I can see him, I ask him again. My voice is clear, making it obvious he’s getting nothing from me until he answers.This is an answer I’ve deserved for a long time, I think. I’m going to hear it from him whether he likes it or not.
“Why. Do. You. Have. This?” I ask again, through clenched teeth, before I can’t take it for another second. I turn on the bench, fully facing him and seeing his head bowed, eyes on the floor, jaw clenched. “Why doyou have this? And why do you live in my apartment, Jack?” My voice that had risen falls to a whisper on his name, like I’m scared to speak it and conjure him, even though he’s already here.
I see his jaw clench once more before he tips his head back, eyes to the ceiling, and then he kneels so that his eyes are level with mine. Tears stream down his face, and after a moment, his face crumples. He takes a moment to reach out and grab one of my hands, playing with my fingers before he speaks, so quietly I can barely hear him.
“The piano is here because I…I had to pretend in any way that I could that one day you’d be here, too. It’s not…it’s fair, it was my fault. I deserved it. But Margot, I….” He lets out a heavy breath, and his words come faster but no louder, and the tears don’t stop. Jack’s emboldened, I guess, by the fact that I haven’t run screaming yet. He continues, playing with my left ring finger although I doubt it’s intentional.
“I regretted everything the instant you left. And I knew, immediately, that I was to blame, and I deserved every ounce of pain coming my way. And I took it all, I promise you. Please never doubt that every moment you were in France was a penance for me, one that I know I deserved. But I’m so selfish, Princess. I had to have something to delude myself, deep down, that you might be back where I was, one day. So I bought the apartment. I hoped it would still smell like you.” He lets out a watery, self-deprecating laugh at this. “It did for a while. God, it was heaven while it did. I could go to work, come home, sit on this couch, and think about Thanksgiving and eat chocolate likean asshole and pretend. Then it faded, and I started buying your perfumes and shampoos, but it didn’t smell right, and fuck if that wasn’t a dark hole to crawl out of.”
He’s back to staring at me now, with the most earnest, pleading look I’ve ever seen, and I feel my heart break along old lines and then snap back together, tighter than before.
I think he’s waiting for me to say something, or give any indication that I’m internalizing what he’s saying, but the glint of silver at the cuffs of his shirt has caught my eye. His cuff links are delicate and clearly custom. A replica of Sprinkles, my favorite childhood stuffed animal. He sees me notice them, but doesn’t say anything, and my gaze travels up his torso before snagging on the chain I’ve only ever seen glimpses of. Instead of a cross or some other emblem at the center, it’s a crown.Or maybe a tiara.
He sees me notice the necklace, too, and must decide it’s time to say something, anything at all, to try to salvage how creepy he just made himself sound.
