Page 3 of The Pucker and the Princess
I got asked to prom when I was a junior in high school, and nothing was ever the same after that. Mom took me out to get my nails done ahead of time, and at first it was because he didn’t want me to ruin my nails, but the excuses just kept changing until eventually I stopped trying and instead focused on spending time with Mom, who welcomed me with open arms.
I still worked on my own car, of course. That was expected. No child of Jon Kane would ever be allowed to grow up without learning how to change their oil, change a tire, jump their own car, or swap out a battery.
After I graduated high school, he allowed me to work in the office. I started out part time while attending UT-Denton, and I tried to be happy with that. Once Lance got old enough to start working in the shop, he and I would work on cars together when Dad wasn’t around. Sometimes Dad would catch us, and he’d grumble a little about me ruining my nails or getting my hands dirty, but he wouldn’t run me off at least.
Then he hired Peter, Lance went off to college halfway across the country—though he was supposed to move back after getting his degree—and eventually it was Peter who let me come in and work on cars with him after hours.
That blossomed into a relationship, and when it became clear Lance didn’t want to come back, it seemed perfect. Peter and I would eventually get married and take over the shop from Dad.
Except after dating for years and being no closer to marriage, that dream started to crumble too.
It was my little sister Gabby, the youngest of the three of us, who shocked me out of the monotony. As the youngest—and a girl—she didn’t have specific expectations placed on her like Lance did. She went to college for music with plans to be a professional violinist in a symphony.
But then she met Jonathan Brasher, former boyband superstar turned soloist, and her whole life plan got turned upside down. Watching her go after the life she wanted was the kick in the ass I needed, though.
I ended up giving Peter an ultimatum, but even though he suggested a Vegas elopement and eventually tried to give me a ring, it felt like too little, too late at that point. He was only offering to marry me because I pressured him. And that wasn’tgood enough. I want someone whowantsto be with me. Whowantsto marry me because he loves me and can’t imagine life without me. Not to shut me up and make me stop talking about it.
That was when I started applying for other jobs.
And now, here I am, five years later, with a promotion to head the northwest office of Garrison Automotive Distributing.
Living in a building with an asshole who makes me drop my boxes.
But at least he came back just as Jorge and Cameron were getting inside with the last section of my couch so I could slam the door in his face like he did to me earlier.
While I’ve lived the last several years operating under the idea that the best revenge is a life well lived, I think that only applies when getting revenge on former romantic partners. For assholes like that guy? Revenge is best served quickly and fiercely. And it feels oh, so good.
Marissa from a few years ago—the Marissa who was still waiting around for Peter to propose even after it was clear he didn’t want to—wouldn’t have dared. She’d’ve tried to be the bigger person, let him in, thinking that turning the other cheek and killing with kindness were the best options. And maybe sometimes that’s true.
But this time?
The look on his face was priceless, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Once the movers leave, I close the door behind them, surveying the enormous task of unpacking and getting settled.
“I don’t have to do it all today,” I murmur to myself and pull out my phone.
I promised Mom I’d call once I got moved in, so I pull up the video chat app and tap on her name.
Her smiling face answers after two rings, Dad hovering in the background, his brows pulled together in his customary scowl.
“Marissa!” Mom carols. “I was starting to worry!”
Chuckling, I give Mom a smile and shake my head. “No need to worry, Mom. I promised I’d call, so here I am calling. The movers just left like ten seconds ago. My place is a mess, boxes piled everywhere, but at least the furniture’s all where it needs to be. They put my bed frame together and put the mattress on, so I just have to make the bed and unpack at least the essentials. I’m glad I got here yesterday, though. It would’ve been a lot worse to drive in today and then move in.”
Dad grunts. “You should have Lance come help you if you need an extra pair of hands.”
I manage to hold back the eye roll I want to give that suggestion, but I can’t suppress my sigh of irritation. “I don’t need to call Lance, Dad. I can handle unpacking my own things. Plus, he’s like five hours away on the other side of the state. I know Washington isn’t as big as Texas, but it’s not like it’s tiny either. Being close-erisn’t the same as being close, you know.”
With another grumble, Dad subsides into silence.
“Well, it’s still nice you’re close enough you can visit him pretty much whenever you want,” Mom adds in an obvious attempt to soothe the ruffled feathers that have been a feature of my interactions with my father ever since I quit working at his shop.But Mom’s always been the peacemaker between Dad and the world, knowing exactly what to say to calm him down and make him see reason and doing her best to translate his gruff exterior to the rest of us so we don’t take it too much to heart.
“Wanna see my new place?” I ask, deciding to simply change topics. My brother Lance, who lives in Spokane, definitely doesn’t need me calling him up and asking him to leave his wife and toddler and drive for hours over the mountains to help me unpack. Especially since I just visited them a couple days ago on my way out here. It wasn’t the most direct route, but it was good to spend some time with my brother, his wife, and my nephew, who’s walking and talking and so much bigger than the last time I saw him when he could barely hold his head up. Mom’s right that being closer will be nice. Maybe I’ll be able to see them more than once a year.
“Oh! Of course!” Mom gushes. I flip the camera around and show off my new space—two bedrooms so I’ll have a guest room for when my parents or one of my siblings decides to visit, though Gabby’s on tour again with Jonathan, her superstar husband, so I doubt they’ll be crashing in my guest room anytime soon. I tell Mom my plans for how I’m going to decorate, what I’m going to put where, and what I need to find now that I’m actually here.
It’s been a long road. I thought about moving to California at one point—and actually did stay there for a few months, crashing at Jonathan and Gabby’s place while they were touring. They appreciated having me there and even paid me a small amount, saying I was their house sitter so it just made sense. I tried to find a job while I was there so I could stay permanently, but nothing was very appealing, I didn’t actually enjoy living there, and I didn’t have a really pressing need for more money since Ihad a free place to live and a paycheck. But having my youngest sibling pay me to do anything for them felt super weird, so after about six months when they were on a break from touring, I headed back to Denton, stayed with Mom and Dad for a bit since I’d given up my old apartment to go to California, and managed to land a job with Garrison.
