Page 91 of A Very Merry Enemy
“Continue.”
“Before Paris. Before I let someone else define who I was supposed to be.” I take another drink. “Before I forgot what it felt like to be proud of my own work.”
Lucas does nothing but listen and suddenly it’s spilling out. The bourbon and the firelight and the fact that this man—the one person I’ve always been able to tell my secrets—makes it impossible to hold back anything.
“Dominic took credit for everything I created. My recipes. My techniques. My ideas.” I shake my head. “And I let him. I actually let him because I thought that’s what you did when you worked with someone you cared about. You supported them and lifted them up. I didn’t realize he was standing on my shoulders only to elevate himself.”
“Holiday—”
“I finally left when I overheard him talking to a food critic about his signature lavender honey cookie. The one I spent a year perfecting.” I swipe at unexpected tears. “He was laughing about how easy it was to create, like it came to him in a dream.”
Lucas’s jaw tightens. “That’s fucked up.”
“A week later, I packed my bags and told him I was done. He laughed at me and said I was no one before him. That I’d failed him and I’d fail again. He called me selfish. Listed his accolades against my blank slate.”
“You didn’t fail, HoHo.”
“Didn’t I? I lost everything.” I take a shaky breath. “I barely know who I am as a baker or a person without someone telling me what to do. For years, I was a robot.”
“That’s why you keep second-guessingyourself.”
“Yeah, but…” I look at him, knowing he deserves the whole truth. “I also came back for you.”
Lucas inhales a deep breath, and I know he wants to ask another question, but he can’t because it’s my turn.
We sit in silence for a moment. The fire pops and sends sparks into the night.
“Did you date anyone seriously after I left?”
He chuckles. “Fifteen years andthat’sthe question you ask?”
I groan. “Yes. Now answer it.”
“Okay. Yeah. A few.”
My stomach clenches. “How many?”
“That’s two questions.”
I take another sip of bourbon and remind him of the rules of our made-up game. “Confessions are deeper than surface-level bullshit. Tell me.”
“Three serious relationships.” He leans back. “One lasted a year. One lasted eight months. The other lasted six months before she told me I was clearly in love with someone else and was tired of competing with a ghost.”
The truth hangs between us. It’s simple, honest, and devastating.
But jealousy isn’t what I expected to feel. It nearly swallows me whole.
“Was that true?” I whisper, my heart pounding.
I never took into account that Lucas could be in love with someone else. Maybe that’s why he’s refused to let me in. He looks at me. Really looks at me. “I answered your first question. Save it for the next one.”
My heart is pounding.
“What do you want from me, Holiday?” It’s direct.
“I don’t know. I don’t have any expectations. I’m fucked up, Lucas. Honestly, your gut instinct to stay away from me is right. You probably should,” I tell him, knowing the truth serum is working.
“That’s not happening,” he says matter-of-factly, and it easessome of my fears that after this contest, he’ll go back to ignoring me.
