Standing By: A Knight's Tale #2 (18 page)

“It’s settled.” No, it’s not I want to tell Mom, “Now you two it’s time to eat.” Mom encourages us to head to the buffet table. I don’t have a heart to tell her that my girl is allergic to everything there. The way she is, she’ll bend over backwards trying to find something edible for her new daughter. Since we don’t move, she asks me, “She eats fish, doesn’t she?”

“I’m allergic to seafood,” My parent’s eyes widen but they compose their facial expressions fast. Yes, my girl is allergic to fish, and Emma only eats fish.

“We can find you something,” Mom’s head turns from left to right, I guess searching for a waiter or perhaps the caterer to ask for something different for Hayley.

“No worries, Mom.” I use my lazy, everything is all right voice. “We had a big breakfast and we’ll get something on our way out. You enjoy the wedding.”

“Of course, you have it under control.” No, I don’t, but I’m glad she has that kind of faith in me. “Don’t forget, you two are going to London in a couple of weeks. I won’t take no for an answer.”

*

“They looked happy,”
Hayley says after swallowing a bite of the hamburger. I still can’t believe she’s allergic to fish. “Four months traveling around the world sounds exciting. That’s my goal for when I’m old, go and travel. Get to know the countries Mom never wanted to visit with me. She only liked to go to the beach and ski resorts when Dad offered to pay for vacations for the two of us. While she flirted with any available man, I stayed in the pool or wherever she left me. That’s after they broke up, of course.”

“I’ll take you on a trip, wherever you want.”

She growls after I say that, she definitely can be frustrating at times. She either comes up with ridiculous excuses or makes nonsense noises.

“I don’t speak growling,” I remind her. “Are we visiting my parents in London next month?”

“You know, you are just like your mother,” she says. “You don’t understand the meaning of the word
no
but I bet your mom will listen to you. It’s your mission to tell her that we won’t join her, at least not me.” A frown slips under her serene face. “Ugh, you make me sound like a selfish brat. In all honesty, I can’t. This is as much Knight action as I’ll get, the rehearsal dinner and today’s wedding.”

“But we’re amazing and they like you.”

“Amazing. Your parents,
yes
. You and your brothers…” Her fingers drum on the table, and she shows me those hooded judgmental eyes. “Who wrestles during a wedding?” I raise my hand and blow her a kiss. “The three of you are… a bunch of goofs. No wait, your mother used the word,
special
, as she tried to explain your poor behavior. I personally choose, idiots but that’s my take.”

We continue eating in a peaceful silence, the hamburger joint is almost empty, as it is three o’clock in the afternoon. I study Hayley whose hair is tied back by now; she could only stand having her hair down for so long. Her profile is completely relaxed, and I’m glad to know that she is enjoying herself.

“What?” She asks. “You’re staring.”

“I like the view, Hayl,” I wipe a smudge of ketchup from her lip.

“Did I mention that I like your family, Mitch?” Her usual shoulder slump pose worries me. “I can’t anymore. If they ask me questions, I won’t be able to lie to them. They asked plenty of questions back then that I barely was able to dodge. Like, when was our first date? I had no answer. We never formally had one. She asked that five times. Your mom is like you, a bloodhound sniffing for answers. Is everyone in the family like that?”

“Mom and Jake are the worst. Well no, I don’t let the subject drop until I get my information,” I correct. “They give you a break and circle back around.”

“How does Emma fit in?” I frown because I have no idea what she’s talking about. “She doesn’t like to bond. I tried, really tried, and she kept me away.”

“You are social?”

She nods.

“You try to make friends and she didn’t let you?”

She nods.

“Sorry, I guess. At least she asked you to be her maid of honor; that’s big in Emma’s world. She used to have a friend, one she grew up with—like Kendall but things fell apart between them. Now it’s me.”

“Maybe she thinks I’m taking her friend away,” Hayley says.

Her words go off like a light bulb. For the past few weeks, my life has circled around Hayl. I haven’t spoken much to either Jake or Emma as I usually do. Their calls and texts didn’t take a priority, and my entire focus has been Hayley.

“Did you file for the annulment, Mitch?” Whoa, where is that coming from?

“No.” She narrows her gaze at me.

“On Tuesday you had a fight with your Mom,” I remind her. Mostly her mom slammed her, and Hayley stayed quiet until I kicked her mother out of the shop—nicely. “She called you names and said we wouldn’t last more than a month. I promised you that we’d prove her wrong. Then we agreed we should stay together for at least six months.”

“That’s what happens when I don’t write things down.” She snickers. “I forgot.”

I want to ask where it’ll be, on that calendar of hers that’s like a journal or the computer where she makes notes. Or worse, her monthly notepad.

“There’s no way I’ll write this down. Someone will see it, and I’ll be doing all this for nothing. I shouldn’t have started. I know how hard it is to lie. I don’t like lying, and I’m in the middle of the biggest one of my life. You know; Liam would’ve been a great match for me. He’s serious and sensible and—”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” I slam my hand on the table.

“You’re married to that ego of yours and in love with the women of your past,” Hayley snaps her fingers and then points her index finger at me. “Emma doesn’t know about you and Chloe, does she?”

I shake my head.

“I’ve never seen what real love looks like,” Hayley says. “However, seeing your parents, Jake and Emma, and your devotion for them—Chloe and Jordan—make me believe that it exists and gives me hope that one day I’ll find a love like that.”

Hayley thinks they are the explanation of why I can’t love and refuse to have a relationship. Hayley’s practicality ends when it comes to family and love, then she completely loses it.

Hayley

“S
poiled,” I call
Mitch, as his driver takes us back from the airport. “Private jets, drivers, what’s next, a mansion?”

“You want me to buy you a mansion, Muffet?” he asks and I answer shaking my head as I look outside the car window and watch the Hudson River as we cross the bridge. He’s infuriating and sometimes-no, most of the times-adorable. “Look, my parents are about to close on a triplet on Fifth Avenue, I can tell them that you want it and they’ll buy it for us. They can find something else and use our apartment in the meantime.”

Mitchel Knight has several tones; he uses the taunting one the most with me and I hate it. One day without behaving like a child is too much to ask from him, even a few hours. I guess it’s his way of spicing things up in my so called boring life. Not that I’ll ever admit to him that I’d rather deal with his childish comments than my own family. I rotate my neck and stare at him.

“Cool mint,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“Your eyes are like cool mints, kind of different. I’d appreciate them if they didn’t intend to kill me when you direct them toward me.”

“Not sure what bothers me the most, your attitude about money—” As I say so, he tilts his chin and crooks his eyebrow. His arrogance makes me want to slap him, but I don’t believe in actual physical violence while my opponent is too close and looking kind of hot. “Or the way you love to taunt me on an hourly basis.”

“Hourly?” I don’t respond, and he keeps talking. “First it was daily, then twice a day, now hourly. Babe, you love to exaggerate the truth… that’s pretty close to lying. About the money, what do you want me to do? I have it, so I use it, end of story. There’s no way I will ever apologize for being who I am. If you want a fifty million dollar home, I’ll buy it because I can.”

“See, you’re doing it.” I turn my body toward him. “You know I hate lying and you’re calling me a liar. A fifty million dollar home? Insanity. As I said, you’re a spoiled brat; you wouldn’t survive on the salary of an average person, not even one day.”

“I can do anything,” he cups my chin with his index finger. “One day with a small salary is nothing. You can’t say anything; your family has money. Could you survive with me on my salary?”

“My
family
has money.” I pull out of his grip. “What I have is my
own
. You are already aware of the deal with my business. I give myself a salary and the rest goes to pay the bills. I have, of course, a small cushion so I don’t need you to support me.”

My gaze moves from his eyes to the window and then back at him; I prop my chin in my palms quailing the need to shake him. I suddenly realize his hardened look is set directly on me, as if I had slapped him hard.

“Yes, you’re right.” The tendons of his neck tighten along with his voice. “I forgot you’re allergic to money, fish, peanuts and apparently me. You can’t go one second without telling me what’s wrong with me, what I need to change or—”

“You don’t need to change, damn it but at least admit you tease me all day long, Mitch,” I touch his arm. “It always sounds like you’re complaining about the person I am and how I need to be better-different. Do you have any idea how often I listen to Mom telling me how imperfect I am? That maybe if I change she’d like me some? She loves me, but she doesn’t like me very much. Mom makes me feel inadequate.” My voice cracks, but I continue. “Same goes for everyone else in my family. I always try so hard to win their approval, valedictorian, top GPA, which I achieved through advanced placement classes. I had so many credits that I was able to obtain an associate degree.”

I can feel my chest constricting as my words flow like water through my fingers.

“Instead of going to law school, med school or any of those typical careers, I continued with my
stupid hobby
as Mom calls it. My two older brothers shared the sentiment, instead of saying
‘Great valedictorian speech
’ after my graduation, they said… ‘You’re shitting me, baking pastries isn’t a career.’ Everyone in my family has some kind of input about my choices. Where I should live, how I should dress… I try, but there are days I can’t. Why do you think I hate to receive expensive presents or favors? Because if I do, that will give that person some power to take charge of my life. One thing I’ve learned throughout the years is that money talks and whoever has the most, governs the rest—at least within the Welsh family.”

“My family is different,” Mitch’s tone comes out flat. “If you gave them a chance, gave all of us a chance; you would understand.”

“I plan to avoid your parents because I like them, Mitch.” They’re warm and friendly. “The truth will come out as soon as they ask, ‘
How did you two meet again?
’ You said it before, I’m a terrible liar. I like to pretend that I live outside that powerful world I grew up in, which is the same world you live in. For example, you snap your fingers and things happen. That’s not me—I hate that. As I just said, you wouldn’t survive if you didn’t have said power. I’ve never in my life used a credit card, can you handle that?”

“I can handle whatever you throw at me.” His half smile creases into a mocking grin. “But can you handle me without complaining?”

The car arrives at a building two blocks from my bakery. The attendant opens the car door and helps me out. Mitch gives instructions to the driver, then jumps out and takes the bags from the trunk.

“Hay, meet Miles, one of the concierges of the building. Miles, my wife, Hayley.” Mitch bobs his head to the tall, bold man in his late forties who opened the car door for me. “Miles, did they move everything as I requested?”

“Yes, sir. Mrs. Knight,” he extends his hand, and I meet it. “It’s a pleasure; let me know if I can be of service. I’ll make sure to send Louie upstairs tomorrow evening, sir, so he can introduce himself to your wife. Congratulations, to the both of you.”

I follow Mitch inside the building, head to the stairs; skipping the elevator to walk up the seven flights. When we reach apartment 7A, he opens the door, and I get a glimpse of my two leather recliners next to his couch. Which as he said last Sunday, would match perfectly.

“Explain.” I point to the chairs. “You stole my furniture?”

“No.” He leaves the bags on the floor, pushes me out the door and then scoops me up at the knees and carries me back inside. “I joined our furniture; do you ever listen to what I say? Last Sunday I said when my parents leave; we would mix our furniture in my apartment. I’ll even buy a new bed, not that I ever slept with anyone before you.”

“I haven’t slept with you,” I remind him, nor do I plan to. I’m working hard on it. “Are you delirious or is this part of that selective memory your brothers talked about?”

“My brothers don’t know shit about me.” He puts me back on the floor once we reach the bedroom. “Selective memory is the best way to say I didn’t pay attention. Like Jay, I have a photographic memory, unlike him, I choose wisely not to say: ‘
I didn’t care to listen
.’”