Page 29 of Between Love and Loathing

I squeezed my eyes shut. “You can come visit if you want, Anastasia.”

“Oh, so you leave without telling me, and now you want me to come visit? Typical, Clara. Make up your mind. One way or the other. You want me there or not?”

I glanced around the penthouse, the quiet and calm of it reminded me of what I had here now. “You’re right. Maybe it’s best you don’t come.”

I heard her gasp like I’d struck her. But Anastasia and I hadn’t been close in a way that I’d wished for in years. She’d delivered metaphorical blow after blow since becoming my mother’s sidekick. My stepfather hadn’t known about my mother’s physical and emotional abuse, but Anastasia stood by her and pointed out my faults every time, finding that it took the attention off of her.

I heard my sister grumbling to my mother then, and I sighed, a lone tear falling down my face. “No, I didn’t tell her you were in the room, Mom. She just doesn’t want me to come. This is what I mean about her picking our stepsister over me. She’s a—”

“I can hear you, Anastasia, and that’s not true. It’s—”

“I don’t care if you hear me! You’re fucking useless anyway. You’re trying to leave us behind and get back into the HEAT empire. You think we don’t see through your act?”

“Anastasia, can you stop and think about what you’re accusing me of?”

She scoffed and hung up the phone. My heart cracked a little, but also the blocks I was building around it stacked up a bit higher.

I took a deep breath and tried not to even think about it as I showered off my makeup and used some mint-infused shampoo in my hair before the conditioner. Thankfully, the bathroom was stocked even though there weren’t guests staying here yet. If nothing else, relaxing in the luxurious rain shower with unlimited amounts of hot water destressed me a little.

I’d give Dominic credit for this at least.

No credit for anything else though. Not even the orgasms he’d given me—although I thought about it once or twice as the water cascaded down my body.

Once I was out of the shower, I knew I owed him a thank you.

Me: Thank you for getting me somewhere safe last night.

Dominic: Good morning, little fighter. And a thank you? That’s surprising.

Me: Well, the follow-up to that thank you is a question: Why am I in the penthouse suite?

Dominic: Didn’t read the note on the nightstand yet? You still in bed?

I glared at my phone and pounded out the next text.

Me: No. I’m showered and ready to go.

I walked over to the solid oak nightstand and my heart of steel toward him softened just a little. There was a large glass of water with Advil right next to it. Laying just below that was a crisp white sticky note with the HEAT emblem behind it that read,

So you don’t claim I screwed around with you and then sent you on your way. Penthouse for a cupcake.

Me: You didn’t need to put me in the penthouse suite.

Dominic: I know. But I did anyway. Do I get an extra thank you for that?

Me: Considering you cut the party short and that my kittens are probably worried sick, I think just one will have to do.

Dominic: Kittens? You’ve only been here a month, Clara. Why the hell would you get pets?

Dominic: Did you pick up strays? Those have fucking diseases.

I ignored that text, swiped the Advil off the nightstand and gulped down the water in hopes it would curb any sort of headache that was bound to come on without food or caffeine. I needed both sooner rather than later. It was still pretty early, only eight o’clock, and if I beelined back to my bakery, I could probably whip up coffee before going home, changing, and then getting back to work.

And getting shoes.

I’d lost my favorite heels and my purse last night, and I thought about crying over it. They’d been thousands of dollars, and my mom had said over and over again that I’d looked good in them.

What is it about wanting a parent’s love so much that people would keep trying even when they didn’t deserve it? Those shoes were that for me, and I hated that I’d lost them even if it was probably better to let them go.