Page 30 of Love Is a War Song

I opted to not wear the wig. We were already late, and I didn’t want them thinking Lucas’s fake girlfriend was ridiculous.

Instead, I wore a flowy, floral romper with long bell sleeves, a cinched waist, and shorts that were tastefully short—in my opinion.

The flowers were fuchsia against a cream background.

I felt like Stevie Nicks whenever I wore this, especially when I twisted my arms around while dancing.

The pain from the saddle made it difficult to move my legs, but I suffered through it wearing the brown leather boots I’d found in the attic. There was no time left to do any makeup, so I slathered a berry-colored stain on my lips, grabbed a hair tie, and went to meet Lucas by the truck.

The stairs were my enemy—forget all the Twitter beef, I forgive all those faceless trolls. The stairs were my sworn nemesis for life. With every step down I had to swallow a whimper, but I managed it.

Lucas was waiting at the truck, resting his arms on top of the truck bed. I could feel my hair instantly start to dry and curl up with the heat and humidity.

“How do I look?” I did a slow circle, making sure I held my arms out so that the sleeves were on full display.

Lucas grunted, tapped the top of the truck, and then got into the driver’s seat.

He sure knew how to make a girl feel pretty. I rolled my eyes. I guess it wasn’t really his job to compliment me. I did force him into this whole ordeal.

I pushed through the ache and climbed into the passenger seat. I smiled at Lucas, letting him know I was ready to go. He nodded and started the truck.

“Sorry, I got stuck out there and ran out of time to bake your dad a cake.”

“It’s fine. My mom didn’t expect you to really do that.”

“Yeah, but I like to think that my word means something.”

“It’s just a cake. We’ll stop at the store and pick one up.”

“That’s a good idea. When I get access to my money again, I’ll pay you back.”

He turned onto the dirty road and waved me off.

“So where do they live? Close?” I asked as I started massaging my thighs. It felt so good that I let out a little moan of pleasure.

Lucas cleared his throat and I turned beet red. I knew how it sounded, but it couldn’t be helped. Between my thighs and my ass, I wasn’t sure which hurt the most.

“You should have a professional do that.” His voice was thick.

“You volunteering?” I tried to joke, but the pain made my voice come out sultry and desperate. I needed to get it together.

Was it just me, or did the cab get like twenty degrees hotter? I stared into his gray eyes for a moment, and if it were not for him having to look away to drive us safely across town to the store, I could have stared at them for eternity. Lost happily in the depths of those storm clouds.

Which was dumb, because I promised myself, drunk or not, that I would harbor no delusions when it came to my attraction to Lucas. He was off-limits.

I took my hands off my thighs and focused my attention out the window and repeated to myself over and over again: Be professional.

···

We stood outside the huge wooden double doors to Lucas’s parents’ house. Lucas knocked and waited to be allowed in—a stark contrast to how it was at Lottie’s and Bessie’s. He tugged at the collar around his neck, then hastily ripped the price tag off the cake box and the big red Reduced sticker.

There were many cake options, but Lucas opted for the sell-by-date-reduced table to save more money.

It was a chocolate Bundt cake with a white frosting drizzle.

It looked delicious to me, but there was no way I’d attempt to try to pass this off as if I’d made it, even though Lucas suggested I do it.

I was only fifty percent sure he was joking.

The plastic lid had the store name stamped on it, for one.

And two, it was way nicer than anything I could attempt to make—no matter how much better I was getting at making biscuits and gravy.

The ominous double doors slowly opened. Was opening both doors necessary? I didn’t think so, but it did add to the air of drama that coated the place, and the tense way Lucas carried himself.

What exactly did I sign us up for?

A handsome man in his early fifties, if I had to guess, stood there, swirling a fancy glass of amber liquid. He had Lucas’s same eyes and nose, and his hair was cropped short and peppered with a lot of gray.

“Come in, come in,” Lucas’s father said, waving us in. I followed closely behind Lucas.

“Cat! Our guests are here!” he called up the winding staircase.

“Coming!” Cat called from somewhere in the distance.

“Lucas, why don’t you introduce me to your friend.”

“This is Avery.”

His father waited a beat to see if Lucas would tack on anything else, like who I was to him (no one) or where I came from (irrelevant). When Lucas’s dead stare continued, his father carried on.

“Welcome, Avery. It’s lovely to meet you. Follow me, let’s go put that delicious-looking cake down.”

“Thank you so much, sir. Er…happy birthday!” I tried to muster up enough cheer to cover Lucas’s shuttered energy. He followed along, saying nothing. I could feel his tension. It was clear he hated being in this house and near his family.

The home was huge. The floors were made of marble tile, and we passed a sitting room with a big black leather couch and two black leather armchairs. On the far wall was one of those cool, modern gas fireplaces with glass pieces piled on the bottom.

We pressed on down the hallway to the kitchen.

It was twice the size of Lottie’s and everything was white.

The subway tile, the paint, the cabinets, the counters, and even the floor.

I placed the chocolate cake onto the counter next to a silver bucket full of ice and a bottle of white wine.

On the stove was a roasting pan covered with a lid.

The kitchen was pristine. I could smell the evidence of the cooking, but I couldn’t see it.

Not a single dirty dish littered the countertop or the sink.

Did the Iron Eyeses have secret elves who did the cooking?

Or a full staff? I knew I was a beginner and so a little messier than most, but the stainless steel chef’s range didn’t even have a single splatter of grease.

It was giving major Stepford Wife vibes, and not in a good way. Was there ever a good way?

I could hear heels clacking quickly across the tiled house before Cat rushed in to hug Lucas.

“Lucas! Welcome home, honey!” She tackled him into a big bear hug, wrapping her arms around his arms and torso. It was sweet, if a little awkward.

Lucas’s father, whose name I still didn’t know, drank his liquor, ambivalent to the emotional display before him.

“Cat, let go of the boy,” Mr. Iron Eyes said, his voice bored and cold.

“I hope you brought your appetite.” She turned to me. “Oh, Avery, it’s so good to see you again. Will, isn’t Lucas’s girlfriend beautiful like I told you?”

“Yes, a real looker. What’re you doing with my son?” He laughed at his own joke, and Lucas’s shoulders fell forward from his ears, caving in on themselves.

“Lucas is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life,” I answered honestly. Lucas refused to meet my eyes, instead brushing past us all to the upper cabinet by the sink. He pulled out two tall glasses.

“Want something to drink?”

I knew he was asking me.

“Water would be great.”

He took the glasses to the fridge and filled them with the water dispenser on the door.

“We have this great pinot grigio from Italy that goes perfect with the baked Brie we have in the dining room. Or of course we have a Cab we took out from the cellar for this special occasion. It’s a ’95 from our favorite little winery in Napa.

It pairs beautifully with Cat’s famous roast. Can I pour you a glass?

” Will asked. His smile seemed forced, not quite reaching his eyes.

“Oh, no thank you. I’m good with water.” I looked away from his face. His eyes were unnervingly like Lucas’s, but off somehow, a little harsher. And his teeth were like those of all the actors I’ve encountered: too big, too square, and too white.

Lucas’s parents exchanged a look. “A perfect match for Lucas then,” his mother said cheerfully.

“Can we eat now?” Lucas asked, handing me the glass of cool water.

“I’m starved,” I added before taking a sip. I hoped the bathroom had Advil in the medicine cabinet. I did my best not to limp as I followed everyone through the door into the formal dining room that was adjacent to the kitchen.

It had more grandiose decor and furnishings.

It gave old-money Beverly Hills vibes with the white embroidered fabric, upholstered cushions, and black-lacquered carved wood armrests and legs.

The entire room was decorated in black and white, along with a framed Jackson Pollock print.

The only reason I knew it was Jackson Pollock was because I briefly dated a tortured screenwriter who had the same print (or similar, it was just black paint on a white canvas—it was difficult to tell) but smaller in his bedroom.

He thought it was edgy; I thought it gave serial killer vibes.

We didn’t make it past six weeks. The man also wore those dumb tiny fisherman beanies that men who have never held a fishing pole wear to look cool, but it just looks pretentious in LA.

The relationship was doomed for many reasons.

Being in this house, I was intimidated. Lucas’s family was clearly wealthy and was not afraid to flaunt it.

I’d been around a lot of money, and my mother and I were finally in a financially secure place, but I was never this kind of wealthy growing up, and to be honest, most of my Studio City home was furnished by Target and Cost Plus World Market.

We love a deal. But Lucas grew up in this mansion .

How the hell did he end up at Lottie’s living in a single-wide? This man was a mystery.