I did know how often people pretended with me. Pretended to like me, pretended I was interesting, and even pretended that they weren’t disappointed in me.
But Knox wasn’t like that, was he?
“You think on that,” Cordelia sighed, plucking up her purse from my coffee table. “Think about our family, Lucian, and how you represent us. We don’t slum it with our chefs. We don’t allow ourselves to get taken advantage of. And we sure as hell aren’t naive enough to give ourselves up on a platter to people who would be all too eager to take what we offer.”
She left with a click of the door, and the silence that remained had none of the earlier peace in it. Instead, it held the ticking of the clock on my wall, reminding me that my time with Knox was limited and that he might not actually want to stay with me. If I was something passing for him, I’d find out soon enough.
18
KNOX
“Lucy?” I called out to the apartment as I locked the door behind me and kicked off my shoes into the small closet beside it. “I’m back, and I brought Chinese food!”
I shrugged out of my jacket, struggling to hold the takeout containers with one hand. It had been a pick-me-up after another failed interview. This time, it hadn’t even lasted fifteen minutes before Chef Maria Absil was giving me the plastic smile that told me just how uninterested she was in me before she was dismissing me from her bistro.
At least she hadn’t bothered with the fake, “we’ll be in touch,” as she motioned me out her front door.
“Hey,” Lucy’s hands appeared in my vision, taking the styrofoam boxes from me.
“Thanks,” I responded, slipping my jacket off before I saw his face fully.
He was smiling, but it was fake, a sad thing that he’d never worn with me. He blinked quickly, and his eyes were glossy. Had he been crying?
“Hey,” I frowned, hanging my jacket up before I was winding my arms around his waist. “What’s wrong?”
Lucy shook his head, his throat bobbing with the emotions I knew he was holding back. “Nothing. I’m fine. How was your interview? Did she like you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I dismissed. “What happened?”
“Of course it matters,” Lucy stepped back from my arms and retreated to the kitchen, setting the containers on the island. “Did she offer you the job?”
“No, Lucy, she didn’t.” I sighed. He was hiding from me, and I didn’t like it one bit.
I followed him into the kitchen, where he turned away from me to find the wooden chopsticks he kept in his utensil drawer. His shoulders were drawn up, clearly uncomfortable.
“What?” He turned, genuine sympathy on his face, “But you were perfect for it!”
I exhaled a laugh. “Lucy, it’s alright. I really wasn’t perfect for it.” I took the opportunity to take a step closer once he’d put himself back in front of the food on the counter.
“But you said your training was a lot of French cuisine.”
“So was everybody else’s who went to a prestigious school.” I covered his hands over the white box. “Lucy, tell me what’s wrong.”
Lucy sighed heavily and sagged where he stood. He looked like someone poisoned his tea and kicked his cat all in the hours since I’d been here and shared breakfast with him.
“My sister came by,” was his soft admission.
I frowned. “Cordelia? What did she want?”
Cordelia wasn’t a kind person, not by a long shot. She invaded my space, spoke harshly about everyone around her to everyone else, and put Lucy down. Then she would whoosh out of the apartment again, her high heels clicking behind her.
Lucy rubbed the back of his neck, still not meeting my eyes. “She saw my painting, and she got upset.”
I frowned. “Your painting? That one for tomorrow’s exhibit?”
Lucy paused, then shook his head. “I might have started a new one.”
He nodded toward his studio corner, and I followed his gaze.
