Make Me Beg, Daddy

Chapter 40

I stand there holding the plate I didn’t order, in the shawl I didn’t ask for, wondering what the hell kind of world I’ve stumbled into.

It lasts about ten seconds.

“You’re her!” a voice says in delight.

Two women have appeared in front of me. One is short and round-faced with a silver clip in her hair. The other is taller and elegant, with a chignon in her hair and glistening white teeth.

I smile at both. “That depends who you’re looking for.”

“The baker,” says the short one. “You have the shop in Sunset Park, right? My cousin’s daughter got her wedding cake from you in September. Lemon.”

“With the raspberry?”

“That’s the one!” She grabs my forearm. “I stole my husband’s piece. He still hasn’t forgiven me.”

The taller one is already talking over her. “I need to ask you something. My cheesecake cracks. Every time. Right down the middle, like an earthquake went through it. Why?”

I hear myself go straight into work mode, which is a relief, because work mode is the only mode I have that never fails me. “Are you baking it in a water bath?”

She stares at me. “A what?”

“Okay. So that’s the answer.” I set the plate down on the corner of a table. “Wrap the bottom of your pan in foil, sit it in a roasting pan, pour hot water halfway up the side. Then when the timer goes off, shut the oven off and leave the door cracked and let it come down slow. It cracks because you’re yanking it out of a hot oven into a cold kitchen.”

She gets her phone out and makes me say it again, slower, so she can take notes.

Then the short one wants to know about pierogi dough, and we get into a long chat about the ups and downs of my chosen profession.

I’m happily nerding out on proofing techniques when I feel a man’s hand touch my elbow.

“Excuse me, ladies,” croons a voice that’s just like Kane’s if you took off a couple decades of rasp and wear. “Can I steal our guest of honor here?”

My two new friends make promises about getting together for coffee, then scurry away.

I turn to face a carbon copy of Kane Makov.

If you take four inches off the mob boss, add some baby fat to the cheeks, and maybe reduce the amount of latent homicide in his scowl, you’d get this.

Same nose.

Same shoulders.

Same piercing green eyes.

“Delilah Dorsey,” he says with a grin.

“You have got to be his brother,” I respond.

He looks pleased at how fast I figured it out. “Better looking, though, right?”

I hold up my hands in self-defense. “I plead the Fifth.”

“That’s no fun. You’re supposed to talk s**t so I can rub in it in his face later.”

“Oh,” I say with a laugh, “you’re his little brother then, huh?”

Niko puffs himself up to his fullest height. “Since when is six-one little? Height inflation these days is out of control, I tell ya. Next thing you know, some trust fund heiress is going to be telling me that a hundred million net worth isn’t enough.”

I roll my eyes. I want to give Niko a noogie, like he’s my little brother, too. “We just met and you’re already waving your riches around in my face?”

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m a helpless shut-in and should never be allowed in social situations without constant supervision.”

“Something tells me Kane would agree with that.”

Niko winks. “But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?”

“He strikes me as the kind of guy who knows everything already.”

He sighs and slumps forward. “Tell me about it. Incredibly annoying habit of his.” Then he straightens up and smiles again. “I hope you’re having a good time, though? My irritating brother’s know-it-all-ness notwithstanding?”

He’s an irrepressible Energizer Bunny of jokes and good vibes. I like him instantly.

“Somehow, yes,” I answer honestly. “This kind of thing isn’t usually my scene.”

“Not a fan of parties?”

“Well, it’s just that usually, I’d be in the cater-waiter outfit, running around to make sure everyone’s plates and glasses never ran empty.”

He grins. “I’m sure you can agree that it’s more fun on this side of things, yeah?”

“In some ways, yes,” I agree. “But…” I look around and catch half a dozen people stealing curious little glances at me.

Niko leans closer. “But what?”

“I’m just kinda feeling like a fish in a fishbowl, you know?” I turn to face him fully. “Can I ask you something?”

“I plead the Fifth,” he answers immediately. Then his face splits into a grin. “Just kidding. Fire away.” He holds a chicken drumstick in front of my face like a microphone.

I laugh and bat it aside. Then I get serious for a second. “What did he tell these people about me?”

Niko chews thoughtfully. “Nothing.”

“That’s a cop-out answer if I ever heard one.”

“No, really, it wasn’t anything crazy. Your name. That you’d be coming. That you were to be treated well.” He shrugs. “That’s it. Honest to goodness.”

“Then why is everyone acting like I’m…”

“Like you’re somebody?” Niko nods. “Because he brought you.”

“So? I’m sure he brings lots of⁠—”

“That’s where you’re wrong, amiga. My brother has never once walked in here with a woman. Not a single one. He came to my wedding alone. Both of my weddings, actually.”

I laugh before I can help it. “Marriage is a con job anyway.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, sister.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “So then tonight, he shows up with a woman on his arm, looking like a bombshell, with a reputation that precedes her? That’s giving everybody the same number at the same time.”

“Number? What number? I don’t follow.”

“‘One.’ That’s the number. And that’s you. You’re at the top of the charts, Delilah dearest. Numero uno. First draft pick. You get what I’m saying?”

I blink. “… Not really, no.”

But Niko just laughs and touches my shoulder in a friendly way. “Ah, well, you’ll learn. In the meantime, just try to relax and have fun. And speaking of fun… Here comes the antithesis of it.”

I follow Niko’s gaze to see Kane approaching.

The room is opening in front of him like it always does. His head and shoulders soar over the rest of the crowd, hair black and shining, his frame broad and strong.

He’s smiling.

Not the sharp little smirk I’m used to. This one reaches his eyes. It changes his whole face.

And by extension, it changes mine.

Heat boils low through my stomach. Even my stupid toes curl inside Ekaterina’s heels, a reaction so embarrassingly romance-novel that I consider amputating them after midnight.

I’m waiting for him.

Eagerly.

Oh, God, the horror.

The room is packed with enough organized crime to require its own congressional subcommittee, and somehow, the dangerous part is the bright leap in my chest when Kane looks directly at me.

Thrilling, whispers one deeply defective portion of my brain.

Concerning, replies the portion that remembers my bakery is collateral.

“Wow,” Niko says beside me. “That’s interesting.”

I tear my gaze from Kane. “Did I say something?”

“Your face did.”

“That’s off-limits.”

“Not in this family.” He eats the rest of his drumstick with perfect serenity.

I elbow him, but my attention has already snapped back to Kane. He is close enough now that I can see the fine black stitching on his lapel.

He keeps coming, eyes fixed on mine.

When he looks at me like that, I don’t feel claimed.

I feel chosen.

But before he reaches me…

… there’s a commotion at the door.

I turn my head like everybody else does.

A woman has arrived.

She’s in the doorway handing off a fur to a coat check attendant. Black dress, wet-look hair pushed back off her forehead.

Tall. Thin. High cheekbones and pouty lips, a face that should be twenty feet high on a cosmetics billboard.

“Alisa,” mutters Niko.

Then he coughs and glances over. I don’t think I was supposed to hear that.

“Should I know who that is?” I ask.

“Nah,” he lies. “Just a regular at these things. She comes every year. Her dad is somebody.”

“What kind of somebody.”

“Oh, just, y’know. Somebody somebody.”

That’s fine. I know how these things go. Didn’t I see a miniature version of this play out at Maison d’Hiver earlier today?

The eyes flocking toward her are proof of what’s coming.

In the end, it doesn’t matter if it’s a Vivian or an Alisa or a nameless saleswoman hawking French couture.

I know what comes next.

So I don’t panic. It’s calm and nothing but calm inside me right now.

I turn my back on Alisa completely and watch Kane’s face to await the inevitable.

Here’s how it’ll go:

First, the eyes will leave. That part happens fast.

Then the smile will die. The one aimed at me? That’s gonna wither up like a dead cockroach.

Then the body angles. One shoulder. One foot.

Until he’s oriented toward this new, beautiful north star like she’s his new center of gravity.

As for me?

I’ll be left behind.

The curvy girl in the corner. Once again a victim of The Shift.

But The Shift never comes.

Kane reaches me without looking toward the door. He does not slow down. His smile never dims.

He stops in front of me and looks down at my empty hands. “Where’s your plate?”