Make Me Beg, Daddy

Chapter 47

It’s strange to watch it like this. Up close and personal. I can almost see the gears turning, the machinery at work. How did I never notice before how fake and artificial the whole thing is?

Her shoulders drop. Her chin tips down and her eyelashes bat. Her voice gets soft and coquettish, girly, teasing, high-pitched and giggly.

“Hi,” she says to Kane. “I’m Vivian. I’m the sister. The infamous one, supposedly.”

She crosses the room. She puts her hand on his sleeve, right at the forearm. Just like Alisa.

Kane looks at her for a long time without saying anything. Then his gaze drops to her hand. The disgust on his face makes me recoil from how violent it is. It’s like he just found a cockroach in his five-star meal.

He takes her wrist between his thumb and forefinger, lifts it off him, and lets go in midair.

He steps around her without a word and stands at my shoulder.

“Do you want her out?” he asks me.

I look past him and watch my sister’s face come apart.

I take the time to memorize it all, because this is a micro expression I’ve never seen before and I want to remember it right.

It’s hurt.

It’s confusion.

It’s the look on a person’s face when they flip a light switch they’ve flipped their whole life and nothing comes on.

She looks at her own hand. Then at the back of Kane’s head. Then at me, waiting for someone to explain.

No man has ever moved around her to get to me.

Nobody has ever asked what I want while she stands in the room waiting to be wanted more.

She has never been turned down in front of me.

I don’t think it ever crossed her mind that it was possible.

“No,” I tell Kane.

He looks down at me. “Are you sure?”

“No,” I say again. “I’ll do it myself.”

A slow, private smile touches his mouth. Then he steps away. He moves to the wall that isn’t glistening with fresh paint, leans against it, folds his arms over his chest, and watches on silently.

A supervising presence.

Like the world’s largest, hottest proctor.

Vivian gives him a final glance before turning to me. “Can we talk alone?”

“No.”

“Dee.”

“Delilah, please. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

She exhales sharply. “Fine. Whatever. I didn’t come here to fight.”

“No?”

“No. I came because this has gotten completely out of control.”

“You’ll have to narrow that down.”

“I’m talking about the video, obviously!”

Of course.

Not my marriage. Not my bakery.

The video.

Vivian starts pacing across the bare floor. “It has fourteen million views.”

“Congratulations. You’re famous, just like you always wanted to be.”

“I’m serious. It’s everywhere. Someone added captions. There are reaction videos. There are f*****g hashtags!”

I giggle, and she whirls around and glares at me. “This isn’t funny!”

“Two brands dropped me yesterday. Two! One was a six-month skincare partnership, Delilah. Do you understand what that means?”

I do, in fact. It means there is a God, and She has Wi-Fi.

I don’t say that, though, as fun as it would be. Personal growth is exhausting.

Vivian presses a hand to her chest. “The comments are insane. People are posting my old pictures. Someone found the tanning salon thing, which wasn’t even my fault. Yesterday, this random woman recognized me outside Whole Foods and called me a ‘home-wrecking slut.’“

“Which Whole Foods?”

“What?”

“I’m wondering if I should send her flowers.”

Vivian’s face hardens. “Mom can’t leave the house.” Ah, of course. Here comes the rest of the guilt trip. “She says people at church are talking. Aunt Virginia won’t take her calls. She hasn’t slept properly since Christmas Eve.”

I c**k out a hip. I refuse to be swayed by her bullshit and crocodile tears. They aren’t real. She doesn’t care about Mom’s REM cycles. She just wants to be adored and nothing else.

“So what are you asking me for?”

Vivian ventures closer. “I need you to post something.”

I laugh before I can stop myself.

“A statement,” she says quickly, warming up, because now, we’re in the part of the conversation she rehearsed. “It doesn’t have to be long. You just say the video’s old, or it’s been edited, or that it’s a private family matter and everyone’s blowing it out of proportion. A misunderstanding between adults. You put it on your bakery page and turn the comments off.” She spreads her hands. “That’s it. That’s all. It’s five minutes of your time.”

“But that would be a lie,” I say, pursing my lips thoughtfully. “You want me to lie for you?”

“Goddammit, Delilah, just say it’s edited!”

“It isn’t.”

“Say it was taken out of context!”

“I’m dying to hear the context that improves it.”

Her cheeks flush. “All you have to do is say that you regret sharing it publicly.”

“I don’t, though.”

“You don’t have to mean it.”

“I know. That’s your specialty.”

She flinches, then recovers.

Vivian has always recovered quickly. It’s easy to bounce back when the floor of your life is made from everyone else’s spines.

“Please just fix it,” she whimpers. “You’re good at this. You’re the one who handles things. You’re Do-It-All Delilah.” She smiles at me as tears shine in her eyes. “One more time. One last time, and then I’ll never ask you for anything again.”

I feel sick.

She wants me to fix it.

She’s not admitting guilt, or begging forgiveness, or asking how she could try to repair some of the damage she caused.

Just fix it.

Do-It-All Delilah, summoned for one more shift.

I glance down at the photograph in my hand. Kane’s mouth on mine. My body pressed openly against his without one inch tucked away.

“No.”

Vivian stares.

“No?”

“No.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s generally how the word works.”

Her nostrils flare. “This is bigger than you being angry.”

“No, it isn’t.” I jab a finger at her. “You slept with my husband in my bed.”

She drags hands down her cheeks. “You didn’t have to show everyone!”

“You didn’t have to film it and upload it to our shared f*****g album, Viv.”

She looks toward Kane as if expecting him to be reasonable on her behalf.

But she’s even crazier than she looks if she thinks that’s gonna happen.

Vivian folds her arms and switches gears. “Connor said you’d do this.”

At his name, something hard moves through my chest. “Oh, yeah? How is Connor?”

“As if you care.”

“I’m only asking to see whether he’s mentioned why he forged my name on a four-million-dollar loan.”

Vivian’s gaze whips toward Kane.

Interesting.

“What does that have to do with me?” she says, lying through her pearly white teeth.

“You were planning a life together. Apparently with my real estate.”

“It wasn’t his idea.”

I keep my voice level. “What wasn’t?”

“I don’t— he didn’t tell me the details.” She’s backpedaling now, but she sucks at it. “There was a guy. A man came to him about it. With an offer, or a— I don’t know, an opportunity. Connor said it was going to fix everything.” She swallows.

“What man?”

“I don’t know!”

Kane remains motionless against the wall. But I feel his interest sharpen.

Vivian shakes her head. “Connor said there was going to be enough money for both of us. That’s all.”

“Both of you,” I say.

“That’s not— that’s not the point right now.”

“No,” I agree. “I guess it isn’t.”

She pushes her hair back. “So will you do it? The post?”

“No.”

“No?” She looks at me again as hatred twists her face apart. “You’re seriously going to stand there with some stranger and act like I’m the worst person in the world? I’m your sister, for God’s sake!”

“You were,” I agree. “And Kane isn’t a stranger.”

His gaze slides to me. I ignore the dangerous little current that runs under my skin.

Vivian laughs like the villainess she’s always pretended not to be. “Oh my God. I get it. This is revenge. You found some handsome guy in a suit and you’re parading him around because you think it makes you look desirable.”

Let her jab. Let her hunt. Let her fish.

Do not take the bait.

“Think what you want and accuse me of anything that makes your little heart happy. But I’m not going to help you, Vivian,” I say in a cool voice. “In fact, there’s no version of the rest of our lives where I help you again. Not with an i********: post, not with a cake, not with a ride to the airport. Leave the key on the credenza downstairs and get out of my house.”

Her jaw drops. Her face loses all its color. “You cannot be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious.”

“After everything I’ve done for you?”

I almost admire it. The sheer athleticism required to vault over reality and stick the landing on that sentence should qualify her for the Olympics.

“You know what’s wrong with you?” she sneers. “You’ve always been like this. Sulking around, taking pictures of everybody else, eating your feelings, and then acting like it’s a mystery why nobody looks at you.” She jerks her chin at me. “There’s just more of you every year, Dee. That’s not my fault. Or Connor’s.”

We’re into last resort territory, it seems. Do as much damage as she can on her way out the door.

I’ve read that line. On the iPad, it was pixels. Nothing too harmful.