Page 37 of Trusting Blake
“Yeah,thisis professional, Mr. Fisher,” Blake calmly scoffs into Ruben’s face, unfazed and unthreatened. Ruben glowers even more fiercely, and I wonder how he thinks he’s going to extricate himself from this absurd scene.
“Step away from my son,” LeAnne instructs, equally as calm as Blake, like composure runs in their blood. “I’ll make sure he stays clear of her. You won’t find him over there again.”
“Very well.” Ruben moves back, taking a deep breath and rolling back his shoulders.
“Are you okay?” I hear Lacey whisper. Yet again, she has positioned herself far too close to Blake and her hand has sneakily found its way to his arm.
“He’s fine,” I snap.
Lacey looks at me over Blake’s shoulder, and the warning glare I fire at her makes it pretty damn clear that she’s crossing a line. Does she not know Blake and I are actually official now? If she does, then I can’t help but think she’s a bitch for making moves on a guy who has a girlfriend – and that girlfriend is standing right in front of her. But if shedoesn’t, then why hasn’t Blake told her?
“Well, then!” Ruben brushes down his shirt as if removing an imaginary speck of dust, breaking the tension that’s wrapped itself around us. “That’s settled. I really must get Mila home now. Thank you, LeAnne, for letting Sheri know where she was.”
LeAnne doesn’t answer, just stares at him witheringly.
Meanwhile, Blake has taken the tiniest of steps away from Lacey and is now fixated on me.
Things are getting more and more difficult as our parents become increasingly desperate to keep us apart for their own selfish reasons, all to minimize the chances of them having to interact with one another. You’d thinktheywere the teenagers.
But despite that, Blake’s clear brown eyes aren’t full of defeat, but rather a sense of defiance. He gives me a small nod. I return it with a smile. The meaning is clear: we’ll still see each other.
Ruben clasps my shoulder and guides me down the porch steps, and I go willingly. We can’t stand around on the Avery porch all day shooting daggers at each other, and these wet clothes are starting to getreallyuncomfortable. It may be eighty-five degrees in the sun, but a damp chill runs down my spine.
“Mila, get in the car,” Ruben orders, propelling me toward the SUV.
I slide into the passenger seat, my clothes sticking to the leather upholstery, and sigh. All this trouble and I didn’t even get the chance to kiss Blake properly. We might have, drenched on the driveway together, if Lacey hadn’t turned up. It’s a nice thought.
Ruben plugs the Harding Estate into the GPS and drives. No radio. Just silence.
“Why didn’t LeAnne sign the non-disclosure agreement ten years ago?” I ask, breaking out of my dreams of Blake. “If she’s never going to talk to the press anyway, then why wouldn’t she just sign it?”
Ruben gives me a sidelong look and drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “I’m convinced she didn’t sign it just to spite your father, even though he tried to apologize to her many years before.”
“He did?”
“Apparently,” Ruben says with a shrug, and for once he is actually talking to me in a normal tone without all the theatrics. “Back before I ever worked for him, back when he married your mom. So he says.”
This is new information, valuable information, yet Ruben sounds doubtful. “You don’t think he did?” I press him.
“If he really tried to make amends with her, then why is she still acting thiswrongedafter all this time?”
“I suppose.”
For once, Ruben makes sense. Surely LeAnne wouldn’t still hold a grudgethisintensely if Dad had given her a sincere apology like he said he did, so I guess that’s another lie he’s told – and kept on telling. I feel a bit ashamed of him, but I’m no longer surprised.
I look directly at Ruben as I change the subject. “So, are you going to yell at me for disappearing again, or did you just drive out here to threaten my boyfriend?”
Ruben laughs at my dramatics, lowers his visor against the glare of the sun. “Don’t you worry, Mila, your parents are waiting for you.”
15
The next morning, Popeye slaps the Fairview newspaper down on the breakfast table and jabs his finger at the front page. “What in the world is this?” he demands. “Can I not keep my family life private?”
And because we are all sitting at the table together again, Mom reaches across for the paper to check out for herself what exactly Popeye is annoyed about now. Probably another article from the local journalists about Dad still being in town. Popeye is growing sick of having the Harding Estate constantly in the spotlight.
“Mila!” Mom gasps.
I nearly spill my orange juice as I glance up. “What?” I say, innocent.
