Page 76 of The Story of You
He laughs. “I know. But in the story. It’s exciting.”
“Don’t be too excited. This is where it gets awful. This is where …” I can’t say it. I never let myself think about that blip in time because I would miss it and missing it is wrong. Then I would hate myself all over again for doing what I did and hate Aleksander more for making me love him.
“I know,” Oliver says, giving me an out so I don’t have to finish that thought out loud. “That’s why I took a break. The cinnamon bun part was nice. I have the best Dad.”
Dad.My body sighs. I like that better.
“Flattery will get you nowhere. You’re still grounded.” I look up with my eyes only, while I slice apples for him, to see if I’ve gained any full Silas points back.
“Still a nine,” he says.
“Do youwantme to spank you?”
Everyone knows I put off spanking Oliver for as long as I can, but I will do it if that’s what he needs. I understand the need for such things. I was hoping Julius could fill that role. Seeing Oliver cry is a trigger for me. Even when it’s good crying.
“Not actually, but I am looking for something. I’ll tell you when I find it.”
He reads while I slice cheese. And then fresh figs. And add deli meat to the plate. The whole while trying to figure out what he could be looking for.
I relax, realizing how ridiculous I was. Oliver and I have a bond no one else will ever have even if he does somehow manage to convince me to let him move out—which can be over my dead body, but he can try. He’s stuck living here. There are worse things.
I set the plate of food and a glass of water on the table for him. “Thanks, Baba. And whoa, okay. Eleven out of ten. I’ll stop fucking around now—you can’t fuck around like that with an eleven out of ten Silas.”
“You are a strange boy, but you’re mine, and I adore you.” God, I love him. With all my fucking heart. I kiss his head one more time, not really sure how I gained my status back, and prepare to slice the strawberries for his cake, washing them in the colander. “Who’s up next?”
“It’s a Simon chapter. He’s poetic when he writes, and he breaks the fourth wall a lot to yell at Darius—it’s hilarious. The love story between him and Shane is gorgeous. I know he can be sour, but it’s like he’s sour everywhere else except for with Shane. I like that.”
“And with you,” I add, cutting off the strawberry tops.
“And with me. Y’know, maybe you should teach me at least how to boil water. The Terminator didn’t live forever either. I don’t like thinking about it, but it’s true.”
I know it’s true too. “That’s what Julius is for. He’s a better cook than I’ll ever be.” The man can make a damn fine carbonara. I eat at least two helpings when he makes it and heat some up for breakfast the next day. It tastes even better on the second day.
“You can cook.”
“Yes.Can. I have no love for it. I did it because I had to. I enjoy making yours and Darius’s birthday cakes, but that’s it.” What I make tastes good, but after tasting what Lakshan and Julius can create, it’s clear I’ve never put love into it.
“I mean for more than just cooking though. I know I’ll never have to worry about money—I can hire a personal chef.”
He has four personal chefs and that’s just at the house. Six if you include Simon and Shane. I take a breath. “You won’t have to worry about anything. Why do you think I’m so hard on Julius?”
“Training your replacement?”
“In a way. But he’s on probation. I had to deal with his … situation. He would be off dancing in Italy right now like the mafia’s lap dog if I hadn’t stepped in.”
He laughs. “Oh, I don’t know. I thought so too at first. It’s true he’d be in Italy and dancing—he’d need cover. An alibi. I would have hated that part. But I have been since informed that Italy isn’t like America. Julius isn’t without connections. And sure, it may not have been as clean cut as your way, but maybe you need to consider his way.”
“Hmm. Are you telling me what to do, Eaglet?”
“What? Tell Level Eleven Silas what to do? No, sir. No way. Just saying words.”
“Smart.” I dump my sliced strawberries back into the colander for a second wash. “Julius will learn my way, or he’s gone. It’s not a negotiation, Oliver.”
He nods, biting his lip. “Yes, sir.”
“I will say I am impressed. I have a good feeling he’ll make the cut.”
Oliver sits up, looking more like a Randall than ever before. “Julius was a principal dancer in the Italian ballet, Baba. Healwaysmakes the cut.”
