I’d never put much thought into what her life was like, or what kind of stress she’d been dealing with, having the family she did. I’d figured, no use counting her particular grains of sand. In my experience, all families were stressful. It didn’t matter if they were big or small, rich or poor, it’s all the same struggle, right?
Looking at her now, I wondered if I’d been wrong.
“What’s the rush? If you don’t mind my asking.” I took a bite of the turkey sandwich. It was good, but I was too preoccupied with important stuff to appreciate the nostalgia.
Her eyes came up, focused on some point over my shoulder. “My father isn’t doing well, physically, and my cousin, Caleb—the CEO of Caravel—approached the family lawyers about obtaining guardianship over my person and property.”
“What? Like adopting you?”
“No.” She sighed. It might’ve been the hundredth time she’d sighed since meeting me for lunch. I’d stopped counting after thirteen. “Caleb is not a good person. If you marry me, he’ll try to make your life difficult. He’ll threaten everyone you care about, your family.”
“Pshaw. He doesn’t scare me. He’s older than us, but he looks like the sort that still trips over his umbilical cord, you know? Needs everything spelled out with alphabet soup, doesn’t get the picture unless it’s finger-painted. I’ve known a lot of guys like that, fucktrumpet shitbags. Now if he were like Alex,”—I made a show of shivering—“then I might be worried. Too wicked smart for his own good, that kid isn’t right.”
She picked up her grilled cheese but didn’t take a bite. Kat had this face when she was fighting a smile and I loved it. Her eyes were bright, like I’d said something hilarious but, for whatever reason, she didn’t want to laugh. Just made me want to see her laugh even more.
Clearing her throat, she said, “To answer your original question, he wants to have me declared mentally incompetent and committed so he can control my shares in Caravel Pharmaceuticals once my father passes away.”
“Committed?” I recoiled at that. “You mean put in a mental hospital?”
“That’s right. Which is why I need to be married. If I’m married, then my spouse has priority of guardianship if I’m determined to be mentally incompetent.” She took a small, careful bite of her sandwich, and then chewed super slowly.
I’d never seen anyone take so much care eating a sandwich. It was a little weird, but also cute.
“How can he do that? You’re not crazy.”
She winced a little at the word “crazy,” placing her sandwich back on the tray and wiping her hands with a napkin. Her hair fell forward while she concentrated on wiping her hands. After a moment, she tucked the length of it behind her ears and lifted her chin, her chocolate eyes distant again. I swear, it was like this woman had an on/off switch for her emotions.
“One of the reasons I ran away from home was because my father planned on committing me when I was fifteen.”
“Why?”
“I wanted his attention. I’d tried being the perfect daughter, getting straight A’s, keeping my head down at school and avoiding all trouble—which was everywhere, and which basically made me a pariah—but each time I saw him, maybe once every other year, it was like . . .” Her eyes grew distant.
“Like what?”
She blinked, as though she was coming out of a trance. “Like he was waiting for me to show signs of schizophrenia. Like he was assessing my mental fitness. If I did anything at all suspect—an involuntary twitch, twisting my fingers, blinking too many times—he’d call in a specialist. Sometimes I wondered if he wanted me to be like her. So, eventually, I did what he expected. I was volatile, emotional. I did stupid things. One of those stupid things was fake a suicide attempt.”
I nodded, completely understanding why a dumb kid of fifteen would do something so drastic to get the attention of someone like Zachariah Tyson.
I also didn’t like seeing her eyes this way, like she needed to distance herself from me, from whatever freak-out she thought I would have, before she could talk about her past.
“Well.” I picked up my sandwich, took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and then said, “This is some heavy shit.”
Her lips hitched higher on one side, her gaze warming.
“Fucking angsty, emo, adolescent dumbass logic.” I took another bite of my sandwich to hide my grin, because now she was grinning.
“Yep.” Then she rained on her own good mood by adding, “That basically sums me up.”