Mr. Caldera's Fake Girlfriend

A V

absorbed enough about his family for the day. He offers to dri

his eyes linger for a moment longer than they sh

," I reply, my attempt

lking down the villa steps with a strange m

ense of accomplishment vanishes, replac

ering the floor, bags of chips torn open and scattered, the stench of chea

fat

ng here?" I demand, my voi

her bag of chips, his filthy sneakers propped

" I bark, point

. Not a flinch

d apologetic. She wrings her hands nervously. "Se

er spilling over. "I told

her eyes. "He pushed past me when

building inside me. Pulling my phone out of my bag, I dial

o the ground, and I

a thick finger at me, "is n

d tasting like poison on my tongue.

lace, popping another chip into his mouth. "W

ose brings you to my doorstep this time? Beer money? Ga

g grin. "I saw something in the news. You're dating some big-s

the bile rising. "Y

father want better for his daughter? Tho

into my question. "Grateful for what? For all the times you never showed up

one darkening. "Don't for

arasite. And you'll get nothing

m with all the strength I can muster

, rising with every word.

I hit the floor hard. Pain shoots through my hip, but I

my side, her hands trembl

head like I'm the one who's failed him. "You'r

m, but his words linger

ling to my feet. "I'm fine," I mu

a, w

en make it to the bed, hot and relentless. Memories flood in: nights spent crying myself t

now

. Somewhere in the haze of exhaustion and anger, sleep f

efore he c

d alive with the kind of stillness

verything feel possible. For the first time in months, I lace up my sneakers and

your mother. Alw

reak into a jog. Faster. My breathing grows heavier, more erratic, but I don'

nst my ribs like it's desperate to escape. I press my palms to my knees, staring at the gr

breaks the moment. It

I made breakfast

oftening despite myself. She does

impulsive sprint. By the time I make it back, I'm drenched in sweat, feeling eq

ugh the kitchen. She's sitting at the dining table, her hands clasped

. She shouldn't feel like sh

I say softly, heading

he guilt. It lingers like a shadow as I change

the guilt in my chest doubles. I t

," I say. The words come out stilted,

nd she stands, pulling me in

urs, squeezing me tightly.

n what feels like forever, we share a mea

the news, some silly gossip about a neighbor-and it fee

sual. "Lucian came to see me at t

vering mid-air. "What? Luci

. Showed up, stood there looking all

id everyone say? Did you get stares? Did he w

sk me off anywhere. He just came to see me because I

ize how insane that is? Lucian freaking Caldera shows up at your school

y it cool, but her ent

story to tell Amara tomorrow. Can't wait to see her

s. "And her

n from last night finally melting away.

l so heavy. And maybe, just maybe,

_

ob at the animal shelter. Her schedule is always packed, but

t culinary disaster looming over me. Thanks to Amara, I

sional pang of frustration at my less-than-glamorous e

are you not

I glance around, half-expecting someone to leap o

y breath, but the reminder of his promise about the restaurant stops

eets me at the door, no maids are neatly lined up like yesterday

ommitted to the French aesthetic: a tailored navy blazer, a cravat,

appearance. His eyes rake over me-messy bun, track suit, grocery b

atly, shifting th

id I hadn't even noticed lurking nearby. She steps forward and plucks the bag f

les Whitaker, your etiquette instructor. I've been appointed by Mr. Cald

echo, blinking at him. "

ts, as if the word tastes sour. "And stuff, yes. More specifically, posture, poise, conversation, a

ng my arms. "And where is

us," Charles replies smoothly. "H

ormation leaves me feeling...d

es gestures to the couc

about the importance of presentation, empha

g me pointedly, "tra

omfortable

e for any occasion outside of physical exertion

nter. "I was at the grocery store

int, Ms. Seraphine. Appearances are not merely about

thing screams self-respect like wear

ummoning reserves of patience. "L

rts critiquing everything-my shoulders,

, pushing gently

o relax while shovin

e. "A slouching woman is a distracted woman. A confiden

mmediately snaps, "No,

stomping,

omping," h

m but comply,

t still aggressive. You're

be," I mutter

esn't-but the maid in the corner

rs, I've decided Charles is part geni

n the right," he instructs, pla

diately switch them jus

. Actual

aphine,

le?" I cut

uffs. "You think

tle,"

his nose, muttering som

rk in the left, knife in the

for me to sit back down. "Let's ta

," I mutter, earning

laugh at Charles or throttle him. Either way, I'm c