Her Name Is Trouble: A small-town contemporary romance (The Daimsbury Chronicles Book 2) by Zee Monodee Page A
Authors: Zee Monodee
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talking of everything and nothing. She would be leaving for boarding school the next day, and he’d felt such sadness emanate from her, he’d wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her tight.
But he also hadn’t wanted to give her any wrong ideas. She’d been fifteen, underage, and his boss’s daughter.
He jolted in his seat when the realization slid in that he’d sensed the same despondency in Missy here. That’s why she had snuck under his skin, because she’d reminded him, subconsciously, of Iris Ann Taylor.
No wonder, because they were one and the same.
This revelation floored him. Missy was Iris Ann, and vice versa. Not even two sides of the same coin, but simply one whole person.
She’d known who he was, hence the freezing in the restaurant and the subsequent havoc she’d created. Must’ve been surprise, and also fear to be discovered, maybe?
And if he thought of this harder... She had never led him on. He’d pursued her, and all her half-truths had never been lies.
That night in the Hamptons, he’d spent it with Missy. With the real her she kept hidden inside.
The one who couldn’t feel anything because her life had been snatched from her by her parents and who then cut herself to ward off the numbness.
How could he have been so blind?
And so much of an arse, to boot?
Luke jumped up from the sofa. His left foot hurt when he put weight on it, but he paid the throbbing no heed after a second. He had more important things to take care of.
At the door, he reached for his arm brace and clipped it on. After yelling that he was going out, he exited the house and started towards the village. His step grew heavy, but he powered on. He had to get to his destination, once and for all.
Sunday, noon—she’d surely be at the restaurant for the roast lunch. So he clambered ahead and barged into Ben&Jari drenched in sweat and with a foot that felt like it had doubled in size in his trainers.
Who cared, though?
Megha Saran looked up from where she stood behind the maître d’ pulpit. “You better not be here for the food.”
The warning in her cold voice rang evident, and around them, all talk died in the room. Even the clatter in the kitchen seemed to lessen.
He inclined his head in greeting. “Is Iris Ann here?”
“Her name is Missy,” Megha said.
“Missy, yeah.”
“What do you want with her, Luke?”
“I—”
The words died on his tongue when she stepped out of the kitchen with a plate in her hand. She’d worn the same jeans and khaki sweater as on their night together on Thursday, and aside from the hair that now looked red instead of black, nothing about her had changed. She was the same. His Missy.
She scrambled to a stop when she saw him, and with a slow, careful gesture, she placed the plate on the sideboard next to the door. Long steps took her to the pulpit. She wore platform wedges today; must be why she didn’t trip. Seemed to him she rocked heels better than flats.
No longer a calamity... He’d miss that.
“Can we...go out?” He motioned towards the door with a nod.
Megha put a hand on Missy’s shoulder. “Sweetie, you don’t have to go with him.”
Her dark eyes threw daggers his way.
But Missy shook her head and she hugged the other girl. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
Her voice sounded hoarse...like she’d cried a lot.
Must be his fault. His heart sank like stone.
She preceded him out of the restaurant and they stood on the pavement, neither saying anything. Out of the corner of his eye, he could glimpse how every patron and employee of Ben&Jari had drawn up to the wide windowpanes to watch what happened between them.
He better break the ice; he’d been the bastard in the story.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Her eyes grew wide and she bit that lower lip so hard he wanted to pull the bruised flesh into a kiss to soothe it.
“I’m sorry, too,” she added.
“What for?”
“For lying to you...”
He took a deep breath. “You didn’t lie,
But he also hadn’t wanted to give her any wrong ideas. She’d been fifteen, underage, and his boss’s daughter.
He jolted in his seat when the realization slid in that he’d sensed the same despondency in Missy here. That’s why she had snuck under his skin, because she’d reminded him, subconsciously, of Iris Ann Taylor.
No wonder, because they were one and the same.
This revelation floored him. Missy was Iris Ann, and vice versa. Not even two sides of the same coin, but simply one whole person.
She’d known who he was, hence the freezing in the restaurant and the subsequent havoc she’d created. Must’ve been surprise, and also fear to be discovered, maybe?
And if he thought of this harder... She had never led him on. He’d pursued her, and all her half-truths had never been lies.
That night in the Hamptons, he’d spent it with Missy. With the real her she kept hidden inside.
The one who couldn’t feel anything because her life had been snatched from her by her parents and who then cut herself to ward off the numbness.
How could he have been so blind?
And so much of an arse, to boot?
Luke jumped up from the sofa. His left foot hurt when he put weight on it, but he paid the throbbing no heed after a second. He had more important things to take care of.
At the door, he reached for his arm brace and clipped it on. After yelling that he was going out, he exited the house and started towards the village. His step grew heavy, but he powered on. He had to get to his destination, once and for all.
Sunday, noon—she’d surely be at the restaurant for the roast lunch. So he clambered ahead and barged into Ben&Jari drenched in sweat and with a foot that felt like it had doubled in size in his trainers.
Who cared, though?
Megha Saran looked up from where she stood behind the maître d’ pulpit. “You better not be here for the food.”
The warning in her cold voice rang evident, and around them, all talk died in the room. Even the clatter in the kitchen seemed to lessen.
He inclined his head in greeting. “Is Iris Ann here?”
“Her name is Missy,” Megha said.
“Missy, yeah.”
“What do you want with her, Luke?”
“I—”
The words died on his tongue when she stepped out of the kitchen with a plate in her hand. She’d worn the same jeans and khaki sweater as on their night together on Thursday, and aside from the hair that now looked red instead of black, nothing about her had changed. She was the same. His Missy.
She scrambled to a stop when she saw him, and with a slow, careful gesture, she placed the plate on the sideboard next to the door. Long steps took her to the pulpit. She wore platform wedges today; must be why she didn’t trip. Seemed to him she rocked heels better than flats.
No longer a calamity... He’d miss that.
“Can we...go out?” He motioned towards the door with a nod.
Megha put a hand on Missy’s shoulder. “Sweetie, you don’t have to go with him.”
Her dark eyes threw daggers his way.
But Missy shook her head and she hugged the other girl. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
Her voice sounded hoarse...like she’d cried a lot.
Must be his fault. His heart sank like stone.
She preceded him out of the restaurant and they stood on the pavement, neither saying anything. Out of the corner of his eye, he could glimpse how every patron and employee of Ben&Jari had drawn up to the wide windowpanes to watch what happened between them.
He better break the ice; he’d been the bastard in the story.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Her eyes grew wide and she bit that lower lip so hard he wanted to pull the bruised flesh into a kiss to soothe it.
“I’m sorry, too,” she added.
“What for?”
“For lying to you...”
He took a deep breath. “You didn’t lie,
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