The Illusion of Annabella (24 page)

“Soon, Bria.” Tammy pats her head. “But we need to wait until everyone’s ready.”

So that’s Bria, Luca’s niece. After what Luca told me, I wonder how Tammy will introduce her.

Bria sulks as she climbs onto the sofa beside Tammy then her eyes land on me. “Who’s she? Her hair looks like bubble gum. The grape kinds that tastes really bad.”

Luca chokes on another laugh, and I shoot him a death glare but have to wrestle back a smile.

“That’s Annabella.” Tammy twists around to look at me. “Annabella, this is Bria.” She doesn’t specify who Bria is, so I’m left wondering if she decided to go the crazy route and call Bria her daughter or not.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bria.” I offer her one of my rare smiles.

Bria looks unimpressed, though. “Why’d you do that to your hair? It looks weird.”

“Bria,” Tammy warns, guiding the little girl onto her lap. “Remember how we talked about saying too much?”

I catch Luca rolling his eyes before he rises to his feet. “I’m going to get something to eat,” he tells his mom, then crosses the room toward me. When he brushes by, he links our arms together and tows me along with him. Once we’re in the kitchen, he frees my arm and lets his head fall back. “God, she’s driving me crazy today,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He breathes in and out and wiggles his shoulders, shaking off his aggravation, then raises his head. “So, how’s your Christmas morning going?”

“Super obvious subject change.” I head for the platter of eggs and bacon sitting on the counter near the stove.

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t want to talk about my crazy mom,” he says, trailing at my heels.

I get a paper plate and hand him one, then pick up the silver serving spoon and scoop up some eggs. “We have to talk about her for a minute, though.”

He juts out his lip, pouting. “Why? I mean, there’s so much else we could talk about, like nasty purple gum and why your hair looks like it.”

I stick out my tongue, and he grins. “Ha, ha, you’re so funny.”

“I know.” His fingers brush through my hair, and I lean in unintentionally. “It does look really nice today, though, pulled back like that. It looks like the old you.”

My heart crashes against my chest so forcefully it nearly knocks the wind out of me. “What do you mean the old me? You didn’t know me before. . .” I flick my wrist, waving at myself. “I looked like this.”

He hitches his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s photos of you hanging on the wall. I’m guessing they’re old since you have brown hair.” His lips tug to a dorky smile. “Brown like a Hershey’s bar.”

“What’s with you and all the candy references?”

“I like my sugar.” He ogles the Christmas tree cake, licking his lips. “I can’t wait to dive into that.”

“Me either,” I say absentmindedly. “My mom used to bake a cake every holiday.”

He presses his lips together, as though he’s contemplating his next words. “Anna, I meant what I said. If you ever want to talk, I’m here. I’m a super good listener. I promise.”

What I wouldn’t give to tell him—anyone—what I’ve been holding onto for months. But how could I when even I don’t know the entire truth?

I turn away and pile pieces of bacon onto my plate. “So, who is Bria? Did your mom decide to tell everyone she’s her daughter?”

“That’s still undecided.” He steps up beside me, and his chest brushes across my back as he moves around me.

I’m not sure if he did it on purpose or not, but the butterflies make their grand appearance. “Okay, so do I pretend I have no clue who she is?”

“Yeah, probably.” He shovels a mound of eggs onto his plate. “As of now, I guess my mom’s just introducing her as Bria. But when someone finally asks, she’ll have to decide.” Instead of picking up the bacon off the plate, he steals a piece of mine and stuffs it into his mouth.

“Thief.” I smack his arm.

“I learned from the best.” He winks as he pulls out a chair and takes a seat at the table.

I sit across from him and set my plate down. “Did your dad give Rowan the money she asked for?” When Luca tenses, I quickly wave myself off. “You know what, never mind. It’s none of my business.”

He stuffs a strip of greasy bacon into his mouth. “No, it’s fine . . . I’m just trying to decide how I feel about what happened.” He dazes off into empty space, chewing on his food. “I didn’t even get to see Rowan. She made my dad meet her at a secret location with the promise that he would come alone with the money. Even though no one wanted to give her money, because we all know where it’s going to go, he did it for Bria, so I guess it’s worth it.”

I stab my eggs with a fork. “It sounds like something straight out of a movie.”

“Knowing Rowan, she probably got the idea from a movie.” He distractedly pushes the eggs around on his plate. “We used to be close but now I feel like I have no idea who she is anymore . . . Maybe I never did.”

“I think I know what you mean,” I whisper, gripping the life out of the fork in my hand.

He looks at me expectantly, and I have the sudden the urge to tell someone—spill the beans to him like he did to me.

“My mom.” I stare at the cracks in the table. “I just found out some stuff about her that makes me question if I ever knew her at all. It felt like I did, but I don’t know . . . now it feels like I was pretty clueless all along.”

I feel guilty.

Confused.

So lost.

But the weight on my shoulders feels the tiniest bit lighter.

He nods understandingly, his gaze dropping to the tattoo on his forearm. “A couple of years ago, Rowan got her act together for a little while and got sober. That’s when we went and got the tattoos. She wanted to get something that’d symbolize her strength. She seemed so happy to be getting better, but then suddenly she wasn’t. There was this one night where she flipped out and said no one knew her at all—never did—and that she was moving out to live with this guy who had a rep for selling drugs . . . That was pretty much the last time I saw her.”

I deliberate telling him about the last time I saw my mom, how she had me lie for her, and how I wish I hadn’t. “Do you ever wish you could have a do over . . . do it all different . . . say more?”

“I guess. But I know I can’t, so there’s no use thinking about it. I don’t think anything I could’ve said would’ve changed my sister’s mind. And even if I did, I can’t go back in time, so . . .” He shrugs, taking a bite of his eggs.

I nibble on a piece of bacon with his words replaying in my mind. Even if I could go back in time, which I can’t, it might not have changed anything. My dad might’ve already known about the affair, anyway, and we still might’ve ended up on that road, heading to the university at precisely the same moment the driver of the semi-truck lost control of his vehicle.

“It’s nice to have Bria around again. It’s distracting my mom, too, which is always good.” Luca rubs his hands together, grinning wickedly. “It gets her attention off me and gives me more time to do stuff I want to do, like rock climbing lessons.”

“Good luck with that.” Collecting my plate, I scoot the chair back from the table, the legs grinding against the floor. “Easton totally exaggerated on how awesome the rock wall is here in Honeyton. I took Nikoli there once, and it was seriously maybe ten feet high.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Luca picks up his plate and heads to the sink with me. “I just want to get out of the house and do something fun.”

“When are you going to do it?” I ask, tossing my paper plate into the trashcan.

“Probably when school starts up again.” He drops his fork into the sink and the plate into the garbage, then casts a glance at the doorway as Bria shouts something about wanting to open presents. “That way I can just drive there straight after school without having to answer an endless amount of questions.” He pulls off his knit cap and tucks it in his back pocket. His brown hair is askew, and again, I have that compulsion to run my fingers through the strands and fix them back into place. “What?” he asks, amusedly curious.

I become embarrassingly aware that I’m gawking at him, so I start moving the dirty pans on the stove into the sink to distract my fingers from acting on my crazy thoughts. “Nothing. I was just thinking about how we’re not going to be friends anymore once school starts.”

“So, you’re finally admitting we’re friends?” he teases. “Man, when did that happen? And how the hell did I miss it?”

“I don’t know. Probably because you were so focused on trying to weasel your way into my life,” I retort, setting the griddle into the sink.

“Yeah, you did make me work really hard.” He pauses, considering something. “But why don’t you think we’ll be friends when school starts? Because, with how hard I had to work for this awesome friendship,” he flashes me a lighthearted smile, “I don’t think I’m going to let it go very easily.”

“It won’t be your choice.” I turn around and tense when I realize how close he’s standing to me. He stares down at me, his gaze flicking to my lips, and all I can think is
holy shit, is he going to kiss me?
And then I think,
holy shit, I want him to kiss me.
Panicking, I stumble back. “I don’t have friends at school, not anymore, anyway.”

He seems disappointed but tries to hide it, carrying on the conversation without missing a beat. “What about the guy who picked you up that day? You’re not friends with him at school?”

“He’s not in high school.” I rub the spot on my arm where Miller grabbed me. The bruises have faded, but every time I remember the feel of his fingers on my skin, I get nauseated. “And we’re not really friends anymore . . . We haven’t been since you picked me up from the party.”

“What? Did you finally realize he’s an asshole?”

“More or less,” I say in a tight voice.

“You never really explained to me what happened that night.” He struggles for words, scratching at his tattoo. “You said he almost did something, but never explained.”

My heart rate quickens. “Because it doesn’t need more explaining. What happened with Miller . . . it’s in the past.”

“I know, but sometimes if you don’t deal with stuff, even if it happened in the past, then it can seriously mess you up.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“Maybe I am.” He steps closer, and I want nothing more than to eliminate the small space between us.

I grip onto the counter. “Then maybe you should be lecturing me about not dealing.”

“I tell you what. If you tell me what’s going on with you, I’ll tell you what happened to me,” he says, like it’s that easy.

“I don’t know if I can handle anymore secrets . . . yours or my own.” My gaze is glued to the floor. I’m too afraid to look at him, too afraid that my expression will give away how terrified I am when I think of that night. “I will tell you that I found out just how big of an asshole Miller is.”

“Did he . . .” He shifts his weight, seeming uneasy. “Did he hurt you?”

Our gazes collide, and my voice comes out all wobbly. “Even if he did, I’ll heal.”

His eyes dart up and down my body, as if checking for wounds. “A guy acted like an asshole to my sister once, and she said she’d heal, but she never really did.”

“Luca.” The ice around my heart momentarily melts. “What you’re thinking happened, didn’t. I told you in the car that something
almost
happened, but that’s why I left and was walking down the road.”

It takes him a moment to speak, and when he does, his voice is gentle. “You promise you’re not friends with him anymore?”

“Even if I wanted to be, it wouldn’t matter. He’s probably going to jail.”

“But you shouldn’t want to be.”

“I know I shouldn’t, but sometimes life is easier when I’m with him, at least for a while, and when life gets hard, I want to be with him . . . If that makes any sense.” I tug at my pant leg and point at the bracelet around my ankle. “But it doesn’t really matter. Whether I want to see him again or not, I can’t because of this lovely thing. My very own Scarlet Letter.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you’ve never come off as a rebel to me, even though you’ve tried,” he says right as Bria hollers something about presents again.