“Nope,” I say, sliding an arm around Preston’s back to secure him to me. The pressure of his body against mine makes my ribs throb where Baron punched me, but I grit my teeth and keep my face from showing it.
“You don’t care that he’s the reason for everything that happened to you?” Baron asks, cocking his head and watching my reaction.
I swallow hard. I told Royal who Mr. D was, and he must have told Baron. And even though I’ve known for a while, I never thought of it that way. If I hadn’t been spying, if he hadn’t demanded all that information, I would never have ended up in that swamp.
“No,” I say at last, fighting to keep my voice steady. “You’rethe reason. You and your brothers. Don’t you dare blame him for what you did. Maybe what I told him pissed you off, but you’re the ones who did it. Preston’s the one who saved me. He gave me a scholarship, a car, and took care of me. Don’t even think about talking shit about him or any of the Darlings to me.”
“You’re with them now, huh?” Baron asks, crossing his arms and smirking down at me, the sucker stem tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Who I’m with is none of your fucking concern,” I say. “Look the other way if it bothers you. You had your chance, and you chose to destroy me. Preston chose to build me back up. He’s ten times the man you and your brothers are or could ever hope to be.”
I’m breathing hard, anger pulsing through my veins by the time I get done speaking.
“He’s your cousin,” Baron says flatly.
Preston tenses, his arm retreating from around me.
I don’t pull back my arm from around his hips, though. I stare up at Baron, a laugh bubbling up in my chest and forcing its way out. “You can’t be serious. I lived in a trailer park for most of my life. I’m the furthest from blonde you can get. Do I look like a fucking Darling to you?”
“No, you look like a Dolce, which is real fucking creepy, no matter which one of you thought up that twisted little game.”
“See?” I say. “Not a Darling.”
“Then tell me, little girl,” he says, leaning in, his eyes lit with viciousness. “Who’s your daddy?”
I swallow hard, my heart doing a little flip in my chest. All I can think about is what my mother said the other day.
I shove the thought away, hard. He’s fucking with my head. There’s no way my father is from one of the richest and most influential families in town. That my cousin is little Lindsey Darling, who floated through the halls of Faulkner like a princess on her dainty feet. That I have this huge family right here in Faulkner who could have taken care of me all these years but let me live in a roach infested rat trap instead.
No. I know who I am, and it’s not a Darling. I’m the daughter of a junkie and one of her revolving door boyfriends, some other junkie who was there for a good time for a few nights or months, if he was a good one. Someone so shitty she doesn’t even want to talk about him to her own daughter, even when I asked. Eventually, I stopped asking.
“You’ve got the wrong girl,” I say. “It’s not me.”
“You were never special,” Baron says, the gleam of cruelty still in his eyes. “You were just a name to cross off our list.”
“You’re wrong,” I say again, though my voice lacks conviction.
“Have fun fucking your cousin,” Baron says, pushing past us to the office door. “Gotta love Arkansas.”
The moment he disappears inside, Preston steps away from me, breaking my hold on him. I rub my hand on my skirt, as if I can wipe away the icky sensation of Baron’s words. I’m scared to even look at Preston, but I force my gaze to his.
“It’s not possible,” I say. “Right?”
“No,” he says, his lips tight. “No. Of course not.”
We stand there for a moment in awkward silence, something that’s never happened between us. Preston’s looking at me with way too much calculation in his good eye, though. I edge away from him another step.
“He’s lying,” I say, forcing a small laugh. “Obviously he’s lying. They’re just pissed that a Darling went through their trash and valued something they didn’t. Now they want me back, not because they think I’m worth anything, but becauseyouthink I am.”
“Exactly,” Preston says, sounding relieved by my explanation. “So, let’s go talk about that meeting. What happened?”
I follow him out of Willow Heights, but I notice he doesn’t touch me with his usual possessive entitlement as we walk out and climb in his truck. In fact, he doesn’t touch me at all. He’s careful to step away instead of linking his fingers with mine or resting a hand on my back to help me into the Escalade after opening the door for me. He waits until I’m situated before closing the door and coming around the driver’s side. Without a word, we take off.
Preston drives to the north end of town, but instead of turning onto the highway and leaving Faulkner to go to his apartment, he turns onto a road that leads toward the Dolce neighborhood. I tense, but he keeps going, winding along a two-lane road that’s just as familiar and filled with even more unwelcome memories.
At last, when we make a final turn, I can’t hold back.
“Why are we going here?” I ask, gripping the door handle, my fingers cold and numb.