Make It Sweet

“If it was superfluous,” Anton pushed back, “you wouldn’t have been invited.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised I got an invite,” Lucian said without looking up.

“Then you’re not only stubborn but completely deluded. Fans love you. They want to see you.”

“Go away, Ant.”

Anton sighed and glanced at me, the thick wings of his brows so similar to Lucian’s knotted. “Talk some sense into him, will you? Lord knows he won’t listen to me, and those kids are more important than his bruised ego.”

With that, he strode out of the kitchen, leaving me with a man intent on scrubbing a hole through marble.

“I think it’s clean,” I said with a nod at the counter.

Lucian paused, blinking slowly, then tossed the rag into the sink. He didn’t turn my way. “Is this where you try to manage me, because I have to say I’m intrigued by what you think will work.”

I huffed under my breath, delivering just enough snark to let him know he’d pissed me off. “An offensive player to the core, aren’t you?”

He stiffened, and I winced, realizing that probably cut in ways I didn’t want.

“Lucian,” I said, softer, repentant. “I’m not here to manage you. I’m here to support you. If you’ll let me.”

He turned then, his expression mulish, and crossed his arms over his chest as he regarded me. “That work both ways?”

“Yes . . .” I frowned. “Why are you looking at me like I’m full of it?”

“That’s not how I’m looking at you.”

“Oh? Then explain that smirk, because I am armed with frosting and have been told I have a mean squeeze.” I picked up the bag in demonstration. It got a half smile, which is what I’d been angling for. But it died quickly.

“You want to talk about the scripts you’ve been reading, Em?” His tone was quiet, but there was an underlining thread of accusation.

I set the bag down. “You think because I haven’t talked about the crap material sent my way that you shouldn’t talk to me about what happened with Anton just now.”

Lucian leaned a hip against the counter. “It works both ways, doesn’t it? You want me to open up—then why can’t you?”

“Fine. I’ll open up. I’m worried. I want to do more with my career than is being offered. I have to figure out how to do that when the powers that be hold all the cards. When I’m not with you, I think about that too much. My stomach aches at random times. And sometimes, in the dark of night, I try very hard not to freak out, because I know I’m so much better off than most people, and I shouldn’t complain about being a famous actress who can’t get her way. But I’m still scared and uncertain, and I hate it.”

I stopped and let out a shaking breath. “Is that enough sharing for you?”

Lucian pushed away from the counter, the line of his mouth grim. He reached me in two steps and, before I could protest, pulled me close, wrapping me up in his arms. I sank against the broad wall of his chest with a shudder.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped against my hair, his fingers clasping the back of my head firmly. “I hate that you feel that way.”

I nodded and pressed my palm to his firm flesh.

He snuggled me closer, as though trying to eliminate any space between us. “No, I mean it. You shouldn’t have to carry that load alone.”

“Like you do?”

My soft whisper stilled him. Then he let out a breath. “Yeah, like I do.”

I rubbed his chest. “That’s the point, Brick. If we’re trying to be together, we should be able to tell each other these things.”

He huffed out a dark laugh. “Is that what this whole relationship thing is about?”

“So I’m told.”

Lucian sighed and combed his fingers through my hair. “I didn’t exaggerate when I said I was no good at this.”

“No, you really didn’t,” I teased.

Lucian grunted. “Brat.” He poked a ticklish spot, making me laugh and edge back enough to meet his gaze. His was fond but tired. “Cassandra wanted me to share my troubles. I tried in the beginning, but I found it easier not to.”

“Why?”

“This is going to sound ridiculous, but she always agreed with me, even when I knew deep down that I was in the wrong.” He shrugged, wincing. “I found I didn’t want that type of support.”

“Greg would tell me, ‘Babe, stop complaining. You have it so easy compared to me.’”

Lucian scowled. “Fuckwit.”

“Yes, he is.” My smile ebbed. “I don’t think I fully realized until just now how much that messed with my head.”

He nodded, biting his bottom lip in contemplation. And for a minute neither of us spoke. We had so many walls, hidden ones and ones we’d shored up, as though under siege. He’d warned me he was an emotional wreck, but maybe I should have warned him too.