Debt

Matt's gaze swept over to me first, taking in the tears as I made my way to the stairs. "Honey..." he started.

"I'm packing," I snapped back, ducking my head and charging up the stairs.

Five minutes. I just needed five minutes to get myself together.

I went into my room, dragging my bag out of the closet and stuffing a few stray items inside. I grabbed all the fancy lingerie, the dresses, the heels, everything Byron had ever bought me, and carefully laid it out on my bed as I swatted unwelcome tears from my cheeks. Finished with that, I grabbed my stuff out of the bathroom, deep breathing, and pressing a cold washcloth to my face.

I couldn't walk down there with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

I might have felt like something inside had cracked open, but I'd be damned if I let Byron see that. Or even my father for that matter. I mean... seriously. What would he think of me if he knew I got involved with the man who had threatened his life? Christ, he would probably think I had some kind of Stockholm Syndrome going on and insist I get some help.

Five minutes later, eyes clear, shoulders back, bag dragging behind me, I made my way down the stairs to find all three men: my father, Matt, and Byron, standing in the foyer in what seemed like a stony silence. Matt looked at me like he wanted to say something, but couldn't in mixed company. Considering he had been the one to see me crying, I figured he wanted to console me in some way. Byron looked blank, like a shudder was down over his eyes. My father was a mix of relieved and worried.

"Alright, I'm ready when you are," I said as my father moved forward to take my bag. "I'm assuming you took a cab here, right?" I asked and he nodded. "Good thing I still have my car then," I said with a false smile. "It was nice getting to know you, Matt," I said and a flash crossed his eyes.

"Don't worry, honey. I'll be calling you about some more desserts, okay?"

"Looking forward to it," I said, genuinely meaning it. He might not have been the most loquacious person I had ever met, but he was good company. He was a genuinely good guy. I half-cursed myself for not getting involved with him instead of Byron. I turned to him, lifting my chin slightly, forcing my features to be neutral, "Mr. St. James," I said, not trusting myself to say anything more, terrified my voice would crack if I even tried.

"Miss. Marlow," he said back in the same tone, giving me a chin jerk.

"Alright then, off we go," my father declared with a smile, snagging my hand and pulling me with him. "Dear Prudence," he said as we pulled out of the driveway, an action that made my heart constrict in my chest. "I have so much to talk to you about. Have any great recipes you want to try out for me?"

I didn't.

But I would find one.

Because that was what was expected of me.

Besides, I could use the distraction.

So we drove back to my apartment that I had painstakingly put together. And I found it almost... empty. Yes, it was full of things I had carefully considered, but none of it meant anything. I used to feel like it was a safe place, a comfort zone. But I guess I maybe grew out of it. "Pizza or Chinese, honey?" my father asked as I went to my room to deposit all of the contents back into their usual places. The sooner I got back into the groove of things, the better. It was the middle of the week, but I was going to call my bosses at the bank back and see if they could fit me back into the schedule the following Monday. On the plus side, my rent was paid up for three months. So any money that came in could be socked back away for a rainy day.

"Pizza is fine," I called back a little distractedly as I pulled something out of the zipper compartment of my suitcase. It was the "do not disturb" sign we had on our hotel room door almost nonstop when we were in Florida. I hadn't been sure why I snagged it, making sure Byron wasn't around to see me do such a silly thing, but I had. I should have left it behind with all the clothes on my bed in his house.

But a part of me was glad I didn't. It was the only thing I had, aside from the handwritten recipes he'd given me, a chip from Mandy's, and the achy, hollow feeling in my chest, that proved that something had ever existed between us.