Chapter 21

The house looks like it did last time I visited, but it feels different. The anger and disgust I’ve been getting from Priscilla and Sabrina feel tacky, like their oily aggression is reaching out to me, pulling me into their games.

It took me so long to escape, right up until I graduated high school, then I ran like hellhounds were on my heels. Ever since, I’ve visited infrequently, and usually by force.

Today, I come freely, no longer the scared little girl they can keep under their thumbs. Today, I’m ready to war. Don’t mess with my baby, my bakery, or I’ll go full Mama Bear on your ass.

I knock on the front door, my heart already racing in anticipation. But it’s not Sabrina’s smug face when the door opens. It’s Dad. Probably a good thing, because there’s a fair-to-good chance I would’ve punched Sabrina on sight. I guess that’s still to be found out.

Dad looks exhausted, his face drawn and his shoulders slumped and withered. It’s like he’s aged ten years in only a few weeks. “Dad? You okay?”

His huff of laughter is humorless as he waves me in. “Of course, but it’s been a rather taxing time.”

He walks off, not waiting for me to apologize or explain, though I don’t truly feel the need to do either. I follow him into the kitchen, closing the door behind me. Dad grabs a glass from the cabinet and then his own personal disgusting poison, V8 juice, from the fridge. He pours carefully, talking to the glass. “I’ve been chastised rather fully over that dinner, and after. I hope it was worth it?”

I nod, biting my lip and feeling like a little girl who’s disappointed her daddy once again. “I am sorry it all went down like that, but I’m not sorry I didn’t let Priscilla and Sabrina steamroll over me again like they always do. I’m not sorry that Lance stood up for himself and for me.”

He sighs, turning to lean against the counter and give me a hard look. “Am I to take it that you and Mr. Jacobs are still seeing each other? That this is something more serious, and you weren’t stealing your sister’s man just because you could?” I can hear the tagline Priscilla and Sabrina have been selling in his words.

“Is that what you think?” He doesn’t answer but tilts his head questioningly. “I met Lance at the gala. After that, he started coming by the bakery every day. He’d do his work, and he’d help me. We spent quite a bit of time together, then the dinner came. Priscilla and Sabrina obviously had all these plans, but by then, Lance and I were . . . something.” I don’t know how to describe us now. I certainly don’t have a label for what we were then.

“So he stood up for you when he felt you were being insulted,” Dad summarizes. “And now?”

I move closer to him, standing right in front of him so he hears me loud and clear. “I’m following my heart, which is hard and scary, but he’s being patient with me.”

Dad looks at me carefully, and I feel like he’s weighing our future. If he can’t see that I’ve done nothing wrong here, I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive him. It’s not about Lance, or not just about him, but about how my Dad perceives me. Growing up with Sabrina was hard on me, and he didn’t get that, but this is far beyond any petty insults and stunts we pulled as kids.

This is my heart. This is my life.

I freeze, realizing that I’m thinking about both Lance and the bakery.

Finally, after an eternity, Dad nods. “My little girl is seeing an American hero, one who will stand up for her, protect her, and care for her. I guess I can’t be angry at that, now can I?”

He smiles, and I can’t help but hug him. He hugs me back, patting me softly. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him about what Sabrina’s done, but I don’t want to ruin the moment, the progress we just made. So I keep my mouth shut to him, but I won’t to Sabrina, who deserves my full wrath.

“Is Sabrina here? I’d like to talk to her,” I say carefully.

Dad seems to think I’m here for amends with my stepsister as well because his smile grows. “She’s upstairs. Go on up.”

Upstairs, I pause outside her door, taking a steadying breath. “I’m an adult, not a kid she can walk all over. I can be mature about this,” I remind myself as I knock.

“Come in,” I hear through the door. I open it slowly, seeing her Princess Barbie room, white and pink with frou-frou ruffles. It feels like a Southern Belle child’s room, circa 1950.

Sabrina is lying on the bed on her stomach, scrolling on a tablet. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s online shopping.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she bites out, flipping over to glare at me.

I grit my teeth, forcing my voice to not quaver. Not with fear, but with fury. “I had a rather surprising visit at the bakery today. I thought you’d be interested in it,” I say, baiting her to see if she’ll reveal anything.

“Why would I give a fuck about anything at your little sweatshop?” she says with an eye roll.

“Because it seems someone made some rather specific complaints to the Health Department, completely unfounded ones designed to hurt my business. Would you know anything about that?”

Her smile is pure malevolence, her glee palpable. “You think I made complaints to get back at you for Lance?” Her laughter is sharp, bitter, but she shakes her head. “Hell, I wish I’d thought of that. Pretty fucking genius, if you ask me.”

I can’t hold my anger back anymore. “Is this a joke to you? This is my livelihood. I’ve got every cent tied up in that bakery, not to mention my blood, sweat, and tears. It’s off limits from whatever family shitshow we have going. Be mad at me about Lance, bitch and whine to your mom about it like you always do, but leave my bakery alone.”

“Or what?” she says, smirking. “Did you think I’d just sit back and be happy you got some grade-A dick? Lance is a fucking catch, my catch, and you stole him. As far as I’m concerned, this is Karma coming back to bite you in the ass like you deserve.”

“He was never going to be interested in you. Ironic that you talk about Karma, but this is what happens when you’re a shallow, vindictive, entitled brat.”

I take a breath. God, that feels good to say. Ugly words, but a long time coming. The vitriol continues to pour out from my soul, repressed so many times that the dam has given way. “Good guys see that coming a mile away, and the number-one bro rule is ‘Don’t stick your dick in crazy.’ Making false complaints just shows how far gone you are. And a little FYI, those complaints aren’t anonymous, not really. Thomas Goldstone is on the paperwork as an investor in Cake Culture. You think he won’t get that info?”

It’s a huge bluff, an idea that just occurred to me, but she doesn’t know that. “Fine,” she finally admits, intimidated. “I didn’t do it. But I’d shake the hand of whoever did, that’s for damn sure.”

“Whatever.” I’m losing steam, not because I’m reverting to my teen self but because I’m never going to trust her, to be honest. I’ve been burned too many times by her. She could tell me the sky is blue, and I’d go check for myself before believing her.

“Really. I didn’t do it. I wish I had,” she says, and that at least sounds like the truth.

But if not her, then who?

She sees the track my mind is already racing down. “And Mom didn’t either. She can barely even text, says it’s bougie, so filling out an online form is beyond her. I have to do her online shopping or she has the maid do it.” She points her thumb at the tablet she set aside when I came in. “Trust me, if I had done it or if she had, I’d be dancing around, yelling for you to suck it, bitch. But we didn’t.”

She makes a point. She would be gloating over her victory if she’d done this. And she’s not.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, I guess. I just figured...” The apology is bitter on my tongue.

She rolls her eyes. “You figured that if something bad was happening to you, it had to be the evil stepsister’s fault?” Sabrina shoots back bitterly. I glare at her, not disagreeing with her assessment. “Newsflash, you’re not exactly the sister I wished for either,” she says snidely. “Man-stealing bitch.”

“I think we’re just going to have to agree to disagree there. He was never yours. But he most definitely is mine.” I turn, opening the door to escape, then closing it behind me.

I hear a loud thump, a pillow hitting the door, probably, and then a strangled cry. “Ugh!”

Yeah, you’re not my idea of a dream sister either, girl.