Chapter 7

I can’t believe you followed through on getting me a Publix cake.

– Marcella

If I weren’t aggressively shoving a Minecraft cake from Publix into my mouth right now, I don’t think I’d be able to survive this experience. Sipping an ice coffee that magically appeared with the cake and F-man this morning, I furiously type what must be my fiftieth apology email concerning Mr. Marsh’s absence today while seated at the marble island counter in what is not a mansion.

It’s a freaking castle.

I could barely tell last night, as the moonlight fell upon the stone peaks and towers of the exterior, but it’s a two-story castle. Complete with gardens and fountains, hot tubs and pools, twelve bathrooms, eight bedrooms, a movie theater, a separate garage. A glorious staircase leads up to double entry doors, for cryin’ out loud.

Lavish is an understatement.

Luxurious does not begin to explain.

My beautiful, tall, curly-headed Penny drifts through the bright dining area before me, green eyes agleam. Her mouth hasn’t shut since I had to buzz her in at the gate , which is roughly eight thousand miles away past luscious green lawns, sculptures, and topiaries.

“And…” she begins, prayerfully quiet, “…I can live here with Marciboo?”

Behind her, smile wide as ever, F-man says, “Yes.”

“What if I break something?”

“I’ll replace it.”

“What’s the rent?”

“No rent.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

My eyes roll. I mock mouth F-man as I pull a cupcake from the bottom layer of the Minecraft cake tower, pluck a paper cutout of the default avatar skin—dubbed Steve—off, and assemble a frosting sandwich.

Penny plants her hands at her hips and lifts her chin. “What if Marciboo doesn’t marry you in November?”

“She already made me write up a contract that states I am not permitted to change the terms of your staying here for up to a year beyond November. There will be no rent and full coverage of amenities throughout the duration of your stay. If she doesn’t marry me but continues to work for me beyond next November, the terms maintain until either of you want to leave.” His eyes flick toward me. “That part isn’t in the contract. But my dear Marciboo likes certainty, so let it be known. You are welcome here. For as long as you are content to stay.”

Wistfully beautiful, Penny giggles and locks her hands behind her sweet little dress-clad back. “Marciboo does really like her contracts, doesn’t she?”

Gaze still fixed and gentle on me, F-man murmurs, “It’s a very adorable trait of hers.”

My fingers inch toward the silverware drawer below the counter where I’m sitting. Eye twitching, I tell myself not to procure a butter knife and carve out my benevolent benefactor’s jugular. If only for Penny’s sake.

I grab another cupcake. Not a knife. A cupcake .

At the very least, this place also has an in-home gym, so even if exercise won’t make up for a terrible diet, the opportunity to pretend it might diffuse some of the pure sugar soaring through my veins is available. I sure do love delusion.

“This seems a little too good to be true.” Penny pinches her chin, scanning F-man up and down. Musical, she hums, then she shrugs, then she turns on her heel. “I’ve always wanted a dedicated space for an art studio. I’m going to see if I can’t find a room with a nice garden view on the other side of the house.” She stops short in her tracks a foot from the exit archway. “How attached are you to clean carpets? Specifically, if I find the perfect room, and it has carpet, and that carpet gets stained for some reason…with copious amounts of paint…”

“Replacing carpet isn’t that expensive.”

“Great! Love to hear it! Bye!” Penny’s sunflower skirt dances as she skips out of view. I find myself shaking my head as I sign off another email with Sincerely instead of a more appropriate End me .

F-man settles onto the stool beside mine, and my fingers freeze over the keyboard halfway through the greeting of my next email.

He leans toward me, stops behind me, and reads over my shoulder. “You’ve written I hope this email finds your corpse, as I desperately do not want to deal with your whiny reply, you copious little— ”

“I haven’t edited it yet,” I snip. “Have you never heard of drafting ? There are two options with writing professional emails. The first, I stare at the screen for three hours, wondering what words are. The second, I draft in my own voice the necessary information, then I edit what I’ve said into corporate tongue.”

“Aren’t you worried you’ll accidentally press send too soon?”

“My send is set with a thirty second cancellation period. The only chance I don’t undo it in time is if I click it by mistake then have a seizure. But, in that event, I think I’ll have bigger problems to dwell on.”

He makes a low, vibrating sound way too close to my ear. “Fascinating.”

Scowling, I face F-man and freeze.

Barely three inches away, he rests his arm against the counter to support his prolonged closeness and searches my eyes. “Yes?”

Straightening my back, I say, “What do you think of Penny?”

“She’s sweet. Your relationship with her baffles me…yet also gives me hope.”

“So you like her?”

He murmurs, “I suppose.”

“Want me to set you two up?”

His brows jump.

“You’d be perfect for each other. She loves shiny things, and smiling. I think she laughs a lot, too. She’s basically a model. And the best part?”

“She won’t daydream about stabbing me in my sleep?” he asks.

I point. “A pro to take into consideration, for sure, but no. She doesn’t hate you. I’m pretty sure she’d love you for every reason that makes me find you unbearable.” A little manic, I grin. “What do you say? I hook you up with a few cheat cards since I’ve known her for over a decade, I coordinate the wedding, and if you ever make her the smallest bit unhappy for even a moment, I promise to only wax off your eyebrows, not castrate you.” I second-guess what I’m saying and furrow my brow. “Okay, well, actually, I’ll only castrate you a little bit . That’s the promise. Make her sad, never be a dad.”

He rolls his lips into his mouth to subdue the laughter shaking his whole body. Battling to contain himself, he swipes his hand down his face and clears his throat. “Sorry. I’m not interested in Penny.”

“Take that back right now.”

“Why?”

“How can you not be interested in Penny? She’s like a beautiful, voluptuous doll with that figure and those curls. She’s innocent. She’s darling. Many a male specimen falls to their knees upon seeing her. I’m offended you didn’t bow when she got here. Have you no manners?” My eyes narrow. “Basically, there’s not a single thing wrong with her, so what’s wrong with you?”

Without clearance to do so, he lifts a finger and tucks my hair behind my ear. “You’re absolutely right, pumpkin. There isn’t a single thing wrong with your precious friend. I just can’t picture her threatening to remove vital parts of my anatomy with very minimal prompting, and I expect at least that much from my women. Non-negotiable, really.”

“Masochism,” I mutter, shove my hair off my ear, and return my attention to my computer. “That’s what’s wrong with you. You’re a masochist. This entire situation is so much clearer now. You didn’t notice me until I filled out a form where you had me answer intimate questions that alluded to my true temperament and disgust. Now that I’ve told you I hate you, you’re obsessed. Time for me to google how to be nice to your boyfriend . That’ll end things real quick.”

He laughs, over my shoulder, maintaining that too closeness . “Is it a breach of contract to try and set me up with your friend? I don’t believe normal girlfriends would attempt such a thing.”

He is probably correct. “I apologize for my behavior. How dreadfully un-real-girlfriend of me. I am out of practice. But, look—” I type how to be nice to your boyfriend into the search bar in a new tab. “—I’m actively attempting to remedy the situation.” The page loads, and disgust riots in my gut.

“Ooh.” His breath touches my neck. “Interesting.” He puts his chin on my shoulder . “Go on. Step one. Remind me how much you adore me. Every day.”

My breaths thin. My gaze glosses over with red. My fingers inch toward the silverware drawer again, but I stop myself just short of pulling it open and gouging out an eye. I know better than to do that. I am a mature adult. And I have a system in place for such a time as this. “ Pickles. ”

Exhaling a laugh, he kisses my cheek and stands. “Let me know when you’re ready to go shopping, pumpkin. Also, I adore you. Not your understandably wonderful friend. You.”

I stuff air into my lungs, scrub his nasty kiss off my face, and mutter, “You are not removing yourself from my presence fast enough. Detrimental bodily harm may occur in five, four, th—”

Lifting his hands in surrender, he escorts himself out of the kitchen, and I return to my emails.