Page 130 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
“Liar. Snickerdoodles are your least favorite.” He gave me the stare people gave crying babies. Irritation hidden behind a patient smile. “You once faked a cinnamon allergy, so Ma would stop making them instead of the white chocolate macadamia.”
“Until she told me she mixed cinnamon in the white chocolate chips, too.” I kicked at one of the tablecloth packages on the carpet, digging this trip down memory lane, even if it was with my least favorite Prescott. “Betty’s secret ingredient for every damn dish she cooks.”
“She made you watch us eat white chocolate macadamia nut cookies while you ate the snickerdoodles.” Nash leaned against the doorframe, kicking one ankle over the other. His suit pants tightened around his thighs, but I. Would. Not. Stare. “Ten years later, you still haven’t learned your lesson about lying, have you?”
I didn’t want to reminisce with him. It delved too close to a line I wouldn’t cross—focusing on better times. Forget the past, and it can’t haunt you. That included forgetting the good stuff.
“I don’t want food from you.”
Another lie.
Betty stacked her Tupperware in a cabinet next to the sink. I’d sneak a few out of the cottage and repaint them black with lilac-colored Northern Lights and white stars in the shape of magic words.
I not only wanted the food, but also the container.
“They’re not from me.” Nash’s North Carolina accent sounded more pronounced as he folded his arms across his chest. “They’re from my mom. Would you really deny my mom’s gift? She spent hours baking them.”
Indecision ran laps around my brain until I heaved a breath and distanced myself from him. My shaky hands stretched out, offering the Tupperware to him.
If he grabs it, y’all better let go, Fingers. Don’t embarrass me.
Nash eyed the container, taking his time to examine the way my fingers clenched around it. “Stop.” Harsh. Gruff. Loud. A command I felt above my neck and below my waist. “Just stop.”
“What?”
“This.” He gestured to me like he meant all of me. My entire existence. “You’re lucky pride doesn’t come armed with a dagger, because yours would kill you if it could. Stop being embarrassed. It’s not embarrassing to need help. It’s not embarrassing to be poor. None of this is embarrassing.”
I edged back an inch a
t his words, knowing he had a point, but not wanting to address it.
He continued, ruthless, “You know why I call you the tiger?”
No, but I had a good idea. A statue of Dionysus riding a tiger consumed the expanse of the foyer at the Winthrop Estate. Virginia used to pet the tiger each time she passed it. Right along the jugular vein.
“Because Dionysus rides the tiger.” I hitched a shoulder. The outstretched Tupperware stilted the awkward movement.
“No.” Nash pushed the container until it shotgunned to my chest, still squeezed between my palms. “Because the tiger cannot be tamed. The tiger rules the jungle, and only a god can worship the tiger properly. Your mother is an uncultured idiot, who mistook a tiger for a panther.” His scathing laughter tasted like candy against my lips as he leaned close. “Dionysus doesn’t ride a tiger. He rides a panther. The tiger is his sacred animal.”
And gods worshipped sacred animals.
It’s why I’d chosen Durga as my username.
A goddess known as The Inaccessible.
The Invincible.
Her sacred animal is the tiger, and I wanted to feel sacred.
“What are you saying?” I asked, hoping Nash would give me an answer that would make me hate him more. I clung to the container, the only thing separating us.
His breath fanned my cheeks.
Actually, it also sounds fucking cute.
“I’m saying eat the cookies, Tiger.”
Saudade.
