A Smile as Sweet as Poison Read online

  “Oh, Rhonda wants to talk to you. Here—”

  Before Hazel could protest, a scratching noise trickled down the line, the cell phone exchanging hands.

  “Hey, you,” Rhonda beamed—warm and affectionate.

  Hazel winced. “Hey. I just called to congratulate you. Both.” It’s not that I’ve been keeping you at arm’s length for the past few years, but…

  “Isn’t she cute? We named her after your grandma!”

  “Yes, I noticed.” She wondered if that had been Rhonda’s idea. Mrs. Whitley could be extremely convincing when she wanted to be. No doubt she had neglected to mention that her predecessor had been a corrosive, controlling woman who used her grandchildren to wheedle out information she didn’t trust her son’s wife to share.

  Rhonda giggled on the other end of the line. “She’s sleeping now. God, Hazel, you should see her…”

  “Yeah.” The cramp in Hazel’s chest squeezed even tighter.

  “You’re coming down for the christening, right? You have to.”

  “I don’t know if I can…”

  “We’ll wire you money,” Rhonda assured her, as Hazel had been dreading she might. “I already talked to Buddy.”

  “No, it’s not that.” It was that. Greyhound tickets weren’t a luxury, but this month the purse strings had been a little loose. Hazel looked down at her bare toes, sunk into the plush white rug at the foot of Ward’s bed. She was the patron saint of bad calls.

  Rhonda dropped her voice, “Please try to make it? It’s this Sunday. We—I would love it if you could come.”

  Class president at Dunby High, cheerleader with an immaculate reputation, Rhonda had always belonged to a different caste than Hazel. Their paths never would’ve crossed in the tiny, segregated microcosm of popularity and gossip that was their small hometown. But Rhonda had married Buddy, so Hazel was now in her area of influence, a satellite with a checkered past, best left to revolve on the outer rim.

  Hazel could picture her now—no makeup, her hair unwashed but still curling handsomely around her doll face. Even the hospital gown must’ve fit her to perfection.

  She bit back the stab of envy. Some women were put on earth just to make the rest look bad.

  “Hazel?” Rhonda murmured. “You’ll come, won’t you?”

  “I’ll try.”

  The deep, metallic groan of the front door gave her the excuse she needed to rush the end of the call.

  Ward’s tread aborted at the threshold of his bedroom.

  “Hey… I thought I heard your voice.” He seemed confused to see her there. “Is everything—?”

  “Yeah, I was just making a call. Better reception,” Hazel lied. She stood, trying to dismiss the sense of having been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

  “Okay.” Ward shook himself. He stepped into the room like a predator circling warily. “Sadie doing okay?”

  “Sadie?”

  He shared her frown, stopping midway through doffing his slim charcoal jacket. “Isn’t that who you were calling? I just assumed, with the wedding…”

  “Oh.” Hazel shifted her weight. She always felt underdressed when Ward or Dylan were in full office attire. Her job called for clothes she could easily change into—jeans for the bus ride, sneakers to avoid splashing all the gunk and dust of the city on her ankles. She picked idly at a loose thread on her polyester tunic. Underdressed and excited was more accurate, truth be told, which made for a potent but confusing cocktail. “No. My, uh, my brother and his wife had a kid.” Why not tell him? Sadie had already informed the rest of the world.

  Ward whirled around, bewildered. “Oh! Congratulations… That’s great. Healthy kid and everything?”

  “Yeah, she’s fine.” Minus the name. Then again, maybe little Bea would turn out to be nothing like her namesake. Names were the least complicated part of the inheritance Whitley children had to grapple with.

  “So you’re not up here for…any other reason?”

  Hazel shook her head. “What other reason would there be?”

  “I don’t know. After last night, I thought maybe—”

  “I wanted another round?” she guessed. “You’ve way overestimated my stamina.”

  Hands pinned to his hips, Ward huffed out an embarrassed little laugh. “No, that’s… I’m just making sure you haven’t changed your mind.”

  “About what?”

  “Dylan. Me.” Ward hitched up his shoulders.

  On a day when the earth itself seemed to be spinning in the wrong direction, his doubt should have come as no surprise. The first step to bridge the distance between them was always the hardest. “Not by a long shot,” Hazel murmured. Ward’s white shirt crinkled as she stroked her palms up his chest.

  “Wait, Hazel—”

  “What?” she gritted out, frustration humming in her veins.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me about the video?”

  It’s out there still. Hazel heard the confirmation in Ward’s voice. “I’ve got a better idea.”

  He was done hemming and hawing by the time she pressed her lips to his in a not-so-chaste kiss.

  Chapter Ten

  Before she opened her computer, before she even typed out her details and password, and logged into the online module of her bank, Hazel already knew what she would find. The dismal state of her finances was such that she could barely make rent this month for an apartment she hadn’t stayed in for a week.

  A pang of guilt stabbed as she thought of Travis’ offer. It was nothing she could picture herself doing, but she understood the incentive. She might have been tempted, under different circumstances.

  She closed her laptop as the shower cut off. By tacit agreement, Ward had stayed in the living room to work after dinner, while Hazel and Dylan made their way to bed. Hazel was partly relieved. She couldn’t shake the sense that the boys were walking on eggshells around her, but she would take that over needling questions.

  She’d had enough of those at work.

  By the time Dylan emerged from the bathroom clad in only a towel, she was already tucked under the covers in her PJs.

  “Cold?” Dylan asked, eying the covers she’d pulled up to her neck.

  “A little.” LA in August was supposed to be sweltering. Drought alerts were everywhere from notice boards to radio. Mother Nature seemed to be mocking them with the chilly winds that kept blowing down from Canada.

  Dylan hastily dried himself and slid into bed. “Then let me warm you up.” The covers shifted as he shuffled closer, letting in a cold draft.

  Hazel mumbled her discontent, though not for long. She’d gladly trade covers for Dylan’s warm arms around her. He slotted against her back, solid and secure, his breath hot on the back of her neck.

  “Better?”

  She nodded, letting Dylan intertwine their fingers. He seemed to enjoy holding her hand. He did it when they sat on the couch, burning brain cells while watching some so-called reality show, or listening to Ward recount one of his tall tales over dinner. He even did it in his sleep, stroking his thumb over her knuckles as he dreamed.

  It wasn’t one of Hazel’s top three things to do with a good-looking man, but she didn’t object. She found it hard to say no to Dylan—and Ward, unfortunately—in general.

  “You okay?” Dylan murmured, his voice so low it was barely audible.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Last night was pretty intense.”

  Hazel glared at the expanse of white sheets patterned with light gray bands, the dip of her pillow fading into the carvings of the door and the faint sliver of light visible beneath it.

  Ward must’ve said something. He was often anxious after they scened. Annoyed, Hazel pinned an elbow to the mattress and propped herself up.

  “What did I say about coddling me?”

  “That you don’t need it,” Dylan recalled. His hand had slid down to the dip of her waist. It lingered there, distracting. “But doesn’t mean I can’t ask how you’re feeling.”


  “You’re not, though. You both seem to think I need hand-holding.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  There is. You don’t even know. Whose fault was that? Hazel dropped back to the bed, this time on her front, lacing her fingers under her chin. “I don’t need you to treat me like I’m… I don’t know. Fragile. I knew what I was asking for last night. I know you’d have stopped if I needed you to.”

  “Ward’s worried.”

  “Ward’s always worried.” Hazel yawned. “Can we sleep? I have another six a.m. shift tomorrow…”

  It wasn’t a lie, but it had all the makings of a deflection. Dylan was too smart not to notice. But rather than call her out, he sighed and arranged the covers over Hazel’s shoulders. “We’ll sleep,” he conceded.

  Hazel closed her eyes before he changed his mind. She didn’t relish the thought of morning coming, much less of seeing Marco and Sadie—and Travis, who quite rightly would probably give her a wide berth. Mostly, she didn’t want to think of calling Rhonda back and begging off from the christening.

  The gentle stroke of Dylan’s fingers through her hair shouldn’t have served to ease her mind. All the same, whatever voodoo he dealt in did the trick.

  * * * *

  “I did something and I don’t want you to be mad,” said Dylan.

  Hazel swallowed past a mouthful of dumpling and sweet soy sauce. “That’s a tall order,” she replied, eying Ward speculatively.

  “It’s nothing bad,” Dylan promised. He had insisted they eat at the dining table for a change, like adults. With all the squirming in the artsy but uncomfortable metal-and-leather seats, he seemed to be well on his way to regretting the request.

  Hazel thinned her lips. “Share with the class?”

  “You know how you mentioned your brother had a baby?”

  “Yeah…”

  “And you haven’t seen him or your folks in a long time,” Dylan went on.

  “I’m not sure I like where this is going.”

  “We thought this might be a good time to fix that.” Ward reached down to the empty seat beside him and held up a glossy rectangle.

  It had been a while since Hazel had had the pleasure of looking at a plane ticket, but the format was the same. Easy to spot. Her heart dove into her knees, cheeks blazing. “You’re kidding.”

  Dylan shook his head. “Sadie called. She said the christening is this Sunday—”

  “She’ll take your shifts,” Ward interjected. “For as long as you need. She thinks this is more important. And we agree. You fly out tomorrow.”

  “How nice for you.” The ice in Hazel’s voice brought their two-bit routine to a swift end. Hazel clenched her hands over the smooth wood grain of the table. Keep it together. They mean well. They don’t know.

  Ward set the ticket down between them. “Even if you don’t like your family much, you know this is the right thing to do.”

  He shouldn’t have said it. Whatever feeble lock Hazel had on her fraying nerves snapped open. “That’s what you decided, is it? You and Dylan… And Sadie, naturally. Going behind backs is how you do things in this house, is it?” Fury numbed the lower half of her face. “You couldn’t ask me first?”

  “We thought you’d enjoy the surprise,” Dylan said. He had the nerve to sound bemused.

  “Why? Because I’m poor and can’t afford to fly over at my own damn expense?” Hazel gripped the table edge with both hands. “Or is this the part where you remind me that I have to do whatever you tell me because I’m your submissive?”

  Since she’d first started seeing Dylan, Hazel had often wondered how well she met his expectations—if she fit them at all. She wasn’t Sadie. She couldn’t play one part in the bedroom and another outside of it, or bounce from partner to partner until she found the right fit. She couldn’t put aside the parts of herself that needed a firm hand.

  If she threw herself into this thing with Dylan and Ward, would there be anything left of her at the end of the day?

  Judging by the flash of disappointment and hurt in their eyes, the answer was no.

  She made to rise, but Dylan caught her hand.

  “This has nothing to do with that.”

  “It’s everything to do with it,” Hazel countered. She didn’t have the strength to tear herself free of his hold. It took everything she had not to fall to her knees. So much for being a strong, independent woman. “Don’t you get that?”

  Dylan swallowed audibly and looked to Ward for the answers he couldn’t come up with.

  Their eerie connection, bordering on telepathy, had never been more frustrating to witness than in that moment. His lips thin, Ward dabbed a napkin over his mouth and sat back in his chair. “Is that how you want to play it?”

  “Ward—”

  He held up a hand, cutting off Dylan’s protest.

  Hazel’s dormant fight-or-flight instinct reared its head. Retreat was out of the question. She was trapped. Between Dylan’s hand on her wrist and Ward’s gaze holding her prisoner, she couldn’t see herself fleeing the room no matter how badly she might have wanted to.

  “You think you know what I need,” she challenged. “And you don’t.”

  “So tell us.”

  Hazel glowered, torn between the spike of anger still pricking her internal organs and the unsettling feeling of having been here before, albeit with another man, in another life. Any second now, Ward would tell her that she was so disappointing. Dylan would remove his hand, offended by her insubordination.

  They’d shake their heads and sigh, and demand that she tell them where they’d gone wrong. Sooner rather than later, Hazel would fall to her knees and offer herself in penance.

  Dread twisted in her gut. Don’t do that. Please don’t do that.

  Silence stretched over the table, seeping into the cracks between them like water through a funnel. No one spoke, or moved, or walked out.

  “You can’t, can you? You want to see your family, but you’re too proud to accept any help.” Ward narrowed his eyes. “Nothing submissive about that. Or noteworthy. You’ve had one foot out of the door since we hooked up.”

  In a different world, in a relationship that hadn’t been erected on shaky foundations and too many buried secrets, Hazel would’ve taken that as a compliment. Yes, she planned ahead. No, she wasn’t blinded by their generosity and good looks. Here, now, she knew full well that Ward’s judgment was meant to sting.

  She folded her hands in her lap, the heat of Dylan’s grip fading away all too swiftly.

  “The ticket’s not refundable,” Ward added. “Take it or don’t. Either way, the money’s been spent.” Chair legs screeched as he stood and began to clear the table.

  Perhaps, Hazel mused, he thought storming out would be too pedestrian. Can’t have that. A millionaire CEO with daddy’s cash tucked away in an overseas trust fund must live up to his reputation.

  “Hazel…” Her name in Dylan’s mouth was half plea, half sigh.

  She shook her head. No more talking. Ward wouldn’t walk away from this, but she had to. Her knees quaked slightly as she stood from the table, ignoring the pained look Dylan shot her way.

  His bedroom was the closest thing she had to a sanctuary in the loft. She didn’t realize she’d snatched the plane ticket off the table until she was nudging the door shut behind her. The glossy envelope had parted to reveal two paper stubs. LA to St. Louis and, a few days later, St. Louis to LA.

  At least they weren’t shipping her off to Missouri for good.

  She tried to hold on to her righteous indignation before guilt crept through the fog and made her go back to Ward and Dylan to plead for forgiveness. Without too much thought, she slid her laptop from under the bed and powered it up. One shortcut to white-hot rage had never failed her. It usually started with stomach-churning moans and the tinny strains of a saxophone.

  Not so tonight. The page could not be loaded.

  Hazel tried again, hitting the refresh button five times in a row on
ly to get the same result. Someone had taken the video down on her behalf. She eyed the bedroom door, knowing in her heart that it wasn’t a barrage of emails that finally erased the damning evidence of past mistakes.

  The tickets to Missouri were the least of what she owed to Ward.

  * * * *

  The silence in the car was deafening. Hazel toyed with the thought of switching on the car radio but didn’t make the leap to action. Outside her window, Los Angeles was a fast-receding blur of tall concrete and powder-blue skies. She saw herself reflected in the glass, too, mascara-thick lashes dark against ashen cheeks.

  “Do you still listen to Momo Wu?” she heard herself ask.

  Dylan, in the driver’s seat, did not reply. He had been practicing Mandarin since before they’d met, struggling to connect to a culture and language that would’ve been his if the adoption hadn’t gone through. Their relationship was still in its larval stages when he flew to Shanghai to find his birth parents. It wasn’t something he talked about, even now.

  Hazel wished she hadn’t asked. Touchy subject or not, they hadn’t talked much since last night. Dylan’s brand of polite silence was still fractionally less painful than Ward’s cold shoulder, but it hurt more. Ward, for his part, had avoided Hazel by leaving for work early. He hadn’t even given her the chance to say goodbye, much less apologize.

  It was a kindness to have Dylan drive her to her apartment so she could pack, and from there to the airport. It beat paying for a cab, or leaving the Volvo in the airport parking lot to set her back a small fortune. Hazel tried to tell herself that was enough. If Dylan wanted to give her the silent treatment, so be it. He had more than acquitted himself as a—friend. At most, that was all they could ever be.

  “No,” he said after a moment. “No, I thought a change was in order.”

  “Why?”

  His reflection in the passenger side window was faint and ghostly, but Hazel could distinguish his slumped shoulders from the scraggly dogwood on the side of the road.