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It's almost romantic, finishing dinner with Blake. He refills my drink as soon as I'm done. He offers me seconds of everything. He anticipates my needs before I even feel them.
When we're finished, he clears the table and returns with fresh drinks.
He really is a perfect gentleman.
A loving son.
Everything else might be bullshit. But I'm positive Blake adores his mother.
He slides his arm around my waist and pulls me into a tight hug.
His lips hover over my ear. "You're tense."
"I'm fine."
"Are you ever going to admit when you aren't okay?"
"Are you ever going to ask how I feel instead of telling me?"
His voice softens. "Are you alright, Kat?"
"No. I'm kind of tense. You might have noticed."
He lets out a tiny laugh. "You think I'm an asshole."
"If the asinine statements fit…"
"I'll work on asking."
"I'll believe it when it happens."
"Fair." He presses his lips to my neck. "I can get your mind off everything."
"I'm not sure what you're referring to, Mr. Sterling."
His voice drops to that demanding tone. "You are."
"Not at your mom's house."
He pulls back. Takes a long sip of his whiskey.
His eyes pass over me, slowly picking me apart, finding any hint of weakness.
Or maybe he's trying to figure out what I need.
Maybe that look is one of support rather than attack.
Maybe I'm reading him all wrong.
Blake offers his hand. "Come here."
I squeeze his fingers. They're warm. Comforting. I tell myself it's okay I find his touch this calming, but I'm not sure I believe it.
He leads me to the den. It's a cozy room with a TV, a couch, and a small table.
He motions sit then digs through the shelf and pulls out a box. Chess.
"I haven't played since grade school," I say.
"The rules are easy." He sits and arranges the pieces on the black-and-white board.
I sit across from him. "I haven't got a chance against you."
"I'll take a handicap."
"Is that right?" I ask.
"The simplest and most severe is removing the queen." He picks up the black queen and sets it on the table.
"Why is it the most severe?"
"The queen is the best piece on the board. It can move in any direction, any number of spaces."
"And to win I have to murder your king, right?"
A laugh. He's actually laughing. It's the best thing I've ever seen. It lights up those blue eyes.
God, those eyes are beautiful.
I clear my throat. So. Not. Going. There.
"What is so funny?" I ask.
"It's called checkmate. Or check."
"It's regicide, plain and simple, buddy. Don't sugarcoat it."
Blake smiles.
My knees go weak. His smile does things to me. It's incapacitating.
He explains all the movement rules, but I'm only barely paying attention. I'm too caught up in that smile.
It takes forever for me to get the rules. Bishops are on the diagonal, pawns go forward one, attack on the diagonal. Knights are some weird 2:1 angle and they jump. Rooks are horizontal and vertical. The queen can move in any direction, any number of spaces. And the utterly useless king can only move one space in any direction.
"That's bullshit," I say.
Another laugh. My heart races. My stomach flutters. The whole world feels warm and safe.
He's laughing at me. Teasing me. I'm like a kid in grade school again, desperate for the boy I like to pull my hair.
Well…
I do want that. But not here.
"Why is that?" His voice is light. Easy.
"The queen has all the power. She's a total badass. Why is this stupid game based around protecting a king who is hiding behind all his minions?"
"Think of him as a figurehead. And the queen as the one pulling strings behind the scenes."
"Yeah, I'll consider that." I look at the board. I'm white, the player who goes first. A pretty big advantage, apparently, but nothing compared to losing a queen. "Is that your attitude towards powerful women—you throw them away?"
He stares at me. His voice gets serious. Well, more serious. "I'm not going to throw you away."
"I'm not powerful."
"You are."
"You're right. I have a great power to deceive people. But you have that too."
He slides out of his seat and kneels in front of me. His fingertips graze my thigh, right under my dress. "You're capable of so much."
My heart does a backflip. "Like what?"
"You're captivating."
He slides his hand up my inner thigh. My eyes close instinctively. Want flutters through my body. I tug at my dress. My legs part. Captivating. I like the sound of that.
Blake leans closer. His lips connect with mine.
His tongue claims my mouth. His hand slides over my panties. Damn. I'm wet already.
I need him touching me. Even if this is the most inopportune place.
He kisses me harder. Presses his palm flat against me. He's so, so close to touching me properly.
"Jesus H. Christ!" Fiona shrieks.
Blake shifts back into his seat.
Fiona shakes her head. Wipes tears from her puffy eyes as she storms into the kitchen. She returns with a bottle of red wine. "You have an empty limo for that."
Blake leans in to whisper. "Are you okay alone for awhile?"
"Sure." It's sweet he wants to help his sister. Even if I'm not quite clear on their relationship.
He looks to her. "Grab another glass."
Fiona shoots him a really, in front of your arm candy? Look.
I push myself to my feet. "Will Meryl mind if I ask to join her on the balcony?" It's the perfect excuse to check on her. Ease the tightness in my chest a little.
"No. She likes you." Blake squeezes my hand. "But knock first."
Fiona sets the wineglass on the table. She looks like she's about to come apart at the seams. I know how that feels—I was walking around like that t
he year after the accident. It took a long time to feel anything close to okay.
I move to the stairs. They creak with every step. The hallway too.
I knock on the door in the corner. "Meryl. It's Kat. I'm looking to get some air, and Blake is preoccupied downstairs."
Footsteps, and the door opens. Meryl smiles. There's no strain on her face. No signs of her outburst.
She motions come in. I do. Her bedroom is clean but not freakishly so. Nothing like Blake's place.
I follow her onto the balcony.
It's cozy. We can see into the backyard. There are a few scrawny trees. And there are flowers just starting to bloom.
She leans against the wooden railing and looks up at the stars. "I hate to get didactic, dear, but take a look at these. You can never see them in the city."
She's right. The dark sky is dotted with them. I haven't seen this many stars since I was a kid. "It's beautiful."
"Yes. They make you think. They're like roses. They're too good as metaphors."
"True."
"You mind if I ask your age?"
"I'm twenty-one."
"A baby. Your whole life is ahead of you." Her sigh is wistful. "If you do marry Blake… you can't give up on your dreams. I know it's tempting, basking in luxury, spending all your time sunbathing in Cabo San Lucas, but that's not a fulfilling life."
My chest warms. This is the kind of talk mothers have with their daughters. Only I never got the chance. "I won't."
"I'm sorry about before. My kids mean well, but, quite frankly, they're idiots."
I laugh.
"Really. Fiona and that awful stockbroker. He's such an ass. Just like her father. Well, not quite. Thank God."
There's something about her voice.
Blake was casual about his father hitting him. Because it only happened once? Or because it happened all the time?
I stare back at Meryl, but it doesn't offer any insight. I have no idea what a battered wife looks like. Even if I did, Blake's father isn't around anymore. He died when Blake was a teenager. That was in his about me packet.
"Sweetheart, are you alright?" she asks.
"Oh. Just thinking."
She smiles. "I remember being young and in love. It's hard to concentrate."
"Yes." It is, but it's not the love. It's more the lust.
"Is art school what you want?" she asks.
