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“Margot,” Savannah groaned, picking up a stack of bowls and taking them into the kitchen.
“What does she mean?” Katie asked, her eyes dancing between the adults.
“Here,” I said, standing up to grab the rest of the dishes before Margot got to them. “Let me help.”
Margot grabbed my hand and turned it over. The blisters and scrapes on my palm looked red and angry in the bright light of the chandelier. “You’re doing enough,” Margot said softly. “I don’t know what demon has possessed—”
I pulled my hands free and grabbed the plates anyway. “I’m fine,” I said. “Let me make my mother proud and clear the table.”
Margot lifted her hands in surrender and sat.
“Well, then,” she said, “perhaps we can go back to our game? Katie and I have grown bored playing with just the two of us.”
“Sure,” I said, happy at the thought.
“No.” Katie stood. “I won’t play with him.” She ran from the room.
“Katie!” Margot called after her.
“It’s all right,” I said, something dark and heavy sitting on my chest. Regret? Grief? Probably both. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve still got a lot of work to do.”
I grabbed the empty salad bowl and took it into the kitchen. There was no dishwasher, and Savannah was filling the sink with bubbles.
“I’ll wash, you dry?” she asked.
I met her gaze; so blue and careful. Cautious, as if she expected rejection.
Suddenly the kitchen was too small and I wanted badly to escape to the courtyard. To be alone. The temptation of her was nearly too much, but in the end I merely nodded and stepped aside so she could stand at the sink.
Because I was a glutton for punishment, and because a few hours in the company of these women made me feel lighter. Cleaner. The ghosts and their dirty hands were leaving me alone.
We worked silently, each of us careful not to touch one another in handing off dishes. Not that it particularly mattered. Touching or not, I wanted her so much I could taste it. Like lime sherbet on my tongue.
“Tell me something,” she said, handing me a dinner plate. “Did you lie about your mother?”
I knew exactly what she meant—that night in the library when she’d laid herself so bare.
I should lie now, I thought. Tell her that everything I said that night had been a lie, that it had all been designed to get her to talk to me. It would drive her away for good.
But I glanced down at her exposed neck. The pale skin stretched over fine muscles. The wisps of blond hair there, too short to be pulled into a ponytail. I wanted to touch that hair, see if it was as soft as it looked. I wanted to press my lips to the dip at the top of her spine. I wanted to curl my arms around her taut body, cup her breasts in my hands, press myself along her back.
I wanted to wrap myself around her and never let go.
“Nothing I said that night was a lie,” I answered. “My mom, Dad. All of it was the truth.”
She blinked at me, her eyes warm, her lips so full and pink I wanted to chew on them.
“Thank you,” she whispered. I couldn’t imagine she’d offer me another chance to touch her. To kiss her. There was no way I deserved it. But she didn’t glance away.
“Savannah,” I breathed. And still she didn’t move. She was a magnet I could not resist and I bent towards her, craving her and her body with every aching and sore muscle in my own.
“Matt!” Margot called from the other room and Savannah jerked away.
“Don’t keep the queen waiting,” Savannah said, overly bright.
Unsure of what to say or do, I finally set down the towel and left the kitchen, my body getting cooler the farther I was from temptation.
SAVANNAH
I braced my hands on the bottom of the sink, hot suds up to my elbows, and hung my head. Matt went right to my head, erasing every sane thought I had.
Researching him had to stop.
So did wanting to make out with him in the kitchen.
Even if he had told me the truth, even if he was so wounded I could see the scars in his eyes, even if he was charming and handsome and fun, he would still hurt me.
Because at some point, Matt would leave.
Eventually, everyone left.
After I finished the dishes I poured myself a cold glass of water and was about to go upstairs when the music started.
Matt was playing the piano. “Ode to Joy,” which seemed sad and ironic considering the grief he carried. The music filled the hallways, brushed the ceilings, twisted and turned and curved around my heart until it was sore.
I sat on the steps, powerless against Matt and his sad music.
12
MATT
I woke up, blinking into hot sunshine, stunned to realize I’d actually slept.
