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“I get that. Trust is a big deal especially when that person is supposed to know you like you two know each other.”
“Yeah. And when you’re the spawn of such an untrustworthy person, it’s more work to get that trust.”
Oran’s confession hurts me because I feel his irritation and understand why he was pissed when I questioned him. I’m sad I was one of those people.
“I’m sorry about that. He’s out in everyone’s faces and you’re the mysterious son no one sees unless it’s business related. It’s still no excuse to typecast. The difference between you two is glaringly obvious to me now.”
I hate that he’s surprised by my admission.
“Really?”
I nod emphatically. “I’d question your paternity if your mom wasn’t a saint and you didn’t have his height.”
Oran snickers. “Yeah, a lab confirmed it. I understand your assumption. Lucky for you, people love your parents. Your dad was a saint until he lost you in a poker match. For my dad, it was just another Wednesday.”
I don’t feel the sting I used to feel anymore at the memory. Between time and my feelings for Oran, I’m not surprised by the giggle that escapes.
“It was a fucked up way to arrange a marriage, but then again all arranged marriages are fucked up to me.”
“It’s true, but if I must have an arranged marriage, I’m glad it’s you.”
My throat burns with emotion, and I sniff.
“Are you about to cry,” Oran teases me.
“No,” I push away from him. “You’re about to cry,” I toss back to lighten the mood. “It must be the onset of travel allergies.”
“Travel allergies,” he repeats in mock seriousness. “Oh, no you might have to lie down. It could be contagious.”
“I got them from Ainslee,” I joke as I turn on the tap to wash my hands. Oran hugs me from behind and kisses to the top of my head.
“While you make steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans, I’ll search the internet for a cure.”
“Liar, you’re going to watch the next episode without me.”
“Eventually, but you’ve already seen it. First, I need to wash and peel the potatoes.”
“Only peel about eighty percent.”
“Why?”
“I like to leave a little of the skin. Now, get to work, sous chef.”
Oran smiles at me, but I know he’s thinking about his mother. I’m happy we can do at least one thing they used to do.
* * *
Making dinner for eight people was successful. I’d never really had the chance to throw a dinner party, so this was excellent practice. I don’t know what Oran plans, but I’m sure we’d have to host a dinner party, eventually. Right now, I feel like a genuine hostess with everyone talking, drinking, and thanking me for dinner. I’d sat across from Oran hoping a break from his pheromones would help with my hormones, but now I see the flaw in my plan. The looks alone has me crossing and uncrossing my legs. My jeans feel too tight, and my brain has convinced me our natural state should set to nude at all times.
I’ve seen him eat before, but now it’s erotic. Oran smiles at me over the rim of his glass as if he knows he’s in my head and has activated remote seduction. I need a vacation from the vacation.
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“I need dessert,” I say out loud although I meant to think it.
“Make one,” Oran challenges me, but I don’t know why.
“Why do you say it like you doubt I can?” I sit up higher, loving the distraction.
