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“His problem, Delia. Not yours. He’s—what?—pushing sixty? Like you said, you’re better off letting a man make his own mistakes. He’ll find out she’s been after nothing but a sugar daddy soon enough.”
The waiter returns and interrupts us.
Great timing.
We get our last course before dessert, some kind of rustic French quail I can’t pronounce.
Damn if it doesn’t take the edge off as I tear the succulent meat from the bone, enjoying the way it pairs with the wine.
If only Delia wasn’t picking at her food again.
Fuck.
I hate that we had to go poking at bad memories, shitting up our night.
I want to fly home and drag Evie out of that mansion, kicking and screaming.
She’s not ruining this.
None of our parents’ fuckery is tainting our last good memory as lovers.
“I’m sorry if that got a little heated,” she whispers over her glass. “I never meant to pry.”
“Just dig in, princess.” I lean forward and reach across the table, setting her glass down and cupping her chin. I stroke her cheek with my thumb. “No sense in letting their toxic shit poison us. This isournight, Delia. The last night we get.”
A sad smile pulls at her lips.
I lean in closer and whisper, “Lady, don’t make me fuck the bad thoughts right out of your head on an empty stomach.Eat.”
She reaches for my hand. I let her pull it off her face.
For a second, she holds it softly between hers and then gives the back of my hand a little kiss.
“I wish this wasn’t ending...but you’re right. We have lives to get back to. Incompatible ones.” She flinches slightly when she says it. “God, do you know how hard it’ll be to let go after this week? Maybe things would be different if our parents weren’t married and just so...so effed up.”
Damn.
I’ve never heard her drop a near F-bomb in public.
That tells me how upset she is, already raw from losing this.
Still, I can’t lead her on, even when every part of me knows just how right she is.
“We deal with the hand we drew, babe. You want to help your old man sort his shit? Then you can’t let him find out his lovely daughter’s sharing a bed with her stepbrother. We’re doing the right thing.”
I want to believe that.
Only, if it’s true, why does saying it feel like a shot through the chest?
She nods like her head is a boulder.
There’s no denying the sadness in her eyes, hurt and melancholy over the thousand and one obstacles keeping us apart.
Fuck, there’s thatusagain.
Why can’t I chase it out of my head?
The very idea of us makes me want to punch myself in the face.
