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"I did."
"He’s not all bad. Though his attitude is so grumpy you’d think he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Wait,"—I blink—"what did you say?"
"I met him."
"Who’re you talking about?"
"Midnight."
"Who?"
"That’s my name." A familiar voice interjects.
I turn to the doorway to find Knight standing there.
"Your real name is Midnight?"
He half smiles.
"Why didn’t you tell me?"
"Why didn’t you ask?"
We look at each other, and as always, the air in the room seems to light up with so many unsaid emotions, and that insane chemistry that has my nipples beading, despite the fact I’m sitting in front of my mother.
I’ve barely seen him since that lunch that I cut short, running out for fear I'd let him fuck me again in his office. It's only in retrospect, I realize he didn’t try to stop me. He didn’t use that Dom voice of his to command me. He honored my choice, respected my will, and that’s so different from the man I’ve come to know.
To be honest, a part of me would have been relieved if he’d ordered me to stay. Better still, if he’d commanded me to bend over that table where our lunch was served, I’d have gladly done so. It's so much easier when he tries—who am I kidding? There is no "try" with this man—to make me bend to his will. I can always blame him for influencing me to give into him and then I don't have to accept responsibility. But now that he's letting me drive our interactions, I'm floundering. It confuses me so much, it's been easier to avoid him as much as possible. In fact, I haven’t seen him in three days.
Now, I drink in the sight of my man in that jacket that clings to the breadth of his shoulders. He prowls forward, and I admire how those tailor-made pants outline the musculature of his thighs.
"He’s handsome huh?" My ma whispers.
I nod, then swing my head around to look at her in surprise.
"What?" She giggles at the expression on my face. "I might be senile, but I’m not blind."
"You’re not senile." I frown.
Her features soften. "I’m glad I got to see you settled before I go."
"Mom, please, you’re not going anywhere."
"Unless you want to go to the park?" he asks as he comes to a stop next to the bed.
"The park?" Her features light up. "Are we going on that picnic you promised?"
* * *
"You promised to take her on a picnic?"
"I wouldn’t have done it without running it by you first," he says as he turns to me. "I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’ve been coming to see her for a few weeks now. I wanted to come here with you right after lunch on the day we got married, but I’m afraid I lost my composure that day."
"Is that an apology I hear?" I say lightly without looking at him. Partly because the sight of my mother walking ahead holding Tiny’s leash is something I’ll remember forever. She’s dressed in her favorite green dress, and the lines of her body are relaxed.
We had a picnic lunch earlier on Primrose Hill. The lunch was delivered to us courtesy of—you guessed it, James Hamilton’s kitchen, complete with wine glasses and crockery. Also, as soon as we were done, someone came by to pick up the remnants. Don’t ask me how he arranged for that. Guess the rich don’t do anything by half, huh? But I don’t begrudge Knight his money anymore. How can I when he’s used it to make my mum happy. I’ve never seen her so in her element. Not since before my father died. A ball of emotion fills my throat and I swallow around it.
"I’m sorry I ran out on you at our wedding lunch." He slows to a halt. So do I.
