17. Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Monty
M easuring out these shards of lead is painstaking work. The goggles help magnify the delicate details, but my hands are trembling just enough to make precision a challenge. I frown, steadying myself. There has to be a better way to do this, some clever invention waiting to be discovered. But I can’t afford to get sidetracked. Not now. This method is fiddly, but for the moment, it will do.
The campervan door bursts open with a jarring bang, and I instinctively jerk upright. My carefully arranged pile of shards topples, a few spilling off the scales onto the worktable.
“Pink!” I exclaim, but there’s no frustration in my voice. Quite the opposite. Seeing him standing there, beaming with excitement, instantly chases away the irritation. I push my goggles up into my hair and offer him a wide smile. It’s always wonderful when he visits, especially when it’s by choice and not necessity.
“It worked! Ned is okay!” Pink’s face is alight with joy, his voice carrying an energy that’s infectious.
“Oh, how marvelous! What happened?” I ask, leaning forward, eager to soak up the good news.
Pink grabs a stool, dragging it noisily to the end of my worktable. He perches on it, his enthusiasm bubbling over as he explains.
“Lello had this idea to get Morgan to tell Ned to feed. So we went to Morgan’s house, and I stayed with the kids while Morgan came here. By the time they got back, Ned had already slipped into a Little Death.” Pink’s voice falters slightly, but then he brightens again. “Morgan gave him his own blood. It brought him back!”
I can’t help but grin. Seeing Pink so exuberant, and hearing him talk this much, is nothing short of delightful. I think this might be the most he’s ever said to me in one sitting.
“That really is marvelous news,” I reply warmly. Then, unable to resist, I tease, “You babysat?”
Pink’s warm smile deepens, his expression softening in a way that makes my heart flutter. “Yeah, it was great. Noah, Oscar, and Lottie are wonderful.”
His brown eyes sparkle, his whole face is lit with a happiness so genuine it’s captivating.
“You like children?” I ask, my voice quieter now, almost hesitant.
Pink sighs, the sound heavy with longing and contentment all at once. “Yeah, very much. It was one of the few things I was actually looking forward to about being married.”
“Me too,” I admit before I can second-guess myself.
The admission feels raw, but Pink’s openness is disarming. The one and only good thing about Old Blood society, as far as I am concerned, is that surrogates are so common. I was planning on giving into the pressure to get married. I was going to choose a male vessel, because that is my preference, and have heirs via a surrogate. All very normal and expected.
But that plan has turned to dust. If I can’t have Pink, I don’t want anyone.
I’m no longer bracing myself for an arranged marriage. I’m hoping for a future with Pink.
There are obstacles, oh heavens are there obstacles. As well as a thousand reasons not to entangle Pink in my life. But there is no point to any of it if Pink is not by my side. I’m going to find a way to make it work. I have to. But first, and most importantly, I need to win Pink’s heart.
Pink tilts his head, his expression curious. “You like kids?”
It takes me a moment to recall what we were talking about and to force my whirling mind to focus.
“What’s not to like?” I reply with a smile.
Pink chuckles softly, the sound sending warmth spiraling through me. “Do you have any siblings?”
The question catches me off guard. My lungs tighten, the familiar ache creeping in as memories I’d rather not revisit threaten to surface. I look away quickly, hoping Pink won’t catch the shadow of pain crossing my face.
“A brother,” I manage, keeping my tone even. “He’s twelve years younger than me.”
When I glance back, Pink’s face is etched with sympathy. It hits me like a blow, guilt unfurling low in my chest. He thinks my sadness about my brother is tied to me being disowned. Because that is the lie I have allowed him to believe.
Desperate to shift the conversation, I blurt out, “We should celebrate your wonderful news!” My voice is too loud, my tone too forced, but I don’t care.
Pink’s smile returns, his warmth undeterred. “What did you have in mind?”
Inspiration strikes, sudden and bold. This could be my chance, the moment I’ve been waiting for. It is not an ideal time, but if I wait for our lives to be perfectly calm, I’ll be waiting forever.
“How about dinner? At a nice restaurant?” The words tumble out in a rush, and my heart hammers so loudly I’m sure he must hear it.
Pink blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Just me and you?”
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. I didn’t think this through. It’s a strange way to celebrate Ned’s recovery, but I can’t backtrack now. “Yes!” I say, far too enthusiastically.
Pink blinks again, slower this time. “Like a date?”
His cheeks flush, the blush spreading quickly as his lips part in realization. He starts to speak again, likely to backpedal, but I cut him off, my own voice coming out sharper than intended.
“Yes. Exactly like a date.”
For a moment, the world seems to hold its breath. Pink stares at me, his beautiful eyes wide and unguarded. Then he takes a deep, shuddering breath, his expression softening into something indescribably tender.
“I’d love that,” he says.
And just like that, my heart feels like it might burst right out of my chest.
T he restaurant is a cozy little place tucked away on a quiet street, its warm glow spilling out through frosted windows into the chill of the evening. I hold the door open for Pink, and as he steps inside, he looks around with wide eyes, taking in the low-hanging lights and the soft hum of conversation.
“This is… nice,” Pink says, his voice tinged with awe.
I smile. “I thought you’d like it. Nothing too fancy, but still special.”
His gaze flickers to me, and for a moment, I catch the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks. “It’s perfect,” he says softly.
The hostess leads us to a small table near the window, where a single candle flickers in the center. Pink sits down carefully, his hands resting awkwardly on his lap, as if unsure where they belong. I can’t help but find it endearing.
“This place is beautiful,” he says after a moment, glancing around again.
I settle into my chair, watching him. He seems to glow in the candlelight, his brown eyes warm and luminous. “I’m glad you think so,” I say, my voice quieter now.
A waiter arrives to take our drink orders, and Pink nervously fumbles with the menu, his eyes darting over the list of options.
“Do you like wine?” I ask gently.
He hesitates, then nods. “I think so? I don’t drink much.”
“Why don’t we try a bottle of red? If you don’t like it, we can get something else.”
He smiles, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders. “Okay. I trust you.”
Those three words send a flutter through my chest, and I have to look away for a moment to compose myself.
The waiter returns with our drinks, pouring the deep red liquid into delicate glasses. Pink watches, his expression somewhere between fascination and trepidation.
“To Ned’s recovery,” I say, lifting my glass in a toast.
Pink mirrors the gesture, his smile brightening. “To Ned.”
We clink glasses gently, and Pink takes a tentative sip. His nose scrunches slightly, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Too strong?” I ask.
“No, no, it’s good,” he says quickly, though his voice lacks conviction. “Just… different.”
I chuckle, setting my glass down. “It’s an acquired taste.”
As the evening progresses, Pink begins to relax. He talks animatedly about his time babysitting Morgan’s children, recounting their antics with a warmth that makes my heart ache in the best way.
“And then Lottie insisted I wear the tiara,” he says, his laughter bubbling over. “I think she was disappointed I didn’t have much hair to clip it into.”
I grin. “You must have been quite the dashing prince.”
He shakes his head, still smiling. “More like a very sparkly pirate. She gave me an eye patch to go with it.”
The image is so vivid and so utterly Pink that I can’t help but laugh. “I wish I’d seen that.”
Pink’s expression softens, his gaze dropping to the table. “It was nice,” he says quietly. “Being around kids again. It reminded me of how much I wanted a family.”
My chest tightens at the wistfulness in his voice. I lean forward slightly, lowering my own voice to match his. “You’d make a wonderful father, Pink.”
He looks up at me, his eyes wide and vulnerable. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
For a moment, we just look at each other, the air between us thick with unspoken things. Then the waiter arrives with our food, breaking the spell.
As we eat, the conversation flows more easily, touching on everything from favorite childhood memories to the strangest things we’ve ever encountered. Pink’s laughter becomes a constant melody, and I find myself hanging on every word he says, every expression that flits across his face.
By the time we’ve finished dessert, a shared slice of chocolate cake that Pink insisted we split, the restaurant has quieted, most of the other patrons having already left.
“This has been really nice,” Pink says as we linger over the last of our drinks. I’m still on the wine, but he has switched to a lemonade.
I smile, my heart feeling impossibly full. “I’m glad.”
He hesitates, glancing down at his hands. “I don’t… go out much. This is the first time in a long time I’ve felt…” He trails off, searching for the words.
“Felt what?” I prompt gently.
He looks up at me, his eyes shining. “Happy.”
The word hangs in the air between us, simple but profound.
“Me too,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
I drive us back to the house and the journey is silent, yet extremely comfortable. I pull up the drive and tuck my car into a corner, careful not to block anyone else in.
As we climb out of the car, the night air is crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of rain. We walk side by side towards the front of the house, the sound of our footsteps the only noise.
Pink pulls his jacket tighter around himself, and without thinking, I step closer, offering the warmth of my presence.
“Thank you for tonight,” he says after a moment, his voice soft. “It really meant a lot.”
“It meant a lot to me too,” I reply.
We reach the spot where our paths will part, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
Pink turns to me, his expression unreadable. The porch light casts a soft glow over his face, highlighting the sculpture of his cheekbones, the gentle slope of his nose.
“I had a wonderful time,” I say, my voice catching slightly.
“Me too,” he murmurs.
There’s a pause, a heartbeat of silence that stretches impossibly long. I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly we’re leaning closer, the space between us shrinking until I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. I think I’m about to kiss Pink. Our first kiss. My first kiss.
My heart pounds wildly, and I can see the same nervous energy mirrored in Pink’s eyes.
But then, just as our lips are about to meet, he freezes. His eyes dart away, and a flicker of panic crosses his face.
I pull back immediately, my stomach twisting with a mix of disappointment and understanding. After everything he has been through, it is not at all surprising that this is daunting for him.
“It’s okay,” I say gently, giving him a reassuring smile.
We have had sex a thousand times, but we have never been intimate. We were both raised in Old Blood Families, trained to think of sex as a duty. Tied to magical needs. Nothing at all to do with emotions.
Whereas a date, followed by a kiss? That is everything to do with emotions. It is nothing either of us have been taught how to deal with. Nevermind all the trauma of the harem.
Pink exhales shakily, his shoulders sagging with relief. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“Don’t be,” I reply. “There’s no rush.”
And there really isn’t. As long as Pink is in my life, and there is hope he might want us to become more, I’m happy. It’s everything I need.
He looks at me then, gratitude shining in his eyes. “Thank you,” he says softly.
I nod, stepping back to give him space. “Goodnight, Pink.”
“Goodnight,” he says, his voice barely audible.
As he walks away, I watch him until he disappears into the house, my heart still racing. Despite the failed kiss, I can’t help but feel hopeful. Tonight was a beginning, and sometimes, beginnings take time.