Chapter 31 #2
She faces the floor-length mirror, patting curls that are styled to perfection. “Does it bother you? The way I am with Shawn? The way he is with me?”
I shrug. “I love you both. And I trust you.” I cross my arms. “And I won’t warn you off or tell you not to hurt him. Sometimes he sets himself up to get hurt.” I meet her eyes in the mirror, so she sees the sincerity in mine. “As long as you’re up-front with him, then I don’t expect anything more.”
He deserves that from at least one person in his life.
“I have no trouble with that,” she mutters.
My smile grows. “Exactly. Which is why I have no opinion.”
When we return, George and Shawn are no longer alone at the table, but they did save seats for the both of us.
“Food. Good.” Darla’s eyes are locked on what appears to be an elegant apple and pear salad, a plate of which sits at each place setting. The moment she sits down, a fork is already in her hand.
“Ah ah ah,” a male voice chides from across the table, and I’m horrified to see a middle-aged white man wagging his finger in the air at my friend.
“We’re waiting until everyone is seated to start the meal.
” The stranger gestures to the gathering, only half of whom have found their way to chairs.
The other half is slowly moving toward the tables, enjoying their conversations.
“You’re waiting,” Darla clarifies, spearing a pear glistening with a golden sauce on her fork. “I’m eating.” She takes a bite, and her lids flutter closed as she lets out a pleased noise. “Fuck, that’s delicious,” she mumbles the words, but the table still hears.
The man frowns deep, judgment wrinkling his face as he stares at Darla. “That was rude.”
She swallows, then cuts him a look as penetrating as her fork through the soft fruit.
“Rude is expecting me to be hungry. Ever. Reevaluate your priorities.” She turns her attention to me, head tilting slightly in the direction of our tablemate.
“Definite no.” Then her gaze finds Shawn’s.
“Ten out of ten on food. Three out of ten on company.”
My brother leans toward her. “If I give you half of my salad, would you consider upping that to four out of ten for company?”
Darla freezes, then something like a smile attempts to claim her face. “Deal.”
George snorts beside me as we watch Shawn shovel apples and pears onto Darla’s plate while he tells her about the caramelized apple vinaigrette it’s dressed in and how he was lucky enough to be invited for a taste test when Tasha and Annabel were choosing the menu.
I turn to my date, enjoying the sparking gray eyes staring down at me. “If Darla kills Shawn,” I whisper, “I think he’ll just come back as a ghost and haunt her and not even realize he’s dead.”
George barks out a laugh, then holds up my fork for me. “Want to join the rebels?”
“We better, before Darla decides she wants more than her extra half a share.”
Our tablemate makes a few grumbling remarks to the woman at his side while throwing glares our way. But after they go unacknowledged, the two of them get up and move to a different table.
“Did you know that loaf of white bread in a suit?” Darla asks Shawn and George.
“That was Francis Walkman. He’s the vice president of logistics at BBN.”
“Is that important?”
“He oversees BBN’s operations and supply strategies.”
Yeah, that sounds important.
“And you don’t care that I ran him off?” Darla presses.
“You warned me you weren’t going to be nice to my business associates.” Shawn shrugs, still wearing a goofy, happy smile. “You’re so honest. I love it.”
Darla narrows her eyes, as if she’s not certain whether to trust my brother’s relaxed reaction. But then more food comes out, so she lets it go. We’re halfway through the second course when Tasha and a beautiful woman with golden skin, chin-length black hair, and hooded eyes join our table.
“You all came!” Tasha grins at the four of us. “This might be the best gift. Beth, Darla, this is my wife, Annabel. Annabel, this is Beth,” she gestures toward me, “and Darla.”
“Hi.” I offer a wave, not sure if I’m supposed to stand up and shake their hands or hug them or what. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Tasha beams, and Annabel blushes.
“You both have fantastic taste in food,” Darla offers, which honestly is one of the nicest greetings she’s ever given a stranger.
Luckily, the women share a chuckle. “Thank you.” Annabel is the one to respond this time, with a soft, almost musical quality to her voice. “We need to come by Cornfield’s soon. Shawn says the food is delicious. Especially the desserts you make.”
Darla fists her fork and glares at Shawn. “My moms have been telling you about my desserts?”
Shawn is fully facing Darla in his seat, like he’s in the gravitational pull of my best friend. At least with his attention misdirected, he doesn’t see how George’s large warm palm sits indecently high on my thigh.
“Sally and Sam are proud of you.” Shawn gives her ultimate puppy dog eyes. “And I like telling people about you.”
Darla makes a choked noise, then turns back to the brides. “Yeah. Come by Cornfield’s. And make sure you order The Bunsen.”
“No!” Shawn moans as George snorts.
“Oh, The Bunsen?” Annabel attempts to cover a smile with a look of mild curiosity. “Is that a special there?”
“Only the best thing on the menu,” I offer, settling my hand on top of George’s and tracing my thumb over a vein in his wrist. His grip tightens, then eases, even as his fingers stroke the quickly heating skin of my thigh.
“My own sister?” Shawn pouts. “I’ve never felt so betrayed.”
At his playful words, my good mood seeps away.
No, that silly joke wasn’t a betrayal. But soon he’ll know the big lie.
The reminder steals my appetite and has me wanting to escape. When the strains of a song rise from the live band, I cling to the opportunity for an escape.
“Do you want to dance?” I ask George, meeting his searching stare.
Did he notice the change in my mood?
Maybe, because he immediately stands and holds out his hand.
“Do you want to dance?” Shawn asks Darla.
“There’s still food on the table.”
“I’ll take that as a maybe later.”
George guides me onto the dance floor, which is luckily in the middle of the room. Far from the windows. Once we step onto the wooden surface, George tugs me into his arms, holding me close. Not seeming to care who might see.
“People are going to think I’m your date,” I murmur to him.
George frowns down at me, then bends his head until his lips are by my ear, an easy feat to manage when I have on heels.
“You are my date, Beth. You’re a lot more than that.” His warm breath teases over the sensitive skin of my neck. “Maybe I wasn’t clear earlier when I had you pinned against the shower wall with my cock. You want me, I’m yours. Anyone who says something different can go to hell.”
“But…” Seriously? My mind reels. “Shawn. And your family…the company—”
“To. Hell.” He pulls away and cradles the back of my head with a large palm. His cold gray eyes hold mine hostage. “Everyone you named. Everyone you can think of. If they don’t want us together, then they can go to hell, and I’ll say that to their face.”
Wow. Why does “they can go to hell” sound a lot like “I love you” in my mind?
“Beth,” he speaks my name against my mouth, brushing our lips together. “Do you want me?”
We’re in the middle of a party full of BnB people, a crowd from a life that cast me out before I was even born. A life this man should belong to.
But he just offered himself to me.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I want you. You’re mine.”
His arm tightens around my waist, dragging me tight against him. “Thank fuck.”
George gives me one searing kiss full of promise, then we part, but only our mouths.
He continues to hold me close, and I lay my head on his shoulder and close my eyes as he guides me around the dance floor.
For multiple songs, I imagine it’s just the two of us here.
And when I realize George is quietly humming along to the band’s rendition of “Come Fly with Me,” I smile against his neck and wonder if I’ve ever been so happy.