Chapter 14 Caro-Kann Defense #2
Bernard’s face goes a bit red, and he looks away, smiling. “What would you say to an after-dinner drink?”
Lovely. He can’t just ask me for sex like an adult, so he’s going to ply me with alcohol. I decide that Cat Cromwell, woman of the world, would probably put the pieces together then. “Oh!” I squeak. Softly. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Sorry?” he repeats.
I train my eyes to the floor and whisper, “I don’t—I like to wait. I want to wait.”
There are approximately one thousand tricks up my sleeve at any given moment, but this one has to be the most effective.
And at this point, it’s the most rehearsed line in my script.
I never have to say that I don’t want to touch these men; I just have to say that I’m waiting for…
well. Who knows. Who cares? I’m waiting, and I can move the goal posts whenever I want.
And most of my targets are the conservative-leaning types who interpret abstinence as either purity or a challenge.
Excitement starts to glimmer behind Bernard’s eyes. “You don’t… you’re waiting?” Lovely. He views it as both.
I twirl a loose piece of my hair around a finger. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”
“No! Oh God. No. It’s okay.” He smiles wider. “It’s nice. Old-fashioned.”
I repress a shudder. “You aren’t mad?”
The bastard has the audacity to look relieved. “Not at all. It shows me how serious you are, Cat. I’ll just need to dream of you instead.”
I smile thinly. “I’ll see you there,” I say, key-carding myself into my room before I gag.
Then I toss the key card onto my bed, rip off my heels, and spin to look at the wall like it might poof into an X-ray image of Faust on the other side.
My chest heaves. It would just be embarrassing if he’d heard that—that’s all.
And potentially bad, since the whole point of my awkward speech tonight was to keep my job through the Day Gala.
Faust is the problem here. He’d get angry if he overheard me on an actual date with his rival. He would… he…
I need to stop thinking about him.
I change into sweats and go to the vending machine down the hall. Ignore the icemaker. Buy myself a KitKat bar and a milk tea. I open it on the walk back to my door—then go to pull my key card out of my pocket.
My empty pocket.
I’d used my phone to pay for the snacks.
But I wouldn’t have left my key card in the room.
The thing that keeps me from sleeping in a hallway.
I try the handle again. It barely budges, though it gives me an angry beep anyway.
Dread makes me try two more times before I give up, turn my pockets inside out, and slump to the foot of my door, staring at Faust’s room.
My feet hurt, I don’t want to go downstairs and get another card, I’m wearing the hotel’s thin white courtesy slippers.
This is so embarrassing, and please, please don’t let that door open.
My phone buzzes with a text from Maisie.
Hey, were you in Paris? Just saw on your other IG… I wish we could’ve been there at the same time. Any plans to visit Waterfield soon? Maybe we could meet up?
I stare at the screen, my dread melting down, dripping into guilt.
Then I tap into my private account, reserved for my family and Renata, and—yeah.
I’d posted a picture of a croissant. What do I say?
Yes, hi, I didn’t tell you I was in Paris because I don’t know how to talk to you about Paris.
Because I know what you told Renata, and you don’t need to worry about me or money or anything, ever.
I will make this world your oyster. Sent from a hotel floor.
And just then, the door to my right clicks open.
I blink.
There’s a gray silhouette in the doorway, lit from behind.
My height. Dark hair, dark jacket. Like a dream, Faust sharpens into himself.
We look at each other as he steps into the hallway, and I think he’s as surprised to see me as I am to see him—which is to say, not at all.
At this point, we’re like twin magnets, polarized in the same direction, bouncing off and around each other.
That’s a kind of attraction, too. Pushing someone to places they wouldn’t have gone otherwise.
The corners of Faust’s lips pull down, and I know.
He overheard my conversation with Bernard about not wanting to sleep with him.
He heard me try and fail to get back into my room.
He’s waiting for me to speak first.
“I… I’m not…” I take a breath, and I’m surprised by how much it hurts. “I’m fine. So don’t—don’t do that.” Stand there. Look at me. Catch me making stupid mistakes. “I’ll go get another card in a little bit, okay?”
In chess, White has the slightest theoretical advantage, since whoever’s playing White gets to make the first move.
They set the tone of the game. But Faust doesn’t do that, does he?
When he waits me out like this, that’s his first move.
A King’s Pawn game. With his deceptively basic opening, he’s forcing me to showcase how I play in response.
Another moment passes. I feel his eyes on me, the intensity of them, wide but shockingly judgment free. Then he finally nods, steps back inside, and closes the door.
I played defensively.
Holding back a sigh, I rest my head against my door and stare at the ornately framed paper stencil hanging on the wall across from me.
I don’t mean to fall asleep. But I do. I wake up disoriented, muscles tense from being on the floor all night.
Next to me is a pillow, an unopened bottle of water, and a small envelope tucked underneath, almost out of sight.
When I pick it up, something slips off my shoulders.
A long coat sleeve, worn along the cuff, well loved by its owner.
Faust’s jacket, from last night. I pull it into my lap as I open the envelope, expecting—something.
Words. An explanation. Whatever he would’ve said, but didn’t.
The only thing inside is a new key card.