Chapter Twelve
Rapunzel and Sushi
Siena, August 2, 2011, North Virginia
The Rapunzel wall wasfinished, the Cinderella mostly mapped out, the dragon not yet started but conceived. Two more months, and I’m out of here. And then—a break from it all—from the present and the past, both. Even if my visions continued, the past would soon be behind us: no more Worgen, no more miles between Ryan and me, no more ghosts from long ago.
“Wow, Siena.”
I turned to find Connor gawking at Rapunzel’s golden strands drifting from her only window. He was wearing a suit and tie today, his hair neatly combed, expression mildly benevolent. I smoothed my ponytail. He could have stepped off the front cover of a renowned men’s publication, on which he was recently featured.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” His slow grin was just the right amount of abashed. “I’m in town for a bit—thought I’d take a peek.”
I waved away his concern. “No worries. You think Ivy will like it?”
“Oh, she’ll love it. I mean, I’m a grown man, and I’m astonished!” He stepped closer. “I was about to grab lunch in the kitchen. Want to join me?”
My stomach had been growling for at least an hour, so I followed his stealthy gait down the corridor.
He stopped in front of a closed door. “This is the guest bedroom I’d mentioned earlier. Take a look while we’re here—go ahead.”
Like the rest of the house, the room was cool gray and warm white with a tasteful splash of blue, furnished with a sleek bedroom furniture set and a large plasma TV on the wall.
“There’s the bathroom—” He pointed, loosening his tie a bit. “Everything you might need is in the cabinets: toothbrushes, toothpaste, toiletries... I don’t even know what else.” He chuckled. “You’re more than welcome to stay overnight if you like. I mean, it’s always empty.”
Obligingly, I walked to the bathroom: spotless white cabinets, recessed lighting, white marble, a giant shower head. It was a little odd how close he stood, head cocked to one side. I drew back, eyeing the door.
“Shoot.” He stepped aside in his indolent manner. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way.”
“Oh—” I gestured with my hand, releasing a surreptitious breath. “Not at all.”
“I mean, I just want you to feel comfortable while you’re here. Anyway, let’s go eat.”
I pushed down a lingering sense of unease as we walked into the kitchen.
There was a note on the counter I couldn’t make out.
“Ooh!” Connor’s eyes lit up as he read. “We’re in for a treat today. You like sushi? Please—” He pulled out his zebra-covered bar stool. “Have a seat, Siena.”
After producing glossy black trays from his designer refrigerator, he reached into a drawer for the matching chopsticks and wiggled his eyebrows. “This calls for sake.”
Whistling under his breath, he returned to the fridge and took out a beautiful cobalt blue bottle with gold accents.
“The Japanese say every sake has a sweet spot.” He filled two white ceramic cups and brought them over. “This Junmai must be served cold. Try it—it has just a hint of fruit.”
The sake was redolent of pear and pineapple and had a complex flavor of something obscenely expensive. But I closed my eyes with a deep sigh at the first bite of the delicate rice cylinder wrapped in a sheet of semi-transparent fish.
“Good, huh?” Connor nodded, smiling. “It’s from this fellow in D.C. Flies all his fish in from Japan, caught the same day. Imagine—this marlin was swimming in the Pacific just yesterday, and now it’s on my table!”
I reached for another roll but didn’t grab it firmly enough with my chopsticks. The roll slipped, and I caught it in my left hand.
Connor studied my ring finger, head tipped to the side. “I didn’t know you’re married. What does your husband do?”
I placed the roll on my plate. He was being disingenuous—I’d been background-checked and vetted well before his office contacted my agent with the commission request.
“He’s with the FBI.”
He didn’t even bother to appear surprised. “Which building is he in?”
He must have not paid attention during the vetting.
“Actually, neither. He was transferred,” I blurted.
“Really?” He swallowed a whole salmon sashimi and reached for his sake. “Where to?”
“Dallas, Texas.” I took a sip from my cup. Why the heck was I telling him?
He placed another sashimi on his tongue. “So,” he said, chewing, which made the word sound like “sho.” “It’s kind of like my wife and I.” He pushed his plate away and leaned in, dark eyes trained on me.
“Well, no, it’s not like that.” I squirmed on my zebra stool, my skin prickling with an inexplicable rush of déjà vu. “It’s a long-distance relationship. Very temporary. I’ll be moving to Dallas after I finish here.”
He refilled his cup and motioned at mine. I shook my head no.
“Remember when I mistook you for your agent?” He shot me a wry smile. “I was wrong. You don’t look like an agent—or an artist.”
There was an odd catch in his voice, like he found me simultaneously attractive and irritating.
“No?” I stared at my cup. If I were being honest, this was precisely how I felt about him.
“No.” His smile widened. “You look like a princess.”
“What?” I suppressed a nervous giggle, at once tickled and unsettled by this strange epithet. “Like Sleeping Beauty or something?” I hoped he could hear the derision in my voice.
He drew an indolent draft of his sake. “I was thinking Rapunzel. She was also a pretty girl with long hair, stuck in a castle all day.” He tilted his head to one side. “I like that it’s my castle you’re stuck in.”
I put down my chopsticks, hair lifting at the nape beneath his cool and steady gaze.
“Thanks for lunch.” I got up. “I should get back to work.”
He stood, taller and broader so close. “Any time.” He didn’t move to let me pass.
I pressed my back against the stool, so we wouldn’t touch.
“Can I say something and...please, I don’t mean to offend. But your husband must be very sure of himself to leave a woman like you alone in D.C.”
I shivered in the silence that fell, traces of déjà vu whirling around me in a confused flurry. “I don’t know what you mean.” I pushed against the stool, gaining an inch.
He fixed me with a knowing look. “I mean you must be getting hit on everywhere you go.”
“No.” I scoffed, straightening. “Only here.”
I didn’t like the playful glint in his eye.
“You think I’m hitting on you?”
“You are.”
In one smooth, feline swoop, he reached for my hand and pulled me to him. “And what if I am?”
He smelled of pressed cotton and expensive cologne. My throat had gone dry, heart raced inside my tightening chest. I shouldn’t like his scent.
“Then you should stop.” My voice emerged in a painful falsetto as I glanced up. His eyes were the exact shade of dark chocolate.
“Are you sure?”
His lips brushed against mine as he bent to my mouth, his breath a mixture of sea and fruit.
I froze. There was something inexplicably familiar in the sudden unbridled maleness of him. His hand on my bra clasp sent a rush of tingles throughout skin and sinew.
“I’m sure.” I breathed, pushing him away.
“Fine.”
He released me so abruptly, I swayed on my feet. The separation hit me like a cold shower, biting and sobering.
“My apologies.” He shrugged, sauntering to the refrigerator for the familiar designer water bottle. “Want one?”
I wanted nothing to do with him, except finishing the murals as fast as I could manage. But the sparkling beads of moisture on the cool blue glass made my mouth go dry.
“Okay.”
He handed me the bottle. “Hey, no hard feelings, all right?” He couldn’t look or sound more indifferent. “I’m sorry if I misread your cues.”
I took a sip. What did I care how he looked or sounded? And more importantly, why did I keep standing there?
“I’ll let you get back to work.” His tone changed to what he must have reserved for his underlings, cold and imposing.
And it stung.
I returned to my walls and stared, sightless, at Rapunzel’s distraught gaze. The whole thing was bizarre—that strange push and pull with a trace of rancor creeping under the surface.