That makes me think of my father, who’d ordered a salad for me at the reception. “You need to get rid of that ass before your new husband complains about it,” he’d said. Always the charmer, that man. His words almost hurt more than when he slapped my face.
“That sounds lovely, thank you, Davina.” Mason is very polite, but there was a tone of dismissal that she notices.
“Well, I’m off. Goodnight.” She picks up a fuzzy cardigan and one of those giant purses that moms seem to have that contains one of everything on the planet.
“Goodnight, Davina.” I chime in. “So nice to meet you.”
Mason’s leaning against an elegant old table in the hallway, watching me. We’re alone. Just the two of us, for the first time. Even on the jet, there was the ever-present flight attendant and the pilot. “Um, I have a very important question to ask you,” I say.
“And what is that, darling?”
“What are neeps and tatties?”
He takes my arm, leading me into the kitchen, it’s all stainless steel, SubZero appliances, and a beautiful slab of charcoal grey granite with silvery threads for the island. “Turnips and potatoes, mashed up. Surprisingly tasty. And the beef from our ranch in the Cairngorm Mountains is spectacular.”
Dinner is easier than I expect, Mason keeps up an easy line of questions, though I note it’s hard to work in some questions of my own.
“I must admit, I’m glad I could get you away from your father’s country club before he demanded proof of your deflowering. He seemed very focused on it.” He pours me another glass of wine.
“Oh, mygod,”I groan, hiding my face in my hands. “That was horrifying.”
“It could be worse,” he chuckles, absently swirling his wine glass. “If this had been an Italian Mafia family, we would have been forced to spend the night at your parents’ home so that all the relatives could enjoy the display of the bloody sheets the following morning.”
“That does not still happen.” I’m horrified. “Please, you’re joking, right?”
“It still happens,” he says, trying to not smile at my appalled expression. “The Mafia world is still a tiresomely traditional one.”
“So… you wouldn’t care if your wife had experience?”
“Of course not. Why shouldn’t you have the chance to decide what you like and what you don’t? That comes with experience.” He puts his glass down, leaning his elbows on the table. “However, in this case, your experience will all be with me.” There’s a wicked glint in his eyes, a silvery sheen from the candles on the table. Or he’s part demon. It could be either. “I promise to make it as pleasurable as possible. A verywiderange of experiences.”
Seizing my wine and gulping half the glass, I say, “So no bloody sheets in the morning?”
He shrugs. “Only if you’re into that.”
I laugh, nearly aspirating my wine. “Well, my family isn’t here to show it to.”
“Thank god for that,” he murmurs.
The phone next to his plate begins buzzing angrily, and he frowns as he glances down at it. “I do have some calls to make before I can go to bed tonight. Let me show you where our room is.”
I’m very aware of him following me up the stairway. There are beautiful, framed pictures of a harbor on the wall. “Where is this?” I touch one with a fingertip.
“Halifax Harbor in Nova Scotia,” he says. “That’s where I was raised, my mother runs her family’s business, King Industries.Dad prefers to get into trouble on the Canadian side, since he’s already enjoyed all the near-death possibilities on this side of the Atlantic.” He doesn’t say the words fondly, like a memory he’s sharing. More dry and slightly resigned, as if it’s his duty to warn me that his dad is really… extra, I guess.
“Oh… your bedroom is in the tower,” I say rapturously. There’s a tall, domed ceiling with old wooden cross beams and windows lining the circular room. There’s a fireplace with a tasteful sectional couch, but the bed is the star here. It’s enormous, covered in a silky red patterned cover with lots of pillows, it’s more like an ocean liner than a bed and you could fit ten people on it.
Maybe he’s already tried that.
Shut up, brain.
“Why don’t you get ready for bed and relax?” He’s close, just over my shoulder and I can feel his wine-scented breath against my cheek. “I may be a while and I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
There are so many things I want to say, like, “Are you jumping my bones tonight and should I be prepared for that?” I can’t get the words out and that’s probably for the best.
“Okay,” I step away and that’s good, I can think more clearly. “I’ll just… see you later?”
He gives me an indulgent smile. “Don’t wait up. Get some rest.”
