His mouth quirks into that half-smile I'm starting to know too well. Why must he be so damn sexy and irresistible?
"Something like that."
The implication hangs between us, and jealousy bubbles up inside me again. I picture him with that blonde in the red dress, with all those women who seemed to know exactly who he was. Women who knew what they were doing, unlike me. I shouldn’t want to know more but for some reason I’m a glutton for punishment because my mouth opens and I speak before I can stop myself.
"So all those women…" I trail off, not even sure what I'm asking.
Frankie's hands tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white.
"What about them?"
"You've been with them? Like, all of them?"
‘Shut up Liana. Stop while you’re ahead.’
The alcohol makes me bolder than I should be. He glances at me, his eyes dark and unreadable in the shadows.
"Not all of them. But some, yes. Are we trading numbers here, Datura?"
He says that last sentence like it’s a joke. He knows I’m a virgin. I know he’s just trying to make light of the conversation but the confirmation hits harder than it should. Of course he's been with other women. Probably more than I could count. He's gorgeous and dangerous and obviously experienced. I turn away, staring out the window at the desert night rushing past. How could I be so stupid to think he would ever want me? I’m young and inexperienced and I’m certainly nothing like all of those other confident women I saw at the club.
"I haven't been with anyone since I met you," he says, suddenly breaking the silence. He speaks so quietly I almost think I've imagined it. My head whips back around in surprise.
"What?"
"You heard me."
His voice is tight and controlled, like he's fighting to keep something locked down inside.
"But…why?"
The question slips out before I can stop it. It’s obviously because babysitting me has taken up far too much of his time. He doesn't answer immediately and I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to as the silence stretches between us. Finally, after a few minutes, he speaks.
"I don’t know."
My breath catches. I don't know what to say or what to think. What does he mean he doesn’t know? That he wants me? That he feels something for me? Or is it just some twisted sense of duty to my future husband?
‘My future husband.’
The thought crashes back through my alcohol-hazed mind like ice water. In two weeks, I'll be married to a man I've never met. An old ugly man who hasn’t bothered to speak to me or meet me, even once. A man who isn't Frankie.
We drive the rest of the way in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. By the time we reach the estate, my head is spinning, and not just from the drinks. Everything feels complicated and impossible. The same anxiety from earlier today comes back ten-fold.
‘So much for a fun night out to take my mind off of everything.’
Frankie helps me out of the SUV like I’m still a drunken mess. I'm not anymore though, but I don't tell him that. This conversation quickly sobered me up but I like the feel of his hand at my waist as we walk to the front door. Inside, the house is quiet and dark except for a single light left on in the foyer. Our footsteps echo on the marble as we make our way up the staircase. I pause at my door, turning to face him.
"Frankie," I start, not even sure what I want to say. Thank you? I want you? I'm confused because I’m not sure if you feel the same?
He steps closer, and for one wild, breathless moment, I think he might actually kiss me again. Really kiss me, like he did that night at the garden and in the gym. His eyes drop to my lips, and heat floods through me.
"You should get some sleep," he says instead, his voice strained.
"Thank you for tonight," I say softly, not knowing what else to do. "I needed that."
He reaches out, his thumb gently brushing a strand of hair from my face, and that simple touch sends electricity racing across my skin.
"Goodnight, Little Datura," he murmurs, then leans down and presses his lips to my forehead.
