I start laughing as well. The entire moment is a little absurd. Feeding me mayo-covered fries and getting all sexy with it. “It’s kind of bland. That’s what your country’s cuisine is known for, right? Flavorlessness?”
“Ha. Ha,” he deadpans. But a smile quirks the side of his mouth when he says, “Is that why I’m so drawn to you?Because you bring flavor and texture and spice to my bland existence? You make me want to taste every moment we’re together. Savor it.”
Hot damn.
I love it when he talks like this, so open with his feelings. I’m always on guard, worried I might reveal too much, but this boy has been an open book with me lately, and it fills me with guilt. I want to share more with him. Tell him everything, though I know that’s not possible. But revealing little, inconsequential personal facts about myself here and there—that’s okay, right?
“I have my own reason for being drawn to you,” I start, going silent when I see the light in his eyes. He definitely wants to hear those reasons, though I don’t want to list the obvious ones. “For one, I like that you’re an artist.”
Connor tilts his head, appearing confused. “Why is that?”
“Well, my mother is an incredible artist. Not that I inherited any of her talent.” I laugh softly. “I’m probably a disappointment in that area.”
Not that my mother has encouraged me to create any art in the last few years. She hasn’t painted for so long, I wonder if she’s forgotten how.
“Your mother is an artist? Has she shown her pieces anywhere?”
I shake my head, my appetite disappearing when I think about Mom. “She doesn’t paint anymore. She’s … sick. And it’s not the kind of sick that gets better, at least so far. Though I have hopes she’ll recover soon and rediscover her artistic abilities. It gave her so much peace and joy, being able to paint. I miss that for her.”
“I’m sure you do,” Connor murmurs. “Is it hard, being sofar away from her?”
“Part of the reason I’m here is to give her time to get well.” It’s partially true, isn’t it? Part of my agreement with Peter was to get Mom into the best rehabilitation center money can buy. I know she has to want to recover, and I’m hoping this time it works. For her.
And for me.
“I hope she does.” The warmth in Connor’s tone makes my shoulders relax. I reach for another fry and pop it into my mouth.
“I do too.” A sigh leaves me, and I lean back in my chair. “I don’t want to talk about depressing stuff.”
“Me neither. Let’s change the subject.” He does exactly that, launching into a story about his father. “I spoke to him on the phone earlier. He sounds great, like the weight of an entire world has been lifted off his shoulders.”
“I’m sure that’s exactly how he feels.” I reach across the table and tangle our fingers together. “I’m so happy for you, Connor. That your father has been exonerated. I’m sure your parents are glad it’s all over.”
“It’s not quite over.” He curls his fingers around mine. “There will be all sorts of legal depositions and a trial. My father believes there’s plenty of evidence against William Pembroke, but he’s a powerful man with strong ties to even more powerful people. What if he gets away with this?”
“He won’t.” My voice is firm. “I have a feeling he’s not going to get away with this. I’m guessing he’ll get serious prison time.”
“He might, and then again, he might not.” Connor keeps his head bent, his focus on our connected hands. “I don’t know.”
“Hey.” He lifts his head at my strong tone. “Don’t let thedoubts in. You’ve stood by your father through all of this. Have some faith and believe that justice will be served.”
I need to take my own advice. I have to keep believing there will be justice for Emily and Isla. We’re less than forty-eight hours away from Isla’s potential arrest, and I can’t let it happen.
“You’re right.” He lets go of my hand and pushes away from the table, rising to his feet. “Are you finished with your dinner?”
“Definitely.” I stand as well, and he takes my hand again, leading me across the greenhouse to a makeshift tent created out of white cotton sheets, with more white fairy lights strung inside. A pile of blankets and pillows spills across the floor. The cozy setup has me squealing and throwing my arms around Connor. “You’ve gone all out tonight.”
“I wanted to.” His arms slide around my waist, pulling me in close. “I know we’ve only known each other a short time, but I—I care about you, Billie.”
I stare up at him, getting lost in his dark-gray gaze for a few seconds. It’s too fast for us to have feelings this big for each other. Logically, I know this, but I also know that being in a pressure cooker of drama and emotion, secrets and lies, life and death … it can change a person’s perspective. Reveal what’s really important. Make impossible intensity feel totally grounded in reality. I try not to overthink the words on the tip of my tongue. I just let myself feel. “I care about you, too, Connor.”
“I felt so hopeless before,” he admits, bending down so he can press his forehead against mine. “What happened to my dad. My sister. I didn’t understand why you’d want to bearound me at all. I felt like a disease that would infect anyone who got too close. But now, after my father’s been cleared, I feel more … whole. Even before that, though, you were starting to bring me back to myself. You made me feel needed. Wanted. Like an actual normal human being instead of the empty shell I’d been for the last few months. I thought I wouldn’t be able to feel anything anymore, but you convinced me otherwise, and I can’t thank you enough for that.”
You’ve done the same for me.The words crawl up my throat, demanding to be released. But they come dangerously close to revealing what I can’t, so instead of saying anything, I press my mouth to his, cutting myself off. He returns the kiss but pulls back too soon to stare into my face, concern overpowering the lustful haze in his eyes that must be a mirror of my own. Can he sense my uneasiness? My need to forget my problems for the next few hours and just be? Does he understand that feeling?
He has to.
His mouth returns to mine, and he slides his hands into my hair, gently tugging, holding me in place. I absorb him, wishing he would swallow me whole. I run my hands up and down his back before pulling him closer. He presses his big body close to mine, and I lean into his heat, his strength, letting him guide me backward until we’re both on the floor, lying on the pile of blankets he made just for me. For us.
