As I try to eat and enjoy the divine dish, the East Coast witch rambles on and on, as if she needs to note her value in society.
The duck is truly incredible, and again, the saucy tease has my mouth coming with saliva.
There is no way in hell Samantha can ever leave my employ. I just need a way to trick her into staying.
Forever.
“Look, Harry, even if you were a terrible rascal of ill repute in the day, you can change. You may well have bedded half of Beverly Hills and the Hamptons, but I think we need to do this,” Elizabeth says.
“And what is that?” I ask, thanking God Samantha is out of earshot.
“Well, we should marry, of course!”
“What?” I ask as sparkling water spurts from my mouth.
I knock a fork off the table as I wipe away the water.
“We have a past.”
“I fucked you on the lawn,” I say, clarifying the wicked deed.
“It was divine.”
It was not, and I had to think of her mother blowing me to come.
“You need to settle down, and so do I, Harrison!”
Samantha returns with a clean fork and smiles, unseen by Elizabeth.
“Look, Elizabeth. Are you not bedding that skinny aristocrat in Argentina with the weird name?” I say. “Also, that feeble prince in Europe? Baron something?”
“Yes, Harrison. I was. But that was last month. And I do like it out here. The Hamptons is becoming a bore.”
As I finish my duck, I consider faking food poisoning. I could fake-vomit with ease, and then put water on my head for sweat.
“We can learn to love, dear.”
I ignore the heiress, and I am starting to sweat naturally. She could derail all my business plans. I then remember the fish that for some reason I was told to ignore.
At the end of the table, the rake places more of it in between her thin lips. She then wipes her skinny lips as if they need it.
The heiress stands and walks my way as if she is sexy. She is not, and she looks like a junkie ex-model, half asleep.
Before I can move, she runs skinny fingers around my neck. I cringe at her weak attempt at flirting. Quickly, I stand rigid. I can now just see into the kitchen, and I can see Samantha leaning against a table.
She is watching me through the swinging door, and we exchange a glance. Our eyes then lock. She can see I am stationary, awkward, and that the heiress is circling me.
“Harry, you need to socialize more. You are becoming rather feral.”
Samantha and I hold the look, and she walks forward and smiles. She knows me, and she knows I need space.
As the rake runs her claw-like fingers around my shoulder, Samantha opens the door with her foot.
She then watches the show with arms crossed and a grin.
I step around the witch and start to play hard to get. Just inside the kitchen and unseen, Samantha watches on, intrigued.
“I’m just unsure my blood is blue enough for you, dear.”
