It isn’t Lex who comes to my rescue, but the doorbell that chimes. The catering service Mrs. Coleman hired has arrived, so she leaves me alone to handle that. Lex, who was shaken out of his thoughts by the doorbell, takes her place, pulling me closer to him with a hand on my hip. “As soon as I can, I’m throwing everyone out, and we’ll return to our original plan,” he promises.
“You can’t, Lex. They came all the way from Dallas and New York.”
“But you’re the only one I want to celebrate with.”
“We’ll have other birthdays,” I negotiate.
Resigned, Lex sighs, not hiding his disappointment. After a quick glimpse at his family across the room, he bends toward me, his warm breath caressing the curve of my throat. “Are you truly wearing nothing under your sexy dress?” he asks, his whisper pouring into my ear like an erotic promise. For the first time since I arrived, I’m comfortable. In the familiar bubble of desire and lust he so effortlessly weaves around me, I feel like myself, like nothing can get to me.
“You’ll have to wait and see,” I reply.
“I think I’d like to check now. It’s my birthday, after all, so I can get anything I want.”
He runs his hand down my hip and thigh until it reaches the end of the dress. Slowly, he brings it back up, leisurely raising the dark blue velvet.
His adventurous hand is hidden from the others by the kitchen island, so I’m tempted to let him run his fingers to where my underwear should be. I want him to see how naughty I am for him.
Someone laughs loudly, taking me out of the trance Lex hypnotized me in. I grab his hand firmly and push it down. “You’ll get to see how much of a slut I am after they’re gone, baby.” I soften the rebuttal with a small kiss on his jaw and leave him alone in the kitchen.
On my way to the group, I can barely hold back a proud grin. I love to bend to Lex’s will, but I also love leaving him wanting more. Even if he’ll make me pay for it tenfold.
Although I’m always happy to see my sisters, nieces, and nephews, this is an instance I definitely would rather have skipped. But I’m aware of how much preparation and organization this must have taken, so I bite down my desire to throw everyone out.
The caterers are already settled in the kitchen, and a sommelier is passing among us with flutes of champagne. It won’t take long before they’re all out, especially since they came with children. They’ll need to leave to put them to bed. And then I’ll be alone with Andrea.
Her pretty little dress is driving me mad, with most of her back exposed, a front that could flash her nipples with one wrong move, and the mid-thigh skirt that gives easy access to her bare pussy. She definitely bought it with me in mind, as if she knew just how much I’d want to rip it off of her.
She’s the last one to get a glass, and the sommelier leaves us alone, gathered in the sitting area. Lucy loudly clears her throat and raises her flute.
“I can’t believe my baby brother is celebrating his 35th birthday,” she starts. “I still remember that chubby little kid, a little awkward and clumsy.”
Emilia chimes in with, “He isn’t chubby or clumsy anymore, but he’s still awkward.” That gets a few people laughing, including Andrea, who looks at me with a warm smile.
“Little brother,” Lucy continues, “we’re all so proud of everything you’ve accomplished and how far you’ve come. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think of those few years you spent with us at Harvard.” Her husband, who lived with us as her boyfriend then, nods. “And being your sister has been one of the great honors of my life, Lexi. So, to you, Alexander, and to the rest of your life.”
She raises her glass as everyone repeats, “To Alexander.”
We all take a sip of champagne, and Julia wriggles with excitement. “Now, the gifts!”
They scatter to fetch things in their bags or coats, and I’m left with Andrea, who sends me an alarmed glance. Earlier, when I handled the bag she wanted me to hide, I couldn’t help but notice it was a wrapped present. Whatever’s in there probably isn’t appropriate for the way our evening turned out, which only piques my curiosity further.
“There you go!” Julia says, handing me a small velvet box. I set my glass on the low table, wait for everyone to return, and open it. It’s a pair of cufflinks withAJLCengraved on them—my initials.
“It’s palladium,” she proudly explains.
“Thank you, Julia.”
Then Lucy hands me a similar but elongated box with a Montblanc fountain pen inside. My initials are also there, in the same font.
“We worked together on that one with Julia,” Lucy explains. “It’s also palladium.”
“I appreciate it, thank you.”
The server walks among us again with a plate of warm bite-size savories, and when the distraction is gone, I take Emilia’s gift. It’s a bottle of Japanese whiskey that she explains is extremely hard to find. Well, at least this gift will serve a purpose. Miriam then hands me a box, and the size and weight tell me it’s a watch. I don’t expect it to be as ugly as it is, though. When did Cartier start making such bad designs?
Again, I’m reminded why my birthday was never something to be excited about. None of these actually matter, and it’s as if they don’t know who I am enough to find more personal ideas. But that might be on me and my inability to let people in.
The kids come one by one to hand me three drawings and what looks like an ashtray—but it’s a bowl made of painted air-dry clay, Millie explains.
