Page 41 of Where We Began

- Chapter 17 -

Laiken

“For the last time,I have no idea why you're asking me this.”

The woman stares at me like I have two heads. She holds up the sheet covered in square blocks of color. “Because someone has to pick the color of the table cloths, and I was told that person was you.”

“Table cloths for what?” I ask in exasperation. “And who would tell you to ask me anything?”

“I did,” Dominic says. I turn and see him standing in the kitchen doorway. His shoulder is propped against the white frame, and with his sandy brown shirt touching the paint, he reminds me of a snowcapped mountain. His eyes stick to me, refusing to move even an inch in any other direction. He's removed all pretenses about his hunger for me, and knowing that, while being under his hot stare, makes me squeeze my thighs together.

The woman sighs, flapping the color board at Dominic. “Sir, she won't pick a tablecloth color.”

A look passes between the two of them. “Wait, is this for what I think it's for?”

The side of his mouth pulls up sharply. “I talked to my father, he says we should move forward with the party.”

I'm blown away. The burst of relief that hits me leaves me boneless in my chair. I'm glad I'm sitting. “Dominic, that's such good news.” I'm grinning so wide that my cheeks hurt.

He moves into the room, and as he does, he brings a sexual energy that I'm not prepared for. My excitement has left me open, and I barely recover before he stands in front of me. “I didn't think it was right to leave the details about the party up to anyone but you, considering it was your idea.”

I inhale, trying not to take in too much of his scent. “That's nice, but expensive things like this aren't really my style. Have youlookedat me?” I mean it as a self-deprecating joke. He purposefully runs his eyes over me, like I am a delicious dessert created just for him. I swallow nervously. “My point is I'm not a fancy socialite.”

“Honey,” the woman says, clucking her tongue. “You don't have to be a socialite to decide if you like green or gold or blue. Just pick a color, and we'll go from there.”

I glance up at Dominic and he shrugs. “If you hesitate here,” he says softly, “this party is never going to happen. There's going to be a lot of choices to make.”

Stealing myself, I eyeball the selection of colors with a critical eye. “When is the party going to happen?”

“A week from now, in November.”

I nod to myself. “So it'll be cold, but not quite winter. Is it still okay for things to be white?”

“Go with your gut,” the woman says.

“My gut says I don't know what I'm doing. But white sounds nice. Let's go with that.”

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