Page 52 of The Himbo and the Lord

I’ve never heard or seen him laugh like this, and I simply can’t be mad at him. I can’t.

“The whale thought you were delicious, huh?” he asks, before bursting out another cackle.

“Oh, shush,” I grumble, and squeeze his hand. “It was a traumatic experience, Rupert,” I mock-scold him, but I give him time to settle back down.

“I bet it was,” he says at last, with his brilliant smile still on his face.

“Okay, so let me get back to my apology?—”

“The one you rehearsed,” he says softly, and now he looks more somber and... deep. I don’t know how to fucking describe it, but it makes me feel exposed and... uncomfortable.

“I wanted to get it right,” I defend myself, for no apparent reason.

“How many times did you rehearse it?” he questions, his voice low now, and though he still looks serious, I can see he’s amused.

I harrumph, something I don’t enjoy doing, but it comes out regardless.

“I didn’t count.” Maybe I do sound a bit offended.

“Who did you rehearse with?” he presses, and I have to sigh and lean back further in my chair.

“The waiter’s about to come out with the first course, Ru—Rupert,” I correct myself, sincewe’re not friends. “Can I just get through it?”

“Forget about the waiter. I want to hear all about the preparations before I get the end result.” He quirks one eyebrow and from the very little I know of him, I know he’s not going to let this go.

This is thelordI’m speaking to now, and I guess it’s a part of the man I’m crazy about, so even though it pains me, I pull my hand back from his and cross my arms over my chest, and I quirk a cocky eyebrow back at him.

“I rehearsed with Noah, Seth, and my sister.”

“Seth is?—”

“One of the guys who was with me in Australia,” I confirm before he can get the full question out.

“So he knows?—”

“He knew hours after the scene at the club. I told all of them the next morning, about everything that had happened between us, and then they spent all day helping me look for you in every hotel in Melbourne.” I recite the whole ordeal in a matter-of-fact tone. I know that if I let myself feel an ounce of the regret or mortification from that day, I’ll break, and I can’t.

This is an interrogation. This is the moment I owe him, where he can do and say whatever he wants, get all the answers he wants. And though I believe he has a lot more questions, he doesn’t get to ask them, because like I told him would happen, the waiter appears the next second.

He explains what the dishes are, I’m sure, but I couldn’t repeat a single word of it since I’m staring at Ru as if my life depends on it.

I mean, not to be dramatic, but at the moment it feels like it does.

I have a visceral need to know what he’s feeling, thinking, planning. It feels like I need to prepare to defend myself?—

And that’s not what I want to build between us. Not ever.

But thelordneeds this, and I hope it’s just for now.

So when the waiter leaves, I look down and see a... kind of salad, I suppose. I think it has caviar, and maybe some type of fish. Anchovies? Who knows, but it doesn’t look like a warm dish, so we can take our damn time eating it.

“Any more questions, or can I get on with my speech?”

“You think it’ll work?” he throws back at me, and I have to sigh again.

“I don’t know how the fuck you expect me to know. What we shared in Australia was special to me. The sex was bomb, Rupert, and don’t try to deny it,” I warn and point a finger at him. He concedes with a nod. “It was fucking spectacular, that’s the truth, but it was talking to you about what himbos really are, seeing you all tired and grumpy that first night, it was hearing about how you also have an older sister who’s a know-it-all.” I shake my head and look away. “I know I don’t know all of you, but what I do know, Ireally fucking like. So I have no way of knowing if my apology will actually work. I hope it does. I hope I get the chance to explore this between us, to know even more about you. I hope I get the chance to date you and try to find out if all the feelings I already have for you are real.”

He’s silent for a long moment—the longest thirty seconds of my life—and his eyes don’t stray from mine for even a millisecond. Again, it feels like he can lookintome, but this time I welcome the uncomfortable feeling.

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