Page 35 of Stone
His stomach twisted at the hesitation he saw on her face. She forged on, though.
“It didn’t take long for me to learn the real reason they’d taken me in. My uncle was in a particularly challenging race that year. Their decision had nothing to do with familial feelings. My aunt thought it would go over well with voters.”
The bread in his mouth grew harder to chew. “How old were you?”
“When I found out the real reason they agreed to be my guardian?” He nodded. “I’d just turned eight. About six months after I moved in. I overheard them talking to his campaignmanager about how best to use me without it being obvious what they were doing.”
“I knew I didn’t like that guy,” he muttered, hating Senator Morgan even more.
“I’m not making excuses for him, but honestly, my aunt is the worst of the two. I’d been a tomboy with my parents. We hiked and swam and camped and climbed trees. I had perpetually skinned knees from falling all the time, and my parents kept my hair short. I liked to be either outside or in my room reading. I didn’t like parties and wasn’t big on socializing. It didn’t help that I’m built…bigger. I wasn’t, I’m not, exactly the picture of traditional femininity.”
“Wait, hold up, right there,” he said, unable to let that last comment slide. “First,” he said, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “If we’re talking about the purely aesthetic, you are fucking gorgeous. All curves and lushness and, I may get slapped for this, and I’d deserve it, but your breasts are every man’s wet dream. You have an amazing rack.”
She arched a brow at his comment but fought back a snort. Not in disbelief, but at his delivery. The twinkle in her eyes warmed him in places he hadn’t even realized were cold.
“Second, what does ‘traditional femininity’ even mean?” he continued. “Not to sound too abstract, but people make that shit up. Believe me, I know. I’ve been called a ‘traditional man’s man,’ and what the fuck does that mean? Is it because I served in the military and, forgive my bluntness, killed people? Is it because I know how to use guns and survive in the wilderness? Is it because I survived an IED and assassination attempt? I have news for people who think that all equates to the epitome of masculinity: first, there are women who’ve done the same thing and are badass, so it’s not a ‘man’s domain,’ and second, it ignores everything else about me. It reduces me to only this thing that the US government built. It doesn’t acknowledge thatI like to garden and cook and read. It doesn’t recognize that I believe in love and hope.
“I want to hear as much as you’ll tell me about what your aunt and uncle put you through. But whatever they said or did to you to make you feelless, they were wrong. You are the mostyouyou can be. You’re smart, funny, caring, sexy as hell. And if you still like camping and hiking and climbing trees, you have a partner in crime in me.”
He’d said nothing but the truth but realized too late it might have been too much, too soon. He shifted in his seat, and his gaze darted around the room. Maybe the waiter would bring their next course? When Juliana remained silent, he forced himself to meet her eyes.
A beat passed, then she smiled and looked away. “For clarity, it’s a good thing you like my rack. It’s the only one I have, so if youdon’tlike it, you’re SOL.”
18
Stone stilled at her comment, then laughed; a second later, she joined him, her cheeks flushing. They quieted when a busboy stopped by to clear the table, followed by a waiter who set large bowls with small helpings of risotto in front of each of them. Stone leaned over and inhaled, catching hints of lemon and truffle.
“It’s traditional here,” Juliana said, picking up her spoon. “Starting with the antipasti, now the primi. A meat dish will be next with sides of vegetables. Depending on how hungry we are—or how much Rocco and Emma think we should eat—there may be a salad before the dessert.”
“I will not say no to anything they put in front of me,” he said before dipping into the mound of risotto in front of him. A tangy punch from the fresh Parmesan burst across his tongue, followed by the earthy flavor of truffles. He ate a few more bites before getting back to their earlier conversation.
“You don’t have to tell me more, but I’m guessing your childhood wasn’t great after you moved in with your aunt and uncle?”
She finished chewing, looking much more comfortable with the conversation than she had only moments ago. He’d have to remember to mention her rack whenever she got uncomfortable.
She bobbed her head from side to side. “There were okay parts to it. They sent me to a boarding school outside DC when high school started. It was a bougie-douchey school, but there were good people there, too. And great teachers who liked kids like me—ones who wanted to learn and didn’t think the world owed me everything.”
“And your cousin, are you close?”
She snorted and shook her head. “No, Elizabeth and I were not—and are not—close at all. Her mother raised her to expect much from the world. And by ‘much,’ I mean adoration, jewels,things. She honestly believes that herjobis to go to the gym and host dinner parties. I mean, if she were a bodybuilder or that’s how she made a living, then sure. But that’s not what’s going on. I’m not denigrating those things or the people who do them—my issue is more with how Elizabeth thinks about them. She has a full staff of people who tend to everything, but still, no one has it as hard as she does because—gasp—she spends two hours a day with her personal trainer five days a week.” She added that last with an eye roll. Yeah, he could see why she didn’t get along with her cousin.
Juliana took another bite, her spoon stabbing into her risotto. “And she’s mean. Just like her mom. It doesn’t bother me as much anymore because I managed to find people in my life who taught me what real friendship and real family are like. People like Alyce and Chiara and Rocco and Emma. But growing up around those two was brutal. No one can toss out a cutting backhanded compliment like my aunt. And Elizabeth didn’t even try to camouflage her insults.”
He thought back to a few days ago when he’d knelt before her and tended to her stubbed toe. To the wary surprise in her eyesat his attentions. He’d known then that something in her past had done that to her. That it was her family, though, had anger flaring in his gut. Sure, his parents had been shitty, but he’d had his brother, and he hadn’t been a grieving seven-year-old. Nor had he ever known the love she had, only to have it ripped away.
“Don’t be mad on my behalf,” Juliana said, drawing his attention as he finished his risotto.
“Hard not to,” he admitted.
“I appreciate it, I do. But it’s not necessary.”
He wasn’t going to argue with her about it. “The wedding is where you went the first time that I asked you to dinner and you had to cancel, isn’t it?”
The busboy came and cleared the table while also dropping off a bottle of sparkling water.
After he left, she answered. “Yes. I tried to get away with not attending. That type of event isn’t exactly my thing. For a whole bunch of reasons. But alas, I was summoned. And before you ask why I felt compelled to go, despite disagreeing with about every one of my uncle’s political positions, he’s always been kind to me. He asked me to be there. Like I said, my aunt and cousin were the problem. Well, the primary problem. He never stood up for me or stopped them, but when it was just the two of us, we’d talk. Mostly about what I was reading or my classes. Those were some of the only conversations I can remember that weren’t laced with either antagonism or condescension.”
His chest ached thinking of her as a little girl, alone in a house of vipers, having lost her parents and with only one person to talk to whom she could never fully trust.
