Page 129 of The Black Table
“But you enjoyed it last night,” she says. “Didn’t you?” She shakes her head, eyes still intent on the manuscript facsimile. “Granted, I don’t know anything about fencing, obviously, but it was like…like watching an entirely different sport all of a sudden.”
My heartbeat raises again. Like I’ve just lunged forward.
“I may have gotten carried away,” I admit.
She gives a short laugh.
“Well, as your equipment manager, I’m glad you did. Gave me something to do.”
I spread out the sheets in front of us, the spidery lettering in uneven tilting rows written out by someone arthritic in the days before college-ruled notebook paper. Gwenna’s green eyes go wide, and she leans forward, intrigue and excitement all over her face, her hair brushing her shoulders as she scans over them. She bounces a tiny bit in place on her knees, like she can’t wait, like this is fun.
I smile, and forget to fight it.
I get down the floor too, sink to my knees, look at the facsimiles, then look at her face. She must notice because she looks up, too. At me.
“What?” she says quickly, all enthusiasm drained away in an instant.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I say. “It’s just…”
I tense my mouth to the side, press my hands to the table, try to pin down the thought that’s floating around in my mind.
“I think that’s how I felt,” I say at last. “Last night, when I was on the strip against Moroslav. The way you’re looking at these. Like it wasn’t work or something I had to do, but…”
“…something you get to do.” She finishes for me and catches my eye.
I can only nod. “Yes.”
“Yes,” she repeats, mocking my tone of voice. “Who talks like that? You can’t sayyeahorsure?”
I smile.
“Sure.”
Gwenna rolls her eyes, blows out a breath, and even though the light in here is dim, I catch a hint of a blush across her cheeks.
It’s nice. I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.
“Here,” I say.
I rise, go to the console and pick up two of the tapers there, a book of matches. I set them on the table and I’m about to strike when realization hits me.
“Never mind,” I say, gathering the candlesticks. “That was rude of me. I shouldn’t?—”
A hand catches my wrist, stops me.
“It’s fine,” Gwenna says. “I’m not—I can handle it.”
I look at her, intently, making sure she’s telling the truth and not just trying to please me.
And yet. The very thought that she would do something just to please me is…
I swallow hard. The blood in my wrist beating against the pressure of her fingers.
“Really, Kingston.” She gives a small nod, releases me. “Get some light in here so we can work.”
I nod, place the candlesticks on either side of the table, and light the wicks.
In the soft light, she looks…beautiful.
