Page 58 of The Black Table
Seeing my non-response, Kai backs off. “Kidding, of course. King wouldn’t hurt a fly. Probably.” He chews his lip ring as he smiles, a move that makes me wince.
And when I do, his smile fades.
“Something wrong?” he asks.
“I…no.”
It’s not convincing, not at all. Like I burned all my lie-fuel in the virtual session with Dr. Riggs and now am running on empty.
And Kai doesn’t suffer fools. That much is obvious. His eyes go from my face to the R.S.V.P. card clutched so tightly in my hand I’ve left a dent in it.
“Ah,” he says. “First formal dinner jitters? Don’t worry. Apparently there’s enough free wine to keep everything nice and lubricated, socially speaking.”
For a moment, curiosity supplants my anxiety, and I lift an eyebrow. “Apparently?”
“Well, so I’ve heard. Because, you know. The risk of debauchery. Not something befitting us holy rollers of Camlann.” He presses his hands together in a little mock prayer. “But I bet you’ll have fun.”
Something about his certainly is unnerving. “I’m not going,” I say forcefully. So forcefully, in fact, that Kai looks taken aback.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, glancing again at the R.S.V.P. card. He tips his head. “Why miss out?”
“I…” My mind flicks through myriad excuses, plausible, nonsuspicious reasons I wouldn’t bother getting dressed up and dining by candlelight. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
It’s notuntrue, at least, if not the real reason. My wardrobe hardly has anything that would be consideredproper attire; I’m not even sure I own a pair of tights without a run in them.
But as soon as I say it, his expression changes. A sidelong grin pulls at his lips, his eyes alight.
“Well, that’s easily fixable, isn’t it?”
He straightens, steps directly in front of me—close. Too close, really, just an inch or so of space between us that feels warm with the heat of his body yet flooded with the cool, rich scent of his cologne. His eyes flick up and down my form as he digs for the phone in his pocket, whips it out and starts swipe-typing with one hand.
I stand, frozen, the situation unreadable and my instincts giving me no clue as how to exit swiftly.
“What are you?—”
Kai interrupts me, looking up. “You’re what, 34-26-37?” He frowns, tips his head a little more. Smiles. “Make that36-26-37.”
Are those…my measurements? I fold my arms over my chest. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I blurt out, the overload of adrenaline in my veins overriding my need to be polite.
Kai ignores the question.
“Here. Hold this.” He passes me the phone and pats his jeans pockets, his jacket pockets, then fishes a hand inside for a wallet, from which he extracts a card that he then holds in his teeth as he replaces the wallet with one hand and gestures for the phone back with the other.
“Thanks,” he says, removing the card and holding it at arm’s length to study the number. He glances at me again. “I’m gonna say…dark colors. Long sleeves.” His gaze drifts to my turtleneck. “High necklines.”
“That’s…what?” I stammer, piecing together what’s going on. “You can’t just…buy me clothes.”
“Me? No. I’m broke as fuck,” Kai says, his grin widening. “But Daddy Pendragon’s got a black card, and was stupid enough to put his foster son on the credit line.”
With one final tap of the thumb, he nods.
“Done. Package from Neiman’s coming to Broceliande Hall by 5 p.m. Wear your favorite and keep the rest.”
I’m too stunned to speak. Tooconfusedto speak, really.
“Better get that R.S.V.P. in, though,” he adds, nodding at the card in my hand. “Don’t want them to give away your seat.”
Finally, I find my voice. “Why would you…why did you do that?”
