Page 212 of Sinful Like Us
I draw in a deeper, stronger breath. It’s her. No one can tell me otherwise. “Fuck it.” I gently pick up the kitten. “Let’s go to dinner, Little Jane.”
* * *
To prepare me,Jane told me three things about Wednesday Night Dinner.
The dress code is anything and everything and nothing. Costumes are acceptable. Being buck-naked is also acceptable.There are no rules.
Conversation is not a requirement. Talk as much as you want or don’t talk at all.There are no rules.
But there are rules.Only one.Come as you are. Be true to you. And all will fall into place.
I took everything Jane said to heart, so I’m not wearing a suit. I’m not wearing my black slacks and a black button-down like I’m on-duty.
I’m on time. Made every green light. Surprisingly, I’m here before either Connor or Rose. And I sit at her family’s dining room table asme.
Dark denim jeans and a red flannel shirt, a kitten currently alert but tentative in the breast pocket—yeah, that’s a new development.
“She’s absolutely, positively the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.” Audrey Cobalt swoons, her gaze fixated on the tabby kitten. Jane’s sister turned fourteen in January, and right now, she looks transported from one of those PBS historical shows my grandma is always watching. A bonnet with fresh roses in a ribbon plopped on her carrot-orange hair, which spills over a ruffled white dress.
I’m hawk-eyed. Attentive.
Perceptive of everyone, everything, but there is too much to absorb. My eyes are feasting on the lavish elaborate scene. This is made for the movies.
For theater.
For history.
ForThe Phantom of the Operaand ancient sword-wielding times.
Not exactly for a man like me, but I’m not turning around. I’m not back-tracking. And I’m not made to cower. Nerves retreat.
I’m steel in a room of guys and girls ironclad from birth.
Seven sets of eyes are pinned on me.
I’ve sat down for one minute. Just as ready for hell as the minute before, and I’ll be ready a thousand minutes after.
Roasted goose and gold candlesticks line the table. I’ve always seen the remnants of this dinner in leftover containers. Strange, seeing the food before it’s torn to pieces.
A unique aroma clings to the air: a mixture of gamey meat, rosemary, garlic, vanilla and tobacco. I do another quick sweep around the dining room. Only Jane and her siblings are here, the heads of the table empty, but I think the absence of their parents might be purposeful.
I focus on Charlie.
He’s kicked back on an ornate chair, expensive shoes on a gold dish. Like he has no care in the world—but he’s watching me watch him.
Fans would go ape shit if they saw Charlie Cobalt in this setting. Teenagers would sob and cry outside this house just for apeekof him shirtless while wearing a blue floral suit—tailor-made, probably in the high-thousands—and a black choker necklace.
Most bodyguards have seen his deep flaws, his hatred and pain.
I’ve seen more as I’ve been dating Jane. But I don’t think I’ll ever really know Charlie. I doubt many ever will.
He tilts his head to Audrey. “We have more pressing matters than a stupid cat.”
“Excuse you,” Jane snaps. “This kitten is not stupid. She is an adorable sweetheart. Do you see her just resting in his pocket? It was meant to be.”
My lip almost lifts. I have an arm around my fiancée’s chair. And she looks drop-dead gorgeous.
Like always.
