Page 72 of Forbidden Dance
Chapter 25
Part one of my escape plot is to feed my family into sleep oblivion. Chicken pot pie is everyone’s favorite, and they will all eat it until they can’t move. I volunteer for kitchen duty and slice celery and onion, chicken and potatoes, adding peas and carrots, and putting the monstrous pie in the oven.
For dessert I make chocolate cake from scratch with a thick creamy layer of frosting.
I texted Blitz the moment I changed clothes from the rain, and throughout the day I’ve caught up on all the messages he sent while I wasn’t checking. I can see his mixed emotions in them, ranging from elation to regret. I guess even reality TV stars are allowed to have moments of doubt.
At dinner, I encourage seconds and large helpings. I handle the dishes afterward too, keeping everyone sluggish. I make coffee, but it’s decaf, and by the time Andy goes to bed at eight, my parents are making comments about an early night as well.
I stretch and agree, heading to the bathroom to change into pajamas.
I pick up a novel, a parent-approved story about a Quaker family, and say good night to everyone. I turn out the overhead light and keep on only a small lamp.
And listen.
Water running. Doors closing. Murmurs. Then quiet.
The phone is charged so I keep it tucked under a pillow. Wherever Blitz is, he’s obviously not distracted as he responds to every message within seconds.
Around ten, I carefully crack open my door. The house is dark. I close it again and change clothes. I know what I want tonight from Blitz. I slide on a sweater without a bra. And a skirt. No panties. The feel of the rough fabric against my skin is sensual and I shiver. I send him a quick text that I’m heading out.
I hold my shoes in my hand. I grab my puffy red coat off the back of a chair. I tuck the phone in a pocket.
The hall is dark and silent. I close my door and creep to the living room. I’m afraid the front door is too close to my parents’ bedroom wall, so I head to the kitchen and go out the back. We don’t have a garage, just a covered carport that holds Mom’s sagging minivan and Dad’s rusting old Pontiac.
The cold hits me in an icy blow. I still manage to turn and close the door carefully. At this point I just have to run. If I’ve been heard, I want to at least get away.
I shove my shoes on my frozen feet and take off across the yard. God, it’s cold. We don’t get weather like this very often in San Antonio.
The street is quiet as I run down the sidewalk to the park. At least it isn’t raining anymore.
I haven’t gone far when I see the red Ferrari slowly inching down the street. My hair streams behind me. By the time I reach the car, Blitz has opened the side door for me.
“Oh, Princess, it’s way too cold for royalty to be out in this weather,” he says.
I slam the door closed, sucking in a breath. “I’m fine,” I say, my teeth chattering from both the chill and the anxiety of my escape.
Blitz cranks the heater and it blows fiery bliss onto my feet.
“Is it okay if we go to my hotel, or is that too much?” he asks.
“That sounds perfect,” I say. I had hoped that would be the case, not his family’s house or some public place. I’m done with that.
I finally warm up enough to take in where I am and what I’ve done. Blitz peers out onto the street as we take off. The fog makes visibility low. The lamps over each intersection have a hazy glow. You can’t see much past each traffic light.
“Spooky,” I say.
“It’s like we’re driving into oblivion,” he says.
Maybe we are.
He reaches over for my hand. “I’m very close, just at the interstate. I didn’t want to be far from you.”
My heart hammers. “Does your family know you’re in town?”
“I didn’t tell them, but I think my mom follows the Blitz sightings hashtag. She says it’s nice to know where her boy is.”
“Have you been spotted here?”
