Page 22 of Mr. North
“All right. Heads it is.” He deftly flicks the coin, and the flash of silver spins end over end before he catches it out of the air and places it on the back of his other hand. When he takes his hand away, tails is facing up.
“Looks like I’m white,” he says matter-of-factly. “I didn’t bring the big board in here. It would have gotten in the way. I hope you don’t mind playing on this.” He taps the tablet, and the black and white squares of a chessboard fill the screen.
“Not at all.” Somehow playing with the tablet is less intimidating. The obsidian and copper set is beautiful and one of a kind, but it’s much easier to have a thin screen to tap on.
Raphael makes the first move, per the coin toss. I know I ought to play sloppily, especially after what Thalia said about me letting him win, but…I don’t. I just can’t seem to force myself to throw the game the time. There’s an odd, combative tension in the air, and it’s making me want to hand his ass to him. Raphael smirks as we play, his gaze lingering over me as we each take our turns. After fifteen minutes or so, there’s a quiet rap at the open door, and I look up to see a guy standing there with two covered plates in his hands.
“First course is ready if you are, Mr. North?” He’s maybe in his late thirties, dressed in a smart deep purple shirt and black pants. Not a waiter’s uniform. Just a well-designed outfit. His sandy hair is swept straight back, razor short on the sides, and tattoos spiral down his bare forearms.
Raphael smiles, gesturing for the man to enter with the dishes. “Yes, thank you. Beth, this is Denny. Denny, this is Beth.” He introduces us to one another like we’re both old friends of his, not people employed in his service. Or previously, albeit briefly employed on my part. Denny puts down a plate and offers out his hand to me, grinning warmly.
“Pleasure to meet you, Beth,” he says, pumping my arm up and down.
“Likewise.” He seems so happy; it’s impossible not to return his enthusiastic greeting.
“I’ve got some sorrel soup for you guys,” he says, setting down a plate before me first, and then Raphael. He removes the cloches to unveil shallow, oval shaped bowls beneath. The pale green soup inside has been artfully dashed with sour cream by the looks of things, and small sprigs of watercress. It smells absolutely delicious.
“Thank you, Denny,” Raphael says.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Absolutely. I’ll be back in a little while with your main courses. Shout if you need me in the meantime.” He leaves the dining room, humming softly under his breath.
“We’ll pause to eat,” Raphael says. Probably because he wants to take a second to regroup; I’ve taken six of his pieces already, and he’s only taken two of mine. He picks up the napkin from my table setting, and with a flick of the wrist he unfolds it. Sliding forward, he reaches across me, laying the cloth over my thighs. His face is closer to mine than it ought to be. Close enough that I can see the tiny knick on his jawline, just below his ear, where he’s caught himself shaving. His eyes, only two inches away, are pale and flecked with silver, like threads of silk. He smells fresh again, like citrus and clean laundry. He doesn’t turn his head to look at me, but he glances sideways, smirking just a little. “You’re holding your breath,” he observes.
“I’m not.”
“You’ve gone red.”
“I’m just—it’s the wine. I always get a little rosy when I drink red wine.”
“Mmm. Okay .” Raphael leans back, eyes lowered. He doesn’t believe me.
“Why did you ask Thalia to have me come here?” I blurt. The question’s been burning in my mind ever since she told me the truth. A thousand potential reasons have come to mind, ranging from Raphael somehow finding out that I’m really good at chess, to the possibility that I remind Raphael of some long dead relative or something. At no point have I allowed myself to consider that he asked me to come here because he saw me in that photo and decided that he was attracted to me. But with moves like the one he just pulled with the napkin…
Raphael picks up his spoon and points it at me. “Why do you think I did it?” He doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t seem remotely surprised that I’m willing to bring this up, now that that whole Craigslist ad charade is over.
“I don’t know. Honestly, I’ve been wondering, and I can’t think of a good enough reason that would have made you ask for me specifically.”
Raphael dips the spoon into his soup, then slowly slides it into his mouth. He makes the simple act of eating soup the most erotic thing I’ve ever witnessed. He’s unhurried, unworried, totally at ease. I feel like I’m about to throw up. When he’s finished with his mouthful, he carefully places the spoon down beside his bowl and looks at me intently. “I used to laugh with Thalia, the way you were laughing with Thalia on Instagram. I used to be able to drink and socialize and be a goofball with her, and with Pax. I haven’t been able to in a long time, though. I was intrigued. I could tell by looking at that photo that you’d taken my place in Thalia’s life a little, and I was interested. I was interested in what kind of person you were. I wanted to meet you. I wanted to make sure you were going to be good for her.”
What a strange thing to say. A strange thing to feel, as well. I look down into my soup bowl, thinking for a second. “If you’re so concerned about Thalia, about someone else replacing you in her circle of friends, why won’t you just spend time with her?”
“I would if I could. But…” His brow creases with lines. “It’s not that easy.”
“You’re in love with her.” I say this because I am so sure of it now. There’s no way he can possibly feel anything else for her given the way he’s speaking. Raphael’s pained expression turns to one of surprise, however. He bursts out laughing.
“God, no. No way. Thalia is my sister. Or she might as well be. That’s definitely how I see her. She sees me the same way.”
“Then why? Seriously, she misses you so much. I can tell by the way she speaks about you.”
The muscles in Raphael’s throat work overtime. He frowns deeply as he studies his hands. “I was in an accident. Something terrible happened, and afterwards…everything was different. It couldn’t ever be the same again. So, no. I can’t be a part of Thalia’s life anymore. Not the way I used to. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get to be curious about what’s going on with her.”
A deep well of sadness opens up inside me. His words when he speaks about Thalia carry such obvious affection, and obvious pain. “The accident? Was it…?”
It doesn’t seem like Raphael wants to talk about the accident, he practically shrank back into his seat at the very mention of it, but I can’t stop myself. I don’t see why I should. I’m tired of the secrets. I’m tired of not knowing what’s going on. I’m tired of being uninformed and trying to navigate this whole situation blindly.
Raphael looks up at me sharply. “Was it what?”
