Page 33 of His Haunted Desire
I shrug. “I was a Marine. I saved my cash. I went into real estate and made a terrible deal, and lost almost all of it.”
A man walks past us, turns, and looks at Aurora as if checking her out. Under the table, my hands curl into a fist. My possessiveness is supposed to just be for show, but it’s rearing its head and pissing me off. I don’t enjoy not being in control.
“Do you read? Paint? Watch movies? Don’t make this feel like an interrogation.”
We’re interrupted by the waiter.
“We’ll take two sparkling waters,” I say. “And two steaks, with fries. How do you like your steak cooked?”
Aurora makes a point of closing her menu. “Medium, please.” When the waiter leaves, she says, “You enjoy bossing me around, huh?”
“Guilty as charged,” I tell her with a wink. “But I can think of better places to do it.”
She shakes her head. The pout is back, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. “No one can hear us. We’re just two people talking.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t need to say things like that; this isn’t part of the show.”
I reach across the table and cover her hand with mine.
“My favorite movies are Halloween flicks,” I tell her.
“Really?” She sounds hopeful, excited. But also doubtful, as if she expects everything to have a second meaning, a punchline behind the exterior façade.
“Really,” I tell her. “You feel the same?”
“I love Halloween movies. I love horror. I love dark escapism, even in books.” She talks breathlessly, her enthusiasm making me smile. “Horror movies are the best. What’s your all-time, could-watch-a-hundred-times horror movies?”
“There are so many,” I mutter. “The Descent, I love that one. Not technically a ‘Halloween’ movie though.”
“But horror, yeah, I love that one. Terrifying. Is ‘love’ a strange word in this context?”
“Strange or not, it fits,” I say.
She pauses, as if silently acknowledging that what I just said could work for us too, not just for movies.
“The Shining. Of course,Halloween.”
“What aboutMisery?” she asks, with a note of hope in her voice. “I know it’s not as gruesome as some of the others?—”
“If I had to choose a favorite, that would be it.”
She stares at me for a few moments. Even with the mask on, it’s like I can read her expression, can hear her thinking,Is he serious or is he telling me what he thinks I want to hear?
“Really?” she says.
“Something about it has always appealed to me. I first watched it when I was a kid, and I’d just learned what it meant to be a Blackwell. Before that, I felt like a regular boy. Sure, richer than most, but regular, just a kid living his life. Then I learned how important the Blackwell name was, and I felt…”
“Trapped,” she mutters. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re right. That’s what I was going to say.”
“Trapped like Paul,” she murmurs. “Forced to write a story based on someone else’s outline.”
“You know something about that?” I ask.
“It’s a nasty thing to think, let alone say.”
